You are sooooooo right, baby . . .

You should . . .

People, there is a distinct difference between giving someone advice and giving someone an order. Advice is a suggestion and does not have to be taken. Especially when no one asked you for your lousy and let me repeat, u-n-s-o-l-i-c-i-t-e-d advice!

I pull into a parking spot at IGA to dash in for some sugar. Opening up the back door, I start to roll up the window while Jack waits for me to clip on his leash. I hear a woman's voice; straightening up, I look over the roof of my car. A woman is calling out to me from her car. Crossing the two empty spots between us, I come to her car where she tells me that I had better move MY car because she also has a dog in her car. Errr ... huh?!? (Two empty spots between us, remember?) Because I don't even want to try to figure of what the hell she's talking about, I explain that I'm taking the dog with me. 'Your dog is much too big to bring into IGA!' I look down at what I'm wearing, wondering if I left the house wearing a t-shirt that might say 'STOOPID' or something of that nature and for reasons that I can't explain, I continue the exchange with this deranged woman. 'I'm not taking him into IGA, I'm going to tie him up in the shade outside IGA,' I explain slowly, enunciating every word. 'You shouldn't do that if you're only going in for a short while - just leave him in the car and roll down all your windows,' she commands. I look up at the blazing sun and back down at her. 'It's too hot to leave a dog in the car on a day like today!' I walk back to my car and retrieve Jack, lock up the car and head to the store. Looking back, I notice she's glaring at me, as though I'd made her eat shit or something. She was still there, still glaring at me when I walked Jack back to the car after making my purchase. (Oh, she must make someone's life SO happy!)  For the record, the high today was 24°C (75°F). Then, factor in the humidity. Then, multiply all that by a hot, stinking car. And that's how I do dog math, stoopid lady!

I was reminded of my children's grandmother, who after bottle feeding 5 children of her own, thought she would teach me how to breastfeed Jordan (the second child I was nursing), who howled incessantly when we would visit every Sunday. She wasn't all too impressed when I didn't take her 'advice'. (For the record, he had a world record setting case of colic that lasted a blessed 5 1/2 month period and it wasn't 'my milk' making him cry. So there, Grandmaman!)

So, to summarize: go easy with the advice, people. It's nice to wait until yours is asked for, and then, be nice about how you offer it. But in the end, it's still advice ... and this being a free world, no one is obliged to take it. If you want to order someone around, get married. (Just make sure you're the wife!  *smirk*)

Time - a healer of nothing . . .

Today is the day my mother would have celebrated her 75th birthday. I say 'would have' because my mom passed away back when she was 48. I too am 48 now and cannot imagine leaving the world at this point in my life.

Back in 1999, I wrote about my mom, sharing it with very few people. I re-read it last night and realized that my sentiments haven't changed. I also decided to share it with you all. Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

I mourn my mother almost every day.

Reading that sentence, you would think her passing had only recently happened. The fact is my mother died way back 15 years ago. Still, there are days when it is as fresh as though it had happened only yesterday.

My mother was an amazing woman. I know most children believe that of their mothers but as an adult, I have come to realize the extent to which she truly was amazing. She was a wonderful daughter, wife, mother and a friend to many. Her involvement in her children's lives went beyond what I saw my friends' mothers do - bake sales, chaperoning all our school trips, helping with hair and make up at my ballet recitals, organizing wonderfully detailed birthday parties - the list goes on and on. My mother taught me a great many things that I have carried on into my adulthood, both through her words and her actions.

My mom was very demonstrative in her love and never needed an excuse to pass along a quick hug or kiss. A hand around your shoulders as she helped with homework or brushing a stray lock of hair from your eyes as she listened to you speak - her touch was everywhere. She was never too busy to help, listen or get involved in whatever required her attention; my mother was a firm believer in leaving the rest of the world to get along on its own because her kids would not be young and around the house forever.

My mother was the one who convinced my father that I was old enough to date and worked out a better curfew for me when my dad thought I should be in earlier than I wanted to be. Never was there a moment when I did not feel as though she was in my corner. Often, I would joke about becoming a mother myself and moving back home with 12 children in tow. My mom would laugh and say she would love it – and somehow I just knew she would have.

Then came the winter my mom was scheduled to be operated on - a routine procedure. My father and sisters and I sat and waited and finally, the doctor came. The news was completely unexpected and horrendous. My father insisted my mother not be told and my sisters and I numbly agreed with him. All the while, I wondered how my mom would look into my eyes and not know the truth.

The medical treatments came and went and my mom only got more and more sick. I went through a stage where I found any excuse to be away from the house - I could not bear to see her that way. Racing out of the house one day, I passed her on the front balcony and bent down for a quick kiss. She smiled and told me it was good that I was going out; that people my age did not need to be hanging around the house all the time. I stopped and our eyes met. I knew at that moment that she knew ... and that she knew that I knew. Nothing more was ever mentioned about it between the two of us.

Despite her illness, she managed to plan my older sister's bridal shower and wedding pretty much single-handedly. Everyone marveled at my mother but I was not surprised. This was my mom doing what my mom always did best, keeping things running smoothly for the rest of us. A good time was had by all and my mother was elated.

In the weeks following the wedding, my mother weakened considerably. Friends paraded through her room, saying their good-byes and my mom consoled each and every one of them. Finally, my father insisted she be allowed to leave the hospital and after obtaining the doctor's consent, she came home. Her final two days are almost a blur to me now - my sisters, father and I slept in shifts because although my mom was semi-comatose, we wanted someone to always be there for her. We did our crying elsewhere in the house, never near my mother. At one point, I lay down beside her - just to be near her as I had so many times before. I watched her sleep, thinking of happier times and without meaning to, I quietly began to cry. Her eyes suddenly opened - clear, focused and alert like they had not been in days. Her arm reached out and with strength I thought she no longer possessed, she pulled me close to her, soothing me as I wept. I fell asleep in her arms and when I awoke, my mom had returned to the way she had earlier been - curled up and seemingly no longer aware of any us.

I was the only one awake the morning she died. As my father lay sleeping at her side, I checked on her, taking her temperature and monitoring her pulse. Noting it was erratic, I pressed my ear to her chest and listened to her heartbeat as it faded, the sound seeming to sink deeper into her chest and farther away from me, until I could hear it no more. In a way, my mother and I had come full circle - she was there for my entrance into the world; I was there for her departure from it. She was finally gone and never before or since have I felt more alone.

With the passing of the years, I have been reminded of her on an almost constant basis - the yearly parade of birthdays, Mother's Days and Christmases all stream by, highlighting her absence; the sharp pang of envy I feel at seeing my friends with their own mothers. I wonder what my mom would think of the woman I’ve become - whether she would be proud, whether she would approve. I watch my own children and have moments of such frustration that my mother never lived to see their faces - especially the granddaughter who carries her name and looks startlingly like my mother.

Life goes on and it is said that time heals. Time heals nothing. Time is simply a space where you try to learn to deal with your pain, your sadness and the gaping hole in your heart. In the years since my mother's passing, I haven't healed from the loss. Instead, I have learned to accept the part of my heart that lies empty and will forever yearn for a few moments more with my best friend.