A Memory of Mom

With Mother's Day approaching this Sunday, my thoughts have once again, shifted back to my mom. It will be 2 years this September, that she's been gone. Though I am a mom myself now, with a wonderful family for me to love, I still can't help but feel this void inside of me without my mom.

She and I never had that typical mother/daughter relationship. In fact, we never truly forged a "bond", a mutual understanding of one another, until I was in my early twenties. The relationships my mother had with my two brothers and me, was severely strained and lacked the loving guidance we needed, due to my mom's addiction to alcohol.
She began drinking at 16, and she never missed a chance to indulge herself. She was even pregnant with my brothers on her 21st birthday (they're fraternal twins) and many years later, she told me that she wasn't going to let the fact that she was pregnant, stop her from celebrating the big 21. I was a little surprised by that. So she became single mom, back living with her parents, working 2nd shift in a factory to support her two baby boys. My mom was lucky that my grandma was there to help care for Paul and Brian (my brothers) because their father wanted nothing to do with them.

After a few years, and one failed marriage (to another idiot who promised to take care of her and her young sons) my mom began dating this guy she knew from the local bar where all of the factory workers hung out after hours. He was quiet and polite, and many people actually joked around that he was gay, because he was really good looking, into weight lifting and football ...and was never seen with any women. The ladies gave him the nickname, "Pootchie" because they all wanted him as thier pet. It was the 70's, what can I say?
Well the rumors of "Pootchie's" sexuality were put to rest, when he began dating my mom. At that time, she was one of the only women who worked in a factory, but as soon as her time card was punched out for the day, she would let down her long, dark hair, throw on a mini and some heels and head to the bar. She actually began enjoying a new life separate from drinking as her relationship with "Pootchie" grew. He welcomed her two sons, and after a short while, "Pootchie" proposed to my mom. It was the first time she had been truly happy in a long time. Pootchie, whose name is really John, married my mom, and he became the man that would one day, be my father.

When my mom discovered that she was pregnant again, I guess she felt scared and trapped. She was a stay-at-home mom, and didn't want the same thing to happen with the father of this baby, that happened with her boys. Even if it was different this time, as she was married to the father of this baby. Not having yet told her husband that she was expecting, my mom first called her best girl friend Pat, and desperately sought her advice. I'm not sure of how the decision was made between the two of them, but somewhere along the line, my mom decided that the best thing to do, was to abort the pregnancy and not tell her husband, John.

Upon her visit to the abortion clinic, (again, this was the 70's shortly after Roe vs Wade) my mom, looking around the "clinic", thought that she stood a greater chance of getting an infection or disease from receiving the procedure, and decided that she couldn't go through with the abortion.
Fast forward a few months later to find my mom giving birth to me, on the couch none-the-less, at our home. Apparently, her labor was moving along too quickly to transport her to the hospital, so the paramedics delivered me from the comfort of our davenport.
(A side note on that: Remember when I wrote about "Precipitous labor" and how I had my kids in record time...apparently that trait is passed on to your children, so it then made more sense to me)
My dad was at work when the excitement erupted, and once again, my grandma was there to help keep my brothers calm, as they were 8 years old when I was being born. It was a wonderful gift for my dad, seeing as how he was going to celebrate his 40th birthday only three days after I entered the world. I was born on March 12th, he was born on the 15th.
Of course, he still didn't know what my mom had tried to do earlier. And even then, the doctor pulled my dad aside at the hospital we were taken to after I was born, and he told my dad to think about having the necessary tests done to ensure I wasn't born with fetal alcohol syndrome.

So here she was, a stay-at-home mom of three... two crazy, rambunctious 8 year-old-boys, and (I can only imagine) a screaming newborn baby girl. She then did, what most of us moms only fantasize about doing when the stresses of life get to us. She began drinking heavily throughout the day to help her, Cope, with the intense demands of motherhood. She hid beer in the basement behind the washer and dryer, or stashed her empty Pabst cans on the top shelf in the pantry until she could dispose of them without anyone becoming the wiser.
My dad knew better though. But he was working two jobs, 2nd and 3rd shift, just to make ends meet, and missed most of the daily activities of the household. A noble thing on his part, but in retrospect, only made my mom's drinking worse. My dad recalled times he would come home from work, only to find my mom passed out in the recliner, and I would be laying on the floor crying, as I had rolled off her lap in the absence of her conscienceness.
Her alcohol addiction tore their marriage apart. After countless arguments about money, childrearing, and unequal treatment, my parents got a divorce. I was two.

My mom then did the best she could to get herself together to care for her children. She really could no longer rely on her mother, and was only receiving child support for me, which was still enough to support our entire family. My mom would go through her phases of sobriety, while she worked as an aid in nursing homes. Caring for others was something that came so naturally for her, and she was so good at it. She gave her heart and soul to those elderly people, that at most times, had no one else. But once she resorted back to drinking, she would constantly call in to work and say that her kids were sick and so she couldn't make it in to work. When in actuality, it was a five year old little me that was making toast for lunch in an attempt to try and help get mommy off of the couch. When she finally returned back to work, she would come to find out that some of her favorite patients passed away while she was gone. She would come home and sob for hours, and then begin the vicious cycle of drowning her sorrows in alcohol again.

It wasn't always terrible though. She bought me my first bike. It was purple with silvery stars and it had a huge rainbow that stretched across the banana seat. My mom also taught me how to hula hoop. One day, she brought me this HUGE sky blue and white stripped hula hoop. It had little beans or something inside of it that made it "SWISH SWISH" when you used it. She called it, a "shoop shoop hula hoop". She even taught me tricks I could do with the hula hoop, like how to roll it on the ground, and make it come back to you, like a boomerang. Or how to hula hoop with several hoops that span all up and down your body. Some on your neck, your arms and your waist. To this day...I can out hula hoop anybody that crosses my dangerous path!

We did have some scary times where she would black out and my brothers had to call 911.
As my brothers grew older, they began to defy mom more and more, as most teens will do. She lost a lot of control over them once my grandpa died. He was the only male influence in Paul and Brian's lives, and it was devastating to my mom to loose her father. I think she lost a huge part of herself when we all lost grandpa. I was fortunate however, to still have the strong family bonds on my dad's side of the family. I can't tell you how much I anticipated seeing my dad and his family every other weekend. There were times that I didn't want to come back home.

When I was 8 or 9, my mom began dating Dan. She met Dan at bingo at St. Vincent's, the school I attended. He was called "Bingo Dan" (real original) and was the beloved, good time, polka dancing, bingo caller at St Vinny's. My mom volunteered her time twice a week, for the church, in order to get cheaper tuition for me to go to school. The week before I turned ten, my mom lined up me and my brothers in the living room and said we were going to move in with Dan.
I remember her saying, "It's not like you have to call him dad, but it sure as hell couldn't hurt." Paul and Brian and I just looked at each other in disbelief, and Paul (who is the loud mouth of us) said, "What the fuck are you talking about woman?!! Adrianne has a dad, and I'll be damned if Brian and I are gonna call that Polak dad, I've gone this long without one, I don't need one now!"
Paul and Brian were almost 18 and readily preparing to leave the nest, so any transition was going to be met with the utmost resistance.
Dan was also divorced, and had a son, Christopher, who was 3 years older than I.
I guess my mom and Dan thought that we'd get along well. They couldn't have been more wrong, but thats an entirely different post.

Living in Dan's home was the worst experience that I've ever encountered. My mom and Dan just enabled each other to drink, and drink and drink. Once my brothers turned 18, Brian joined the Navy to get as far away from our situation as possible, and Paul stayed close to try and scam where he could. But I was left alone, to deal with the escalating difficulties of two alcoholic adults, who were supposed to be parenting. Though it was traumatic and daunting most times, it helped shape who I am today. Also, I made a life long friend in Kelly. If it wasn't for her, and few other forgotten friends (Reuben, and Kari, Muffy and Rusty) I honestly don't believe I would've survived living there.
My mom did have moments of clarity, where, I assume, she began to rethink her decisions. But then it seemed she never could remain resolute in her decisions.

When I was 12, I decided that I was going to live with my dad. Things had gotten so awful living with my mom and Dan, even they knew this had to happen.
I'll never forget what my mom said to me as I packed up my last bag of priceless belongings (my stuffed animals) into my dads car. She said to me in her stern, deep voice,
"Don't think that we're going to have this, every other week visitation bullshit. You're gone, Goodbye, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out kid."

I didn't see or speak to her for 6 months.

After that, I saw her and called occasionally. Most times I knew I would have to call before 2:30 in the afternoon, because once Dan got home from work, they would hightail it to the bar where they would hole up until the wee hours of the morning.

As I got older, I could see how her health was rapidly deteriorating. She would tend bar for her own spending money, but mostly, it was so she and Dan could drink for free. When I turned 21, I went into the bar to go see her, which is what I had to do for years before then. My mom gave me a card with some cash, but something was different about this card.

She included a hand written note on a separate piece of paper. I've been searching for this note lately, and while I've found the card, the note is still missing. She stated in the letter, that she was proud of me for the accomplishments I made in my life, despite her lack of mothering to me. She apologized for not doing a better job with her only daughter, and she regretted the hell I had gone through because of her decisions. It was the first time she'd ever apologized to me for anything. From that night on, I had a new appreciation for her.

A few years later, when I told my mom that Kevin and I were getting married, and more over, that we were expecting a baby, she was very happy for us.
She was as about as involved as she could be, because by this time, she had already been through a severe detox in ICU and had what the doctors evaluated as "wet brain syndrome". She couldn't even move around well without the help of a cane. She reluctantly attended the bridal shower and mandatory parties, though she never felt comfortable in front of anyone anymore, except under the dark lights of the tavern, with her "REAL" friends. We picked out a nice dress for her for the wedding, and she even fought with me to pay for my wedding dress. A dress that I had loved for YEARS before, and opted against it, because of it's price. She said that she had money set aside just for this occasion, and if thats the dress I wanted, she was going to be the one to buy it.

On my wedding day, I think mom was more nervous than me, but she smiled in the pictures, and lit the unity candle with Kevin's mother, and danced to the special Neil Diamond song I requested for her and Dan. As I said in a previous post, my mom LOVED LOVED Neil, and passed it along to me as well. I think my wedding was one of the last few times I saw her smile.

There were a few more smiles she shed when she got to meet and hold Vinny after he was born. She was now a grandmother by all three of her children. She felt her mission was complete.

On Saturday, September 11th of 2004, I was doing a Partylite show in the near vicinity of the bar that my mom and Dan went to. I decided to stop in and let her know that I was, once again, expecting a baby... and only 7 months after having Vinny. She replied with a signature mom phrase of, "Holy shit girl! He doesn't waste any time does he? Did Kevin even let you sleep before he jumped your bones?"
She then added her well wishes and motherly advice for me, "Well, I hope you have a girl, because then you'll be done and you can get your tubes tied. And maybe you'll have twins like me and really be up shit creek!"
She really meant those things in a loving way, but they would sound harsh to the outside ear. Kinda like the way I write on my blog!
She gave me a hug and told me to pass along the congratulations to Kevin on his further conquest of her daughter. If I had known that would be the last time I would see her truly alive, maybe I would've said something else besides, "Bye Ma!"

A week later, on September 18th, I received a call from my brother, Paul. He told me that mom was in ICU at St Francis Hospital and that she was going to die. I was like, "WHAT?!! What the hell is going on?!!" Paul continued to tell me that mom had a massive brain aneurysm that basically popped and she wasn't expected to live more than a day.
I was so confused and overwhelmed. I knew that this was going to happen sooner or later, but you're never fully prepared when it does. Kevin insisted that he go with me to the hospital, and so we then had to take Vinny with too. When I walked into her room in the ICU, she had a breathing tube in her mouth and wires strung out from all over her now frail, and discolored body.
Kevin didn't stay long, as we didn't want Vinny to be exposed to germs and sickness. I remember Kevin even got a little choked up. As he was getting ready to leave and was holding Vinny, he leaned over and began to cry as he told Vinny to, "Say goodbye to grandma".
I, of course stayed, as I knew Dan and my brother Paul were also there, but must have been on a smoke break.
With the few minutes of alone time I had with mom, I walked over to her bedside and held her hand, which was nice and warm. I just started talking to her,
"Hey ma', it's Adrianne. Kevin and Mr. Vinny were just here to see you. Vinny is getting so big, I'm sure he'll be a lineman for Green Bay just like you predicted." I was able to hold back my tears...
And then my emotion's took over.
"I just can't believe this mom, you're suppose to be the person who introduces Vinny to Neil Diamond, and helps teach my daughter how to iron better than her mommy, by letting her practice on handkerchiefs and dish towels. You're not supposed to be giving up now."

And then the doctor came in with Dan and Paul. He explained to me that my mom had a massive aneurysm the ruptured in her brain, and that was inoperable due to the amount of blood that had covered her brain. There was nothing they could do at this point. He said she was still breathing over the machines, but would remain in this coma-like state. I hate how they try and give this glimmer of hope to people, whom they know, will hang on to any indication of a positive outcome.
"Just keep talking to her, chances are, she can hear you. Some people can remain in a state of stability with the assistance of the respirator and an IV. We are also giving her medicine to keep her blood pressure down."
I thought, "For what?" They've already said that she isn't going to last, and my mom always said she'd rather check out versus being kept alive by machines. She hated it when she saw her patients at the nursing home like that.
Dan was in a state of frantics and shock. He reeked of beer and cigarettes, and couldn't sit still for two minutes. Though I just had to ask Dan what the hell happened that this came to be.

Dan told me that they were at the bar Friday evening (of course) and mom was complaining of having a headache and wanted some tylenol. My mom HATED taking meds too, even tylenol, so I knew it must have been bad for her. He continued on to say that at around 10 pm, mom said she wanted to go home. He helped her in the car and only a few blocks from home, Dan said my mom slumped over and began vomiting. By the time he was able to attend to her, she was unconscious and he wasn't even able to get her out of the car. He called 911 and by the time the ambulance got there, and transported her to the hospital, she had already been legally dead for over 7 minutes. Obviously, they were able to restart her heart, and that brought us to her current state.

I made phone calls to her friends and our family. My dad even came to see her. After their divorce, they had a few times of momentary romance, where they would exchange a kiss or warm embrace. But it was just never in the cards for them to get back together. My dad couldn't do that to himself anymore. Though when my dad actually saw my mom, laying lifelessly in an ICU bed, I know it was too much for him to take, though I knew he wouldn't allow himself to break down then and there. He asked if we needed anything to eat, but no one was really ready to eat yet (even a 3 month prego me, that normally ate every 30 minutes or so)
Dad offered his thoughts and prayers to Dan, Paul and me, and told me to call him in the morning.
The next 24 hours were the most exhausting and emotionally challenging things I had ever been through. Dan, Paul and I were discussing what we should do. We basically came to the conclusion that if she didn't pass on her own, through the night, we would remove her from life support in the morning. We contacted the chaplain and had them give my mom her last rites. That was a really, really difficult moment for me. I just couldn't stop crying. My mom wasn't the most religious person, but thats what she would've done for any one else.

I managed to sleep for a few hours in the family waiting room, on the most uncomfortable pleather loveseat, but even that felt refreshing compared to what I'd just been through.
I knew I had to eat something because I wasn't prepared to put my tummy dweller, on a hunger strike.
After eating, I went in to check on mom. The nurses said that she was no longer breathing on her own and her heart rate and blood pressure were becoming erratic. The doctor confirmed that the ruptured aneurysm blood, must finally be reaching her brain stem, where many of the deep set functions are controlled. In turn, this would cause dramatic changes in her heart functions. One minute, it would look like her heart was beating normally, the next, it would drop to less than 30 beats per minute. The doctor performed one last MRI to confirm that there was no longer any brain activity.
We knew what we had to do.
We alerted the doctor and said that we were ready to remove her from life support. Dan couldn't stand to be in the room, so Paul and I stayed.

Paul and I were on either side of her, holding her hands when the nurse gently removed the breathing tube. She told us not to be alarmed if we heard a gasping sound. Something I saw as a medical practicioner going into "science mode" instead of thinking of the morality of it all.
The silence from the machines being turned off was nice; but scary, because I think both Paul and I thought we would hear her breathe, but there was nothing.
She just laid there, very peacefully, and we spoke softly to her and told mom we loved her.
After a few minutes, the nurses came back in and said we could stay as long as we wanted.
(which really means, "Get movin' because we need this room for the next poor sucker")
Paul stepped out of the room, and I was once again left alone with my mom. I told her that I forgave her for everything, and that I knew she did the best she could raising me. I promised her that I would see her again some day, and that I'd miss her until then.
And I do.

Though my mom cut her life short due to her addictions,(she was 53) she still had a great appreciation for many of the little things in life. She loved the feeling of an open window on a spring day. She would always say "how pretty" it was outside. She also loved thunderstorms and once stood outside and just, watched, while a tornado made it's way through her community. She loved owls and dogs, and would do just about anything for an animal. She loved to cook, and her meals were typically enough to feed Poxy's Army. Then she would complain about how many left overs there were! My mom loved Christmas, and though she tried to play it gruff for many years, her face always lit up at the sight of a well decorated tree. And though, later in life, she was merely content with the idea of wearing her Harley T-shirts, Wrangler Jeans and Easy Spirit shoes, she still enjoyed getting "gussied up " as she called it, (even if she did bitch and moan about it the entire time), and feeling like a beautiful woman.
And she was, she really, really was.
Though she didn't get to be here (in person) when my second child was born, she did get her wish and I had a girl. Little Miss Madison! And ironically enough, Madison was baptized on the one year anniversary of my mom's death. Life it seems, does come full circle.

Why did I need to share all of this with anyone who had the time or desire to read it? I guess it's part of my healing process. I think I'm a better person for having the mother that I did. She wasn't a terrible person, she just never got the help she so desperately needed to save her own life. So we ALL suffered with her.
I know I'll be a better mother as well, in spite of it. Though I've heard that some think I'm too wild to be a mom. a statement I think is very humorous, as I've never been drunk in my entire life...no lie. Would you if your mom had the track record mine did???
I'm already hardwired to become an alcoholic, and thats not something I want to inherit from my mom.
I feel if my story can help anyone that may be going through the beginning process of alcoholism, or for the family that has to deal with an alcoholic...if my story can be of any assistance to help open their eyes to the reality of a life without the dependency of alcohol, then my mom did not die in vane.