I'm Feeling Lucky

My wonderful, charming, sweet mother died a little over three years ago at the age of 80. Every time I walk in the cheapy closeout chain store Big Lots it happens - the grief swoops back in on fresh wings. My mother wouldn't be flattered to know that Big Lots makes me think of her but in her last ten years we would go there pretty regularly just for something to do. It was an easy, relaxing place to be where we could just enjoy our separate hunts for something interesting. And in that odd place I miss her companionship and constant enthusiasm and a million other things about her. The tears press at my eyes as I try to blink them back but I have very experienced tears. They stubbornly seek out their old riverbed tracing their way next to my too broad nose before they reach the corner of my mouth where inevitably a salty tear leaks in as if to make sure I know that my pain is indeed leaking.

And then I think of Hot Lips Houlihan. She dropped a bomb of wisdom on one episode of M*A*S*H that I've held onto for years. Since I have scrambled eggs for brains, I've misquoted her for years with great conviction and have come to like my version better but the essence of the thought is hers. In the show, BJ whined over how much he missed his wife and daughter. After he attributes Hot Lips lack of sympathy to the fact that she is single and childless, she replys "How dare you think your brand of suffering is worse than anyone else's! Maybe you do have the most to lose but that's only because you've got the most!". Of course, standing in Big Lots what I remember is my misquote which is "you can only miss that which you are lucky enough to have had." I pull that quote out of my brain with such vigor that it almost feels like a physical act: a cerebral parallel for fumbling through my pocketbook for my lipstick.

Then I think of a teenage girl I knew years ago whose mother died delivering her. I think of another friend who was raised in a childrens home, her disinterested mother off living a life of her own that didn't include her. I think of other friends who have tough relationships with their mothers for whatever reason. I think of ALL the girls and women who never got to shop with their mothers. Slowly, I begin to feel lucky. Lucky that I had a mother I loved who loved me back. Lucky that she was a very fun person. Lucky simply that I had a mother for 44 years. Pretty quickly, grief's hold on me loosens as I begin a private celebration of who she was to me. I feel lucky