Taylor, 8 months
I've been up nights lately, thinking a lot about my mom. As I lay down at night, eyes feeling heavy with impending slumber, I am jolted into a hyper-alert state thinking about the incredible, amazing woman who brought me into this world.
Sadly, I know little about her.
If she were here, what would we talk about? If I had not lost her at such a young age, how would I be different? If my daughter Marina--her namesake--could meet her, what would that be like? Uh...I'm going to go ahead and say weird. Meeting your dead grandmother would be weird. (But awesome. Absolutely, positively awesome. More awesome than anything awesome that has ever been described as awesome.)
Before you go calling her Mareena, Mariana, or anything else, let's get something straight: Marina is pronounced MA-RYE-NA. It rhymes with Carolina. And NOTHING ELSE. Carolina is the ONLY word that rhymes with her name.
Marina, three days old
Once when we were traveling in France together as a family, my mom woke up in the middle of the night and ate all of the croissants that were in our hotel room. Her excuse: What if someone came and took them? Right. You know, I did hear something about those pesky middle-of-the-night-hotel-room-croissant-snatchers. She used to smoke the occasional cigarette in the bathroom. PRIVATE TIME! MAMA NEEDS PRIVATE TIME! (I guess this is better than the alternative: Um, kid, you are driving me abso-frickin-lutley nuts and I need a smoke. Or Fifty. Now.) Her best friend got hit by a drunk driver and was paralyzed for life, so she threw her a party. She was on to something. (Hello people? Lets have fun for god's sake! Don't sit around being sad!)
She used to tell me that she loved me more than life itself. She used to sing Edelweiss from The Sound of Music and stroke the sides of my face, her rings cold against my cheeks. She used to say "Gee-Mah-Knee!" when she was laughing really hard on the phone with friends. (I used to think that Gee was a man, and that Mah Knee was his last name. Who was this Mr. Mah Knee? Did my dad know about him? Why was she talking to him so much?)
She left a man at the alter, colored her hair blonde, and loved the song "Cocaine." (Clarification: This was only because my brother listened to Eric Clapton a lot. She was not that hip.) She could boil water, toast a pop tart and pour a bowl of cereal like nobody's business. People who knew her well said she was one of the sweetest, most fun people on the planet. And the most incredible mother imaginable. Even after only nine years as her daughter, I can remember that.
Marina, age two
These are the random things I remember about my dear mother. My beautiful, incredible mother born Marina Harris Meade. My serene, kind mother taken suddenly from us on October 13, 1985. If she walked into the room at her would-be-age of sixty-seven, I probably would not know her. If she suddenly appeared on my doorstep, I would have no idea where to begin.
But if she did, we'd start by eating croissants. And smoking cigarettes. Hell, maybe even a whole pack. (I don't even smoke!) We'd laugh about Mr. Mah Knee and the poor guy at the alter while singing she don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie . . .
Maybe I'll see her again one day. Maybe we will share a drag and plan a party for no reason other than the fact that life is good if you want it to be. Or maybe, just maybe, she'll knock unexpectedly on my window one day and say to my then middle-school-aged-daughter: Marina, sweetheart, tell them you have no idea what they are talking about.
IT RHYMES WITH CAROLINA!
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