MY MOTHER KICKS ASS

In these moments where my mother's fate is still uncertain, dangling precariously in that ICU in Idaho... I gotta write something about her.

Normally I don’t like to drop cuss words or “work blue” when I’m speaking in my show-voice, but for her sake, I’m just gonna let loose. So fair warning, this essay contains some language you might not be used to hearing from me, depending on where you know me from.

Let's start with a story:

Despite being from the East Coast, I got married in the middle of rural Nebraska; a little town called Ponca (population < 1000). I made this decision for the sake of my wonderful partner Sam and, if I'm being honest, that gracious family of hers that agreed to pay for it. I knew getting anyone to sit on my side of the church was gonna be a challenge, and I was right because only TWO people showed up for me - my best friend Geoff, and my mom.

At the time, mom had just gotten a tumor scooped out of her skull. The stitches were still fresh and she wore a wig. Nonetheless, she spent 3 days, bouncing around on Greyhound buses, so she could reach that tiny Nebraska town, and her voice was the loudest "MAZEL TOV!" when I broke the glass at the end.

My mom kicks ass.

My mom's beaten cancer twice. She's been fighting demons and bastards most of her life. Some fights were closer than others, but mom's always gotten the parting shot, usually followed with a cringe-inducing joke that she was also the first to laugh at.

(My mom's favorite comedian is my mom, although I suspect she's swiped at least some of her material from back when Comedy Central used to show like 18 hours of stand-up a day.)

Mom regularly turned poverty into plenty, and produced nurturing from nothing. She could still do everything - EVERYTHING - a mother can reasonably be expected to do, excellently, with grace, love, and enthusiasm, even when all we had to live in was a beat-up old hatchback.

Oh yeah, that little incident.

My mother apologized for that time in my life, profusely. I didn't ask her to, she just did. And, she needn't have bothered - I can't forgive what I didn't feel wronged by.

Yes, it was entirely her rash split-second decisions that had us wandering Maryland in a Chevette for a couple months. Yes, I ended up going to like 4 different schools that year, none of which was the Academy For Visual & Performing Arts (which I worked very hard to get into, was accepted, and lost my spot because of this little incident). Yes, all of that is true. And yet, I only remember it as the best adventure I ever went on. My real education was in the lessons it taught me: always travel light, people are more important than things, and it is always - ALWAYS - an option to exit an abusive environment.

Life might force you to take some shit from time to time, but if there's literally any other option available, then that's the better one. Beyond its rank odor and terrifying gaze, lies a greater hope than the soul-draining status quo of assumed expectations and demanding pricks.

And that was just her pushing back against my stepfather, who was nowhere near the villain my dad was.

Maybe “villain” is too strong a word. Let’s go with “unrepentant prick”.

Mom had to fight uphill against the critiques and obstructions of a cowardly and lecherous hypocrite, for those few choice moments that proved her strength of character far exceeded the judgments made against her; judgments made by a man with every possible advantage over her - financial, social, intellectual - yet still felt so threatened by her strength that he simply HAD to villainize her to her own children - HIS own children - because demonstrating even a fraction of her fortitude was outside his grasp.

Sure, my mom's not winning any Mother Of The Year contests. Mostly because she was too busy to go to the tryouts. Raising two boys on poverty wages and public assistance. Or, y'know, just watching some trashy talk show, with a bowl of pistachios and a doob. She earned a break and her back hurts, fuck off.

The men who speak ill of my mother, do so because she wasn't theirs to control. A tumble in the hay is all well and good, Johnny Mustache, but if you demand her unquestioning loyalty, she'll burn every bridge between you and her, even if all the food and equipment was on your side - because she may need sustenance, but she doesn't need it from YOU.

The men blessed by her loyalty didn't command it... they showed gratitude for it. And they knew just how much they had to be grateful for.

If she loves you, you’ll get the world for a smile.

I still maintain that the reason my mom struggles to put on more than 120 pounds is because she's always so damn quick to give of herself. Whether or not she has anything left to give is besides the point. When her last husband died and left her money, she didn't think twice about sharing it with my brother and myself, and we wouldn't have blamed her if she kept every penny, or even if she blew the entire thing on dope and casinos. We never asked for it, she just gave - that is just who she is.

The people who condemned her often gave sermons about her grace and generosity without even knowing it. She not only practiced what she preached, she practiced what the hypocrites preach; in a sane world, those chatty turds would be ashamed of how poorly they treated people like my mom, even as they held her effortless disposition up as an unattainable ideal.

My mom is proof that the truly righteous are not necessarily strangers to a sailor's capriciousness, lust, sense of adventure, or fucking vocabulary.

I miss her every day she isn't around; paradoxically she created in me such a spirit of independence that missing her is my default state of emotion. Another example of her top-notch mom powers; her life's lesson was always one of impermanence, and aligning with this philosophy, she created in me a love for her that transcends her physical presence. She raised me so well that I no longer need her; obviously this is counter to her own desires, and further proof (if it truly be needed at this point) that in all things, she always knew what was the right thing to do, and had the courage to do it no matter what.

She’s pulled through so much. Even THIS.

As I finished writing that last paragraph, I’d just gotten word that Mom woke up. She wasn't expected to be awake and alert for at least a couple days, and yet she's laughing and telling her bad jokes and singing silly little songs to console me while I'm bawling my fucking eyes out. This is just par for the course when it comes to mom. She's a tough, TOUGH cookie.

When the worst finally does happen, I'll know it's because she went down swinging and cursing. I know some day she'll drive an ‘89 Chevette beyond the Rainbow Bridge so she can get a long-table full of warriors and conquerors to buy her drinks, cackle loudly at her own jokes, and brag to Heimdall & Thor about Kyle's tomato garden.

Frankly, Valhalla will have earned HER.