MOM? MOM? COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE

My sister and I have had several rather vocal arguments in the past, many of them only materialized because she’s really, really annoying. But, she is the oldest so she has to be…it’s the law.

When my mother passed away I thought the biggest problem we would have would be deciding who would get mom’s neat little Julia Childs autographed food processor. I was wrong. We had bigger fish to fry as it turned out.

My mother was cremated in Chicago and after the service, Sal and I returned to New York. It was only then that we realized something was missing: MOM! I thought my sister had her and she was under the impression that mom was with us. One of us was going to lose but being the mature adults that we are, our phone conversations regarding the topic remained quite civil.

Bob: Sal, are you sure you don’t have her?
Sal: Wouldn’t I know it if I had her, you moron?
Bob: Hey, who are you calling a moron? Who’s the one who threw up in the backseat of dad’s
car on prom night and then tried to blame it on the dog?
Sal: Oh, yeah? Well at least I had a date.
Bob: Jerk!

I had a horrible thought cross my mind and it was making me physically ill. Lord, please tell me mom didn’t get thrown out with the closet debris? You see, Michele and I had some work done to enlarge our closets and…I can’t even think about it. But in fairness how would a contractor be able to tell the difference between a shoe box containing Pro Keds from one containing human remains? OK, maybe the “Crematorium” label on the box might have helped, but contractors are busy people. They don’t have time to read. Still, the thought of mom nesting in some dumpster between a bunch of old Dinty Moore cans and an empty 12 pack of Corona beer was a little disturbing. I had to calm down. It was time for me to get a grip. The most important thing now was for me to find a way, any way at all, to blame this on my sister.

The flashbacks were running rampant. I thought of the time my mother grounded me for a month when I traded my grandmother’s false teeth to Tom Klute for a pocket knife (including three blades and a corkscrew). Then there was the time when I was seven and I ran into my parents bedroom at eleven o’clock on a Friday night after hearing some interesting noises and yelling, “Fire drill, everybody out!” I’m sorry, mom.

Misplacing a mother is not like losing a Blockbuster video or a library book. The guilt can be overwhelming. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. “Bob, when you lose a box containing a cremated parent, there are no late fees. The fines don’t keep accruing every day. That can run into a lot of money with a book or a movie. What’s the big deal?” That’s a fair point but given the choice I’d still rather lose ‘National Lampoon’s Vacation’ than my mother. I’m sure you understand.

A few days had passed when I got a call at work from this frantic woman whose voice I almost didn’t recognize. “I found her! She’s OK! Well, she’s still dead, but she’s here. All of her!” It took a moment to sink in. It was Michele and she had finally located my mother. “Where was she?” I asked. “It’s the funniest thing,” she said. “You’ll laugh.” “I don’t think so,” I said. “Where was she?” “She was under the steps, next to your weights. Isn’t that ironic? She’s deceased and she still can’t get away from dumbbells.”

Whew, what a ride that was. Mom, I’m so glad you weren’t in the dumpster or mistaken for plant food or kitty litter. I promise to never let you out of my sight ever again. I found a great place for you. From now on you're going to be right under our bed. Won't that be great? Well, as I think that through, maybe the guest room would be better. That way you can have your own pillow and none of the cat hair. I love you mom and don’t worry about a thing because somehow you know I'm going to find a way to blame this all on Sally. It’s the law.