ways. ‘Roman elevens! Roman elevens!’ And you loved
elevens. The time 11:11, the date
November eleventh—you were a bit obsessed. And you insisted that the Roman
numeral eleven ‘both ways’,” she mimics me, “in his last name was the most
perfect married name for you.”
She’s right. I was a little crazy then. I
decided not to remind her of how much I loved my first name back when she first
taught me about element symbols when I was eight years old. I was thrilled that
my palindrome first name was made from the symbol for sodium, Na, frontwards
and backwards. Sodium reacts violently with water, forming explosive hydrogen
gas, sparks, and flames. And, drum roll, please, its atomic number is eleven.
No kidding. My obsession with elevens was my mother’s fault in every way. I’m a
geek, just like her.
With Eddie, though, I lost my head with my
heart. I was just so caught up in being in love. But I did die on November
eleventh, so the elevens of my obsession did turn out to be significant. Was
that a coincidence? I decide not to push this sore spot with my mom anymore
just now. I’m sure I’ll need more of her help, and I don’t want her mad or
distracted. I avoid confrontation in death just like I did in life. Instead, I
try to convince her that Eddie, the guy I almost divorced, was the right guy
way back then.
“But look at him now, Mom. He misses me.
We were fighting two days ago, and now he misses fighting with me.”
“Anna, I watched enough since I died to
see that he loved you. I saw what I couldn’t see while I was living. Alive, I
just knew he had you, so I had to give you up. That’s a hard lesson for a
parent.”
Once again, she’s gone, just like a
dropped cell phone call.
17
Getting Ready, Letting
Go
Bethany’s cell phone sings an old Elton John love song and wakes up Joey. She
lets it ring. Joey comes down the stairs in his Superman pajamas, humming
“Rocket Man,” and he goes straight to the bottom cabinet where he digs to find
a big bowl.
“Hey, Joe-boy.” Bethany grabs him to kiss
the top of his head. I miss the sweaty boy smell of the top of his head. “Want
me to make some pancakes?” He wiggles out of her hug.
“Nah. Daddy bought me Fruity Pebbles.” He
climbs up the pantry shelves and topples down
the box. After a struggle to rip open the inner bag, he pours the cereal into
the big bowl. He opens the fridge, holding his spoon up like a weapon, and
stares into the bright box for a full minute. Without turning around, he says
into the cold air, “Bethany, will you help with the milk? It’s too heavy. Mommy
used to leave me a cup on the bottom shelf.”
Only a few days ago I left a cup of milk for my son on the
bottom shelf of our fridge and already he’s saying I used to do it.
“Sure. Grab me a bowl. I’m having some of
these, too. I haven’t seen sugar in the morning at this house since before you
were born.”
“What was it like before I was born?”
Bethany pours milk in his bowl, snorts,
and says, “Quiet.” She
eats a spoonful of her cereal and gags. Kid food. Ick.
After she puts a
bagel into the toaster and pours the sickly sweet cereal down the drain, she
starts a fresh pot of coffee. I’m gonna need some C 8 H 10 N 4 O 2 to get through this day.
My daughter tells
my son, “Hurry up with that cereal, Joey. We need to get dressed for Mom’s
memorial service.”
My memorial
service. Cripes. I might just need some of that caffeine myself.
| | | |
Eddie
waits for
the rest of our clan to get ready. He’s all alone outside on my swing, not
swinging. Just sitting still as stone, staring at nothing. Somehow, he found
Joey’s little blue suit and some dark socks and has them ready, all laid out on
his bed to wrestle Joey into. Now, for a few minutes of peace, he just sits in
the sun and lets his thoughts leave again. Empty-headed is the best way to be.
This time we agree. I wish I could stay
empty-headed.
On the couch in
elevens. The time 11:11, the date
November eleventh—you were a bit obsessed. And you insisted that the Roman
numeral eleven ‘both ways’,” she mimics me, “in his last name was the most
perfect married name for you.”
She’s right. I was a little crazy then. I
decided not to remind her of how much I loved my first name back when she first
taught me about element symbols when I was eight years old. I was thrilled that
my palindrome first name was made from the symbol for sodium, Na, frontwards
and backwards. Sodium reacts violently with water, forming explosive hydrogen
gas, sparks, and flames. And, drum roll, please, its atomic number is eleven.
No kidding. My obsession with elevens was my mother’s fault in every way. I’m a
geek, just like her.
With Eddie, though, I lost my head with my
heart. I was just so caught up in being in love. But I did die on November
eleventh, so the elevens of my obsession did turn out to be significant. Was
that a coincidence? I decide not to push this sore spot with my mom anymore
just now. I’m sure I’ll need more of her help, and I don’t want her mad or
distracted. I avoid confrontation in death just like I did in life. Instead, I
try to convince her that Eddie, the guy I almost divorced, was the right guy
way back then.
“But look at him now, Mom. He misses me.
We were fighting two days ago, and now he misses fighting with me.”
“Anna, I watched enough since I died to
see that he loved you. I saw what I couldn’t see while I was living. Alive, I
just knew he had you, so I had to give you up. That’s a hard lesson for a
parent.”
Once again, she’s gone, just like a
dropped cell phone call.
17
Getting Ready, Letting
Go
Bethany’s cell phone sings an old Elton John love song and wakes up Joey. She
lets it ring. Joey comes down the stairs in his Superman pajamas, humming
“Rocket Man,” and he goes straight to the bottom cabinet where he digs to find
a big bowl.
“Hey, Joe-boy.” Bethany grabs him to kiss
the top of his head. I miss the sweaty boy smell of the top of his head. “Want
me to make some pancakes?” He wiggles out of her hug.
“Nah. Daddy bought me Fruity Pebbles.” He
climbs up the pantry shelves and topples down
the box. After a struggle to rip open the inner bag, he pours the cereal into
the big bowl. He opens the fridge, holding his spoon up like a weapon, and
stares into the bright box for a full minute. Without turning around, he says
into the cold air, “Bethany, will you help with the milk? It’s too heavy. Mommy
used to leave me a cup on the bottom shelf.”
Only a few days ago I left a cup of milk for my son on the
bottom shelf of our fridge and already he’s saying I used to do it.
“Sure. Grab me a bowl. I’m having some of
these, too. I haven’t seen sugar in the morning at this house since before you
were born.”
“What was it like before I was born?”
Bethany pours milk in his bowl, snorts,
and says, “Quiet.” She
eats a spoonful of her cereal and gags. Kid food. Ick.
After she puts a
bagel into the toaster and pours the sickly sweet cereal down the drain, she
starts a fresh pot of coffee. I’m gonna need some C 8 H 10 N 4 O 2 to get through this day.
My daughter tells
my son, “Hurry up with that cereal, Joey. We need to get dressed for Mom’s
memorial service.”
My memorial
service. Cripes. I might just need some of that caffeine myself.
| | | |
Eddie
waits for
the rest of our clan to get ready. He’s all alone outside on my swing, not
swinging. Just sitting still as stone, staring at nothing. Somehow, he found
Joey’s little blue suit and some dark socks and has them ready, all laid out on
his bed to wrestle Joey into. Now, for a few minutes of peace, he just sits in
the sun and lets his thoughts leave again. Empty-headed is the best way to be.
This time we agree. I wish I could stay
empty-headed.
On the couch in
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