Thursday, January 20, 2005

ROSE MARIE MALONEY (NEE PISERA) – NOVEMBER 20, 1924 – JANUARY 20, 1976

Today marks the 29th anniversary of my mother’s death. January 20th is a date that haunts me and probably always will.

I was 15-years old when my mother dropped dead, (yes literally), right before my eyes. There was nothing I could do to save her. This was only compounded by the fact that a couple minutes before she hit the ground, we had been having an argument. It wasn’t a really bad argument – I was late in getting home and was thereby making her late to go to the store. We walked along side by side, we were going shopping at the Strip Center that was within walking distance of our apartment building. Suddenly, right in front of the meat market and dry cleaners, my mother went down. I had known that she had heart problems, and I knew that she had a bottle of nitro-glycerin tablets with her at all times. I fished into her purse for the tiny tablets and tried to put one under her tongue. Her mouth seemed to be frozen shut. I knew I had to go get help. I ran into Thayer’s Meat Market and I yelled at the people behind the counter, “My mom’s had a heart attack – please call for help!” The person in there informed me there was a pay phone outside. I ran back outside. There was a person kneeling next to my mom trying to administer CPR – he was a paramedic and he happened to be next door at the dry cleaners. He had them call for an ambulance. While he was working on my mom a crowd had gathered. I was in shock... everything seemed to be going in slow motion. We all watched as the ambulance drove right past the shopping center. Some people were trying to flag it down.

When the ambulance finally arrived, the paramedics put my mom in the back and let me ride in the front. I did not know just how frightened I was until I realized I had pissed my pants.

We got to the local hospital, where I was put in a waiting room with all the other people. My mom was taken off somewhere and I was not sure what was going on. I tried desperately and in vain to reach my father. He worked, at the time, for a big paint company and apparently in the part of the plant he was working, they were unable to get any ‘outside’ calls. (After my mom died this changed.) I called my siblings at home – hours had passed since mom and I had left to go shopping. I told my sister my mom was at the hospital and I told her to stay calm – she started getting upset. I DID NOT tell her my worst fears, what I knew in my heart, that our mother was dead. I told my sister to keep trying to get a hold of our father and to let him know where mom was.

I sat waiting for what seemed like forever. No one talked to me, no one came to help me – I am sure people thought I was crazy and I was. Luckily my winter coat hid the fact that I had wet myself – although I am sure there was an odour.

Finally, having had enough, I approached the reception desk. I calmly and quietly told the girl behind the desk that if she did not want me to cause a scene she was to get me a doctor/nurse to speak to immediately. She must have known I meant it – either that or she saw the crazed look in my eyes.

I was taken to an exam room and not long after that a doctor and a nurse came in to see me. The doctor began slowly by introducing himself (to this day I can not tell you his name); he went on about how they had done everything they could – and that was my trigger, I had heard that phrase in relation to failure one too many times. I asked him point blank “Is my mother dead?”. He looked me in the eye and he said “Yes, I am very sorry”.

You grow up real fast in a moment like that. I believe my childhood fell away from me right then and there. They were asking me if I wanted a sedative. All I wanted was to be left alone. They sent me to sit in the chapel. They also sent a priest to talk to me. In my pain and my anguish I ended up telling him off. (*chuckle*) - he’s the one who ended up saying my mother’s funeral mass). I was a mess. All I wanted to do was talk to my dad and tell him before the cold, antiseptic people could break his heart.

Not long after this he did show up and I did get to him before they did. I ran out into the hall as I saw him approach and I cried out “She’s gone Daddy, she’s gone..”
He collapsed against the wall and I ran to help him. Together we cried a bit and then he left me to go talk to the doctors and identify her body.

The rest of the days were a blur. Relatives and friends came from our hometown of Pittsburgh to pay their final respects to my mom. Our family was in shock and was not going to ever be repaired. Something died in all of us that day.

I have since, (obviously) gone on to live my life. I know I have had moments that my mom would not have been proud of or approved of. I have gone on to have my own daughter with whom I have had knock-down, drag-out fights as well. Luckily, I am here to see her raise her kids; luckily, our relationship is on the mend.

It took me a long time to find out that my mom liked me. It was a conversation with a dear friend of hers, who is now a dear friend of mine. I was 8 months pregnant with my son and we were having a conversation. I was crying because I missed my mom (I still cry for my mom). I told her how horrible I was and how awful I was about fighting with her and that I knew my mom must have hated me. She laughed, really catching me off guard. She said to me, “Your mom got a real kick out of you” – I was confused and then she began telling me that my mom would come down to talk with her over coffee and would tell her that she knew I’d end up OK because I wasn’t going to take crap from anyone. “She was proud of you, she adored you…”

If my mom were alive today I am not sure what she’d think or how we’d get along. I am sure we’d still fight. Our lives would be very different. In my mind at times, my adult life is as different from my mom's, as it is from a frontier woman's. My mom was a stay-at-home mom, most of her life, she was a devout Catholic, she was soft spoken and believed in the traditional role of wife and mother, she looked the other way when it came to my dad’s infidelity. She stayed the course, despite what it must have cost her (in some ways, I believe it cost her her life).

Some days, I can’t remember my mom, what she looked like, or her voice. As I have said we don’t lose our loved ones all at once, we lose them in bits and pieces over the years. But one memory I still have that has never left me is the memory of my mom being on the phone talking with her sister. I must have been about 5 or 6 years old. I was feeling a bit forlorn and so I decided to sit on the floor beside my mom as she talked and I put my head in her lap. She began stroking my hair, gently, soothing me….

Every now and then I can still feel her spirit singing through me, the remnants of her left behind, and I miss her more than she would have ever expected.

4 Comments:

Blogger Liam said...

I never knew the similarities in how our mother's passed away.

It's true, we lose them in bits and pieces, I look at old photographs of my parents and it seems like a million years ago, and a whole other person.

We have to believe that no matter what, they were and always will be proud of us.

It speaks to the importance of letting those around you know how you feel at all times.

3:08 PM  
Blogger rmacapobre said...

did you make this up? the story is very moving. very real. both of my parents are still alive but i know in my head that theyre not going to be here forever. none of us will. im going to give them a call ..

6:37 PM  
Blogger Colette said...

First of all I would like to thank all of you for your comments - this was very difficult for me to share but you know I have never really put down my feelings about this part of my history. I know this is a public forum and perhaps I shoul dnot have been so open but I had to write this and I do plan on eventually trying to publish my life story...someday *laughs* if anyone that is is interested in reading.

I cried as I wrote this post....

And part of me, like you Wilf D, feels in some ways like my mom committed suicide because she was told to stop smoking, she was told to stop doing so much, she was told to stop drinking pots of coffee late in the evening - but there was more to what killed her than I actually wrote. Since my siblings read this journal I have to be a bit careful in my 'telling of' my family stories....don't want to hurt anyone if I can help it...

As for the person who asked me if I made this up....
Um, no...what kind of blogger do you take me for???

If I *could* direct you to the 'liars' in my life and their blogs perhaps you could ask them if they are 'making things up'.

The things I cull from my very REAL life are as brutally honest as it gets. And I believe the best writing is autobiographical, don't you? I suppose though if I was a *REALLY* good writer I would be able to make up such a moving piece.

I am glad though if this made you call your parents. I sometimes get so angry at people who don't like their parents (and I am not talking about those people who hate ABUSIVE parents), because I wish mine were around for me to fight with and love all over again - as a grown up...

8:34 PM  
Blogger Ben said...

Wow, what an experience for you! Clearly still strong after all these years...

3:07 PM  

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