Today was mom’s birthday. She used to announce the birthdays and anniversaries of family who had passed and I would respond by wishing them happiness. I loved her birthday because she loved mine. She did whatever she could to make birthdays special; space rocket and Barbie cakes, favorite meals and Fago ice cream floats (mine was always Fago Red Pop because it was so pink and pretty). When I grew older and moved out of the house, she would call and sing a special birthday song that only she would sing
“Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday
I love you.
Happy Birthday
And may all your
dreams come true.
When you blow out the candles
One light stays aglow.
It’s the lovelight in your eyes where’er you go”
If I was home for my birthday she would come sing to me in the morning to wake me up and we would spend the day together.
This is the first birthday of hers since she died and we have planned a Celebration of Life on Saturday. I know I should have been preparing for this all along. I dreaded the idea of touching anything in the house for fear of breaking down.
So since December, I admit that I have done the bare minimum to maintain. I keep the kitchen clean because of my baking business. But dusting and vaccuming and mopping the dining room and living room floors had gone to the wayside. Papers and mail and stuff piled up in the dining room table since we couldn’t bring ourselves to eat there since she’s gone. We would wash the laundry but I’d mostly dress in the same few things that I would pull from the clean basket.
About a month ago, I did some cleaning and it was so hard, but I was glad I had completed the task. I finally tackled the kitchen, deep cleaning the cabinets and drawers, removing things I know I’ll never use again and reorganizing for my own ease of use. It felt good, cathartic even. So with the Celebration of Life Open House coming, I decided I had no choice but to do an old-fashioned spring cleaning like we did when I was a kid.
Ceiling to floor, taking everything off the walls and shelves. Meticulously cleaning the cracks and crevices with an old toothbrush, wiping down the walls and baseboards. Washing the knick-knacks with warm soapy water. Scrubbing and waxing the wood floors on my hands and knees. Purging useless magazines and junk mail and old dusty dried flowers.
I realized I have been meditating on mom this whole time. It has taken me a full day in each room and I am exhausted at the end of each day, but comforted in the knowledge that this is how mom always wanted to see her home. As a teen I would complain whenever we had to “clean for company” because our house “isn’t a museum! We live here!”
And windows! I hated washing windows! In the last 2-3 years, she would pick the darndest times to start washing windows. She wasn’t steady on her feet and climbing a ladder was something I really didn’t like to see her do. So I would begrudgingly stop what I was doing and take over the ladder climbing. She would eventually get distracted and wonder off to something else. I accused her of being the best Huck Fin of our time, wrangling me into work I really didn’t want to do. Then I’d tell her “when you are gone, I will never wash these windows again!” I eventually admitted that I hated the job because I just wasn’t good at it. They always ended up streaky.
Today, on her birthday, I washed windows. And I didn’t half-ass it. I took Lysol water and washed the whole window sills, inside and out. I removed the screens, washing them and replacing them. I used a whole bottle of Windex and full roll of paper towels in just one room (thank goodness her Alzheimer’s had driven her to stashed 2 big Windex refills and 10 rolls of paper towels on the shelf!). I laundered and ironed the curtains (I haven’t ironed anything for the last year or so). My gift to her. Happy Birthday Mom. I love you beyond measure. I hope you are happy.
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