My earliest memory of her was of her bringing me a toy plastic car because I was sick and she wanted to make me feel better. There’s other, probably, earlier memories, but that’s the one that sticks out. I was probably around three or four years old. I had that car for years until it got smooshed and flattened, like Godzilla had stepped on it. That’s how she was, quick with a gift, or a smile, or a loving touch. Generous, some times to a fault, but happy to help friends and strangers a like. Her last job had been with Catholic Community Services helping elderly with shopping, housework and such. She didn’t need the pay, often buying groceries for her clients with her own money, but I think she needed the work, to get out of the house and do something, and be needed.

Mom was a large personality in a small frame. Maybe five foot tall, with blonde hair and really light blue eyes. We’re not blood related, but one could almost see a gene relation between us, that Irish/German looking DNA. Unusual fact, she was adopted too like me, although, I don’t know anymore than that. Grandma and Grandpa were very Irish, something she would always wear proudly. She loved being a Kirkpatrick and she loved her city. She was a typical city girl, growing up in northeast Seattle and proud to be a Roosevelt Bear. For most of any given day, she had a spark to her with a good energy. Mostly positive, but with an edge you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Never around her friends or acquaintances would she show that edge, instead always smiling. She had this annoyed look she could throw you… She’d be in charge even though she’d let dad, and everybody else, think that he was.

A lot of folks who lived through or right after the depression became very frugal, but mom, who’s father came back from France and WWI to drive a city bus, an unassuming profession for a simple guy, liked to spend. Not on fancy stuff like cars or jewelry, but on making sure her kids didn’t want for much. Her first new car was a Ford Taurus in 1989, hardly the car to keep up with the Jones’. Dad came from a poor family with four other kids, so I think he was the more frugal one. I can’t remember ever going without, certainly for anything we really needed. They both worked hard for what they had, both with a strong work ethic.

Her mom came and went out of her life several times leaving her dad to fend for himself with the kids, which explained mom’s deep love for her father, and men in general. It also explains her always keeping her own mother at arms length throughout, at least, my life. That’s not to say she didn’t have a ton of girlfriends because she did, owing to that super social type of person she was. It may, however, explain why my brother and I had very different relationships with mom than my sister did. Actually, he and I had different relationships with her as well. Mothers and daughters, sons and fathers, there’s a lot of psychology there. I often feel we, her kids, let her down in some way, her expectations high with our goals not as lofty, us landing somewhere in middling land.

She used to like to joke about having to give dad several chances while dating. He kept running out of gas on their dates and she almost broke it off. I never saw them “in love”, her and dad. I know there was love there, great love, but not sure there was ever that romantic love between them, almost like they had settled and got each other as a consolation prize, and love developed over time. Maybe most kids of my generation never really see that side of their parents. I hope not. Even so, after 40+ years together, they completed each other in a weird way. It certainly wasn’t for her cooking. That woman’s idea of a fancy dinner was dry pork chops baked in cream of mushroom soup with a side of frozen peas, maybe a dish of canned peaches on the side. I can’t imagine cooking ever made her happy, and, maybe, that was what came out in her culinary skills. She did make this really good pizza. The crust was her own, soft, limp and chewy with a floury taste. With canned sauce and any varying assortment of toppings she had on hand. it came out pretty good. Bacon was her favorite add, mine too. How ever this motley concoction came together it made for a great Sunday night coupled with The Wonderful World of Disney and Knight Rider.

There’s part of a joke from one of my favorites comedians that I often repeat, “I don’t judge, I’m not my mother.” My mom didn’t judge, not in that she would actually make it obvious she was being judgey. You could tell, though, when the judgement wheels were turning. She didn’t judge, but, man, could she never forget! Ten years later she’d bring up some stupid shit you did that required her to bail you out. Usually, right when you ended up in the same predicament and needed help. She had some habits one could judge her on. A lifelong smoker who wouldn’t quit, even after dad had half his lung removed from cancer caused by, smoking. She’d go on to smoke another 13 years, right up until the end. Growing up you could always tell where in the house mom was by the clinking of ice bouncing in a glass, any hour of the day. Whiskey and water, tall glass, lots of ice, the drink of choice, cigarette slow burning nearby, filling the air with blue smoke. She was more of a daily maintainer on drinking, definitely not a binger, not drinking to get buzzed. She would have some end of day moods that could stop you in your tracks.

Dad died unexpectedly in 2003. She lived with a broken heart for, almost, another six years. Scared to die, while not sure she wanted to live, she succumbed to one illness after another: stroke, heart attack, broken hip…until, finally, she couldn’t hold on any more. She died in the middle of the night, in a care facility, mostly alone. There was no way to get her home, where she would have preferred to spend her last days and moments, and no way for any family to stay with her. I will always hate that. She passed way too early…they both did.

I didn’t get this out in time for mother’s day. Forgive me…(she’s binging that up again!) Too much going on.

If your mom is still with us, give her a hug from me. If she’s passed on, make sure to keep her in your heart.

Stay safe. Stay sane. Thank a nurse…and, as always, play more games.