The world needs heroes.
I crawled out of bed, probably resembling a decaying corpse, resurrecting from the grounds of a cemetery a la Night of the Living Dead. I fixed myself a cup of tea and plopped down on the couch. With a head of hair like Einstein, I took a sip. My house was empty. Quiet. I looked around my living room. Typically this time of year my mother would have had the whole house decked out in Christmas decorations. Our tree was always very early 90's chic with multi-colored christmas lights, clashing tinsel, homemade ornaments with missing pieces, chipped baubles, and I'm pretty sure we have a painted gingerbread ornament that my brother took a bite out of when he was 6. Shocker. She was never one to throw away an ornament... or a string of lights for that matter. She insisted on a tree every year despite being incredibly allergic to them. It was this time of year that my mother would rock pink, puffy eyes and a pink, stuffy nose. ...and yet she'd sit by that tree and read a book every night.
No decorations this year. No tree. I just sighed and stared into space. White.
Has the tradition and sentiment completely left my life?
It was a few months after my mother's death that I went in search of sentiment. I looked through crumbling cardboard boxes for all my old toys and baby clothes. I wanted something that would make me feel like she was near. Something that would give me a memory for comfort. I just needed something to physically hold on to to feel her love. When my efforts were fruitless I got angry with her. Why didn't she save me anything? Why did she throw away these things that would have eventually been keepsakes, somethings, for me? I never understood why she would save EVERY single one of her gas receipts but not even keep her wedding dress. What kind of a mother...
Shortly after my quest for something, I received an email out of the blue from one of my mother's friends. My mother's friend had fallen on hard times around Christmas time. I can picture it now. My mom probably did a mental inventory of what my brother and I no longer played with and offered it up to her. My mom gave away our nintendo and various video games to make someone's hard times tolerable.
As time went on, more and more people came out of the woodwork to tell me the things my mother had donated to them to help them get by...
It was two weeks ago that a coworker mentioned to me she'd met someone that knew my mom. I was all ears. I love stories about her. The coworker said to me, "She said that your mom was an amazing woman. So kind and lively." ...tell me something I don't know. "She said that when she told your mom she was pregnant, your mother gathered up all your baby clothes and gave them to her to help her out. She loved them. They were all English-styled and hand-made. She couldn't believe how generous and kind your mother was."
...the baby clothes. My mother, my sweet mother, gave those to someone who needed them. That was so her. She was so giving. She never hesitated to give.
It brought a tear to my eye.
That's where all the somethings went. She made them somebody else's somethings. She probably knew that she'd loved me enough that I'd never need those things to feel her with me. I realize this now.
My mom was a hero. She was my hero. She was their hero. She gave and gave... and gave. These are the people the world needs. We need these heroes...no matter how small. We need more Rosies.
I got off the couch. I was sick of feeling sorry for myself. I was missing her. I was missing the girl I used to be before she got sick. I missed smiling more. I missed being on stage. I missed performing. I missed writing. I missed my music. I missed my confidence. I was sick of hurting. I was sick of the news about the tragedy in Newtown. I was sick of my broken heart...
Last night I drove to Walmart on a mission. I want to be a hero....no matter how small. I picked up a toy for a girl and a toy for a boy and drove to a Toys for Tots drop-off. As I placed them in the bin I said in my head, "These are from Mamma Rosie." She's apart of me. Through me she still lives. I can be a hero.
I may not have a tree this year. I may not even necessarily have a Christmas. But... the sentiment is still there. When you have a mom like Rosie. It's never lost.
Tomorrow will be covered in white. Lots of it. With all the snow... and no place to go... I hope you all smell what I'm cooking here. Go shovel your neighbor's driveway. Scrape the ice off a friend's windshield. If you're fun... go stop by a snowed in neighbors house with some peppermint schnapps and hot cocoa. ;) ...I don't know how heroic that last one is but... haha.
It's time to be heroes. ...no matter how small.
Merry Christmas.
DB
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