The Year Without a Mommom

"If you are not living, if you have died, 

all the leaves will fall, 

if will rain upon my soul night and day, 

the snow will burn my heart, 

I shall walk with cold and fire and death and snow, 

my feet will want to march toward where you sleep, 

but I shall go on living, 

because you wanted me to..."

- Pablo Neruda, "La Muerta"

     Perhaps you've seen the very popular Christmas show from the 70s, "The Year Without A Santa Claus." Maybe you remember that Santa Claus decides to take a vacation during Christmas because he doesn't feel that people actually believe in him anymore. Or maybe you remember the argument the Heat Miser has with the Snow Miser in their popular duet. Or maybe you remember that Mrs. Claus attempts to make things right again. Or maybe you remember Jingle and Jangle, the reindeer, Vixen and their friend Iggy who are trying to make people believe again in Southtown. But for me, what I remember the most, is all the chaos when Santa Claus takes a vacation and how nothing seems right at all when this staple character just calls it quits suddenly. 

     Today, January 10th, 2017, marks the one year anniversary of my Mommom's sudden passing. It's been "The Year Without a Mommom." It's been a year of chaos since and there's been many Heat and Snow Misers, Jingles, Jangles, Vixens, Iggys and even multiple Mrs. Clauses. Over all this past year has been filled with people trying to make it right again. But the truth is, when the main character in your life takes a vacation, no one can actually it right again except the person themselves. 

     So many people have openly said that 2016 was the worst year of their lives. As I drove to our New Year's Eve gathering, Joe said something along the lines of, "A lot of people hated this year, but I didn't think it was that bad." To which I responded, more harshly than I ever would intend, "Yeah, but can you understand that for someone like, it was the worst. Ten days into 2016, I lost my best friend." There was silence after that as he put his hand on my shoulder and let tears drip down my face as we continued the drive. 

      Sunday, at Mass, I was overcome with sadness. I couldn't sing. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even go through the motions. I just silently sat at the end of the pew letting tears flow down my face and into one of the many giant, fluffy scarves I own. I was sad and I didn't want to be there. Not because I was mad at God - no, that was never the case. But rather because, last year on a Sunday, I was sitting in Mass, just a few hours before I would get the call that my Mommom was no longer with us. I kept thinking during Mass, what would I have done differently if I had known that in a few hours my Mommom would no longer be alive? Would I still go to the gym? Would I still waste hours driving down the highway to a friend's house? No, probably not. I know where I'd be - her house, with her, holding her hand for what might be the last time. 

       People say death changes you...the experience of death, that is. I've experienced death before and for the longest time, I felt that it helped me feel more. I would say that all the death I've experienced broke my heart open more and more. But nothing broke me more than the death of my Mommom. And to be honest, it changed me in a different way.

      

      She's in everything I do. She's the echo in the halls when I'm walking around school. She's in every quiet second I have. She's in every song on the radio. She's on every road I drive, every corner I turn, every bottle of wine in the wine store. She's in every corner of every room, every line of poetry, every drop of ink I write on every piece of paper. She is in every cup of coffee, every teaspoon of sugar, every ounce of flavor. She is in every tear and every smile. She's in every picture I take, every song I belt out pathetically in the car. She's on every mountain I climb, every waterfall I dance in, every single second of every day. By which I mean, I feel the emptiness of her presence in all this. 

      I haven't spent every moment of the past year in sadness, she wouldn't want that. I just can't help but feel the lack of her presence in every thing I do. I can't help but think that I would have laughed a little more on Thanksgiving, and snuggled a little more at Christmas. I would have made more desserts and more dinners for her. I would have dyed more eggs at Easter time, I would have sang more songs at the family reunion. I would have danced a little harder at every gathering I had with my friends. But something was missing.

     Now I know that many would agree, "Mommom is always with me." But she's not in the sense that I had been so used to for 23 years. I miss her hugs. I miss her smothering me with kisses. I miss her directing the show in the kitchen on the holidays. I miss the sound of her voice. I know she's here. I know I can always talk to her. But it's just not the same. Mommom's death changed me. It made me more conscious of who I am in relation to her - in so many senses, I am my grandmother's granddaughter. It made me okay with letting myself feel whenever I need to feel - when something reminds me of her and I feel sad, I don't hold back tears. It made me tougher - I'm not sure if I like it, but it made me tougher. It made me even more of a family girl - when I hang out with people, I want to hang out with their families, and as much as my family drives me crazy, I actually like when we sit around the table and roast the nearest human being. It made me more conscious of a lot of things, more than I can even mention here. Some people say that when you lose someone close like that you stop feeling. But for me, I think I started. 

     The year without a Mommom has been anything but easy. I've had so many happy moments, joyous ones, ones filled with laughter. Yet, her void has been felt in every second, of every minute, of every day. I miss everything about her from her shaking her head at me in complete misunderstanding, to her boisterous hugs and kisses, to her random Facebook comments. Mommom had the ability to always make me feel like I was important, that I had a fan club (a fan club of one, but still). She always knew what I was up to, always asked questions about my adventures or my latest interest, and supported me in everything I did. She would have known what I did on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and every weekend. She wouldn't ask what I was doing, but rather, she would ask about how it went. She'd ask, "how was class/soup kitchen/tutoring/school/Joe's?" She just knew what I was up to and made sure I knew she cared. 

      I miss that. I miss it because without her I've felt lonely. I've felt lonelier than ever, despite being almost always surrounded by people.  The felt of being lonely in a crowded room - a daily occurrence. And yet, here I am, sitting at my desk, with the sun shining directly on me. It's almost too bright for me to see the computer screen. Her love was like that - so bright, so obnoxious, so big, and so warm. I know it's her. I know she's with me always, of this I am sure. But that doesn't mean some days are harder than others and some days I just want to cry because I miss her. She was a beautiful woman who loved so much and I hope, if there's one thing I do with my life, it's love as greatly as she did. How rare and beautiful it is, truly to exist! 

Til Death Do Us Part: Fifty Years Strong

"I never thought we'd make it this far, 

given the track record of our parents and family.

But we made it and I am so blessed.

God, I love this man."

- Mommom Reichardt

      Marriage. It's something I don't know too much about, right? I'm not married now, nor will I be in the near future if ever, to a man on this earth. I am twenty years old and so, that's expected. However, at twenty years old, my grandmother, Evelyn, was already married for two years, had a baby and another on the way. Apparently, to get married at 18 was a huge scandal in the Catholic Church back in 1963. But although her father couldn't walk her down the aisle because of this, she still went and married my grandfather. And for fifty, long years they have been married. It's been a tough road, but they still made it. They took that vow, "til death do us part" pretty seriously, and I couldn't be any more proud of my grandparents.

     Yesterday, a few members of our extended Reichardt family gathered in honor of my grandparents. There was food everywhere, kids everywhere, love everywhere. Oh and plenty of "tweetable" moments. However, the real party didn't start til my Mommom and Poppop walked through the door to see a crowd of people standing there. Although the beans had been spilled to my Poppop, my Mommom was still surprised. From that moment, it was a loud, hustling, bustling party. When half the family is Italian, that kind of happens. 

      Half way through the party, my Mommom's best friend pulled me aside and asked if I could sing for her. Clare asks me every single time I see her if I would sing for her. I usually always say no. I usually just can't sing on the spot; I get, too nervous. Yet, this time, she wanted me to do it for my grandmother. And so, a half hour later, Clare made an announcement that something big was going to happen. So, I stood there, in the corner of my aunt's kitchen and sang "Wing Beneath My Wings" by Better Midler (yes, I know who she is....) for my grandparents. When I finished my extremely shaky and falsetto performance, I took the deepest breath. What did my grandmother have to say? "That was the first time I've heard you sing in over three years." 

      It was true, once I graduated grade school, I stopped solo performances except at the bi-annual family reunion. Once I graduated high school, I stopped altogether. Performing vocally actually makes me sick to my stomach nervous. It always has and it probably always will. Even when I sing at church (every.single.Sunday.) I have to put myself through mental preparation to get the nervousness to go away. It never really does. But whenever I sing for my grandmother, those feelings always seem to go away. If I can make eye contact with her in a huge crowd, I will be fine. She has always been my support and always will be.

      For years, my Mommom has always had a subtle hint of support for the religious life future for me. It has never actually been brought up with that side of the family, since religion is such a sore topic, but every so often, when it's just me and Mommom, she will say, I think you're deep faith is beautiful and I wish I had that or I support you if that's the future you might want. For years, up until yesterday, I really thought my grandmother was Evangelical still. Having grown up in that faith, she often brought up what church was like for her as a kid. My grandfather is Catholic, and honestly, the only time I have seen them in a church in my life time was for our Baptisms, Communions, Graduations, and Confirmations. I'm pretty sure they aren't practicing Catholics. Yet, there was always something in my Mommom, that if I was up and needed to go to church, she'd take me. I always thought this was strange. 

       If she was Evangelical, wouldn't it be weird for her to be in a Catholic Church? Why wasn't Poppop taking me to church? I just never understood it as a kid. What I also didn't get was how my Mommom seemed to be the most understanding of the "nun thing." How did she seem to understand more than any of my Catholic family members? How come she was always more than willing to pray Night Prayer with me and the sisters over Skype? How come she was the most excited to meet my "nun friends"? None of this made any sense to me until last night when I was looking through the photo album with my Great Aunt Bunny (her real name is Mildred Olga....).

       Someone had brought all the wedding photos from fifty years ago of my Grandparent's wedding. I had already fallen in love with their actual wedding picture, but being a lover of "old" photography, I quickly fell in love with each of the photos I was holding in my hand. I asked my Aunt Bunny why she wasn't the Maid of Honor and she said because she wasn't Catholic. I didn't know that was a thing back then. She then added that it was because of that reason, my Mommom converted to Catholicism..... SHE WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Imagine my shock when all my life, I grew up thinking that my Mommom was evangelical and had no idea how the Catholic Church worked. Yeah...I was wrong for a good twenty years. Good job, Bec, I congratulated myself. Good job! It all suddenly made sense. 

       I looked back on everything with this new view of my Grandmother. As I watched my grandparents interact throughout the night, it was easy to say, my Mommom was a woman of class as she followed so many "well-known" party protocol. She was also a woman of devotion both to her husband, her children, her grand-children and the rest of her family. She was also devoted to breaking the stereotype and plague of divorce in the family. But finally she was a woman of love and deep faith. I also saw her as a woman of faith, but even more so now. I was literally in so much shock!

       In addition to learning something new about my grandparents, I was so blessed to watch them stuff cake in each other's faces, kiss after their "testimony" of marriage and enjoy the family. My grandparents literally gave me so much hope that marriage can defy odds. Even as they were growing up, they lived in a culture of divorce. Yet, they made it fifty years. FIFTY LONG YEARS! We live in a culture of divorce now, where it's strange to say I live with both my mom and dad. But if they can defeat the odds, so can my generation. They are the example of what it takes to make marriage work. And I couldn't be more proud to be called their granddaughter! 

      Congrats on Fifty Years Mommom and Poppop! Here's to another fifty! Til death do you part! 

Aren't they still precious?!

Aunt Bunny!

Clare!

Oh and then this one...where my best friend looks like my grandfather. WEIRD!