Thoughts on my mother: Someday, we'll return to Hawaii....
Dispatches from the Forgotten Stars, #23
We have to go back, for many reasons. The one that’s on my mind now is that my mother made clear her wishes for her ashes: that half would be scattered somewhere near her beloved Waikiki. (The other half are to go on the street in Pittsburgh where she grew up.)
Mom died on November 11. She was eighty-two. It was sudden, but not; her last year was dominated by health and mobility struggles that took their toll on her in many ways. She fought, long and hard, to heal and regain her strength. She had trips she still wanted to take; she was still planning for the future. But that future, sadly, will never come.
The difficulties of Mom’s last months are a big reason why this Substack has fallen silent for more than two months. For that I apologize.
As I write this, I am sitting in her living room, keeping my father company. He has his own issues, of which I will not write now…but in some ways his issues are a kindness and a curse. It’s deeply strange sitting here, in this house to which Mom and Dad moved nearly ten years ago, and knowing that she is not here. Her things surround me, all the decorative things she chose while living here; shaping this living space, which she always knew would likely be her last, into a place that she loved brought her a good deal of joy. I look at every piece of art, either chosen by her or for her by those of us who knew and loved her, and I’m saddened to know she’ll never look at them again.
It’s also hard to see the things that I know that she touched and were a part of her life. The unfinished cup of coffee, sitting on the counter after she died. The unfinished jigsaw puzzle. The appointments in the calendar, noted dutifully in handwriting that was, sadly, becoming more difficult to read. Her cat was on my lap a few minutes ago. Her handbag is still on the table. These things were hers, and it’s hard not to think of them as still being so.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents’ influence on me over the years. Like any family, there are things that seemed normal and unremarkable when I was a kid that I look back on now and think, “My god, what was that about?” But I carry forward their influence, whether I want to or not, and I think that I’m more a reflection of her now than I am of my father. She was a librarian who loved books and reading, and many of my great literary loves come from her direct and rather forceful hand when I was a kid. If I did something that warranted revoking my teevee privileges for a time, she somehow always had a book at the ready. I suppose that’s a risky strategy—you don’t want to make reading feel punitive, after all—but she knew that I loved reading, even if I occasionally needed a nudge to turn off the teevee and pick up a book. And she knew my tastes, and what was good. The list of titles and authors is a roster of books that I remember to this day; many I still own, even if the original copies are long gone.
Lloyd Alexander, The Prydain Chronicles and the Westmark trilogy.
CS Lewis, the Chronicles of Narnia.
John Bellairs, The House with a Clock in its Walls.
Tolkien, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.
Fitzgerald, The Great Brain.
Cleary, The Mouse and the Motorcycle.
Byars, The Pinballs.
Cormier, Fade.
And I’m missing a few. I remember there was one book she “assigned” me that she hadn’t read herself, and when I disliked it, she was a little grumpy. After all, she’d had a perfect batting average to that point. So she decided to read it herself, and a few days later, I got her blunt appraisal: “That was a piece of shit. Sorry about that one.” (I do not remember which book this was.)
A lot of my personal fandoms and quirks were shaped in what seems to me now a very short period of time. Mom knew in 1977 that she would need to send my sister and I to see that science-fiction movie that was all the rage that summer; hello, Star Wars. She sent us a year-and-a-half later to see Superman: The Movie. She had us watch the animated version of The Hobbit. Here’s a story I posted on Facebook, the day she passed: in 1979, when we were living in West Virginia, there were ads on teevee for a new movie. “Bond is back!” the voiceover guy said. I had no idea who “Bond” was, but this new movie, called Moonraker, looked like some kind of action movie…and there were ray guns. For a Star Wars-soaked seven-year-old, that was all I needed. Well, one night I was coming home from a friend’s house when I saw Mom heading for the car. I asked where she was going; “I’m seeing a movie,” she replied. I asked what movie; she said, “Moonraker.” I said, “Oooh, I wanna see Moonraker!” And Mom said, without hesitation, “Put your bike away and get in the car.”
That’s where my lifelong love of James Bond came from.
Mom wouldn’t let me read the Ian Fleming novels until I was in my teens, which I totally understand. But we saw all the movies.
My parents also enjoyed 70s variety shows, which often involved humor of the flying-pie variety, and they watched Hee Haw religiously. That has got to be a major part of why I love overalls to this day.
Dad was a mathematician by trade; Mom was a librarian. She always saw me as a writer, and I’m sorry she won’t be able to see how my series, The Song of Forgotten Stars, turns out. I suppose that’s partly on me. I waited an awfully long time to finally start writing the nine-volume series of space operas of my dreams, and I don’t work especially quickly.
In her latter years, Mom traveled a lot. Dad usually didn’t end up going with her; he disliked flying and he always enjoyed the journey of a long road trip more than he liked the time spent at the destination. Mom dreamed of Hawaii from her childhood, and finally she put her foot down and made Dad take her there, once my sister and I were out of the house.
She would return to Hawaii ten more times. For the last one, celebrating her eightieth birthday earlier that year, she took The Wife, The Kid, and me. At some point during the trip, or right after it, she commented to me that she had been nervous about this trip, because what if we didn’t like Hawaii. I was happy to put those fears to rest. I’ve thought about that trip most days since we returned.
Yes, we’ll go back someday, and it will be wonderful. There will be moments of sadness, particularly when I make good on that last wish of hers, but someday she will be a part of that place she loved so much.
And she is already a part of me.
Goodbye, Mom. I love you.
-K
As much as you're thinking about your parents NOW, it will likely become even MORE intense over time. I'm STILL talking to my sisters about our parents, and they died in 2000 and 2011.