a few more kindnesses

Homemade jams...lots of it.

Homemade lemon cookies and banana bread muffins...all gluten free...lots of 'em.

A 7th floor dressing room to help work off the grief diet.

Le Petit Prince.

Surprise gifts and visits from wonderful colleagues of yesteryear.

A great paycheck that is making the retail therapy possible.

And this is a longer one. One of my mother's final wishes was that she be cremated in scrubs. (As I said, the nurses treated their waning compatriot with great love and respect.) My nephew bought the scrubs. Before they were put on the Nana, my sister-in-law washed them...so they would be soft.

PS

Not to worry. My posts will get perky jerky again soon. Just not yet.

But stick with me until then. It's sure to get bitter before it gets better.

word

of warning to those who have not yet joined "The Dead Parent Club."

Although it is doable, I don't recommend it.

I have yet to find an upside.

It, in a word, sucks.

That's all.

a first

Now, I know, I KNOW I'm only an offstage cover, but my show had its first preview last night.

And traditionally, before the first performance, I'd get a phone call from the Nana wishing me luck or break a leg (but not really). Or the post show review tell-alll would happen.

Neither.

It's the little things that just fucking rip your heart out and stretch it to the point of irretrievability.

But then I emailed my ob/gyn (you know...the singing one who loved PRISCILLA) and I felt a wee bit better.

It's the little things...

and more...

The incredible field hockey player from high school (that this drama geek never hung out with) who offered to pick me up and drive me anywhere during Nana's hospitalization.

The gentle barrage of "what do you need."

Nana letting me fuss over her...in my way. I am by nature not a fusser.

Nurses remembering to keep Nana's feet uncovered.

Strangers to Nana who sent her presents.

Journey juju.

Candle communication.

Stage manager offering to man my phone as we thought we were coming towards the end.

Bereavement day do-overs.

People respecting my wish not to be hugged or fussed over. I freakin' hate booboo face.

Chiropractic cries.

Nana's clarity over bequeathments. Damn, did that save additional heartache.

A beautiful photo album from a beautiful friend.

Having to rehearse for a missing colleague the day after Nana's death. Amazing how the juxtaposition of such events made everything fall into place and still make no sense. Enlightening.

more kindnesses

The lovely EMT who instructed me to tell every health professional Nana came in contact with that she had been an RN. She would get special treatment that way. And they would also know she would be a terrible patient because she wouldn't want to trouble anyone.

Health professionals speaking to Nana with equality and respect...and at times awe.

Blankets and pillows for my barcalounger.

Hand-holding.

Frank conversations (as if I ever have anything but).

The ridiculously joyous dialysis technician reminiscent of Hank Azaria in "The Bird Cage."

Gentle, enlightened responses to emails and texts intended for others. (Oh, this happened more than once.)

i don't know how to write this

not because it's unwritable...but because I'm in tech and supposed to be in the theater from noon to midnight. We don't have internet connection there...I feel a bit like Laura Ingalls...Little Dressing Room on the Prairie.

But I want to list some kindnesses...and I'm going to start now and post them as they come to me.

The nice lady who drove me from the Shoreline East train stop to emergency care.

The nice EMT who said, "Yes, this is one of the times you should stay with your mother in the I.C.U. They won't mind."

DLC's beautiful "Old Friends"--the only music Nana liked her first night in the I.C.U. (Truth be told I skipped over Where've You Been.)

Catered lunches.

A stage manager wise and wonderful enough to let me go a little early a few days a week so I could more easily do overnights in New Haven.

Candy at rehearsals.

cards. Cards. CARDS!!!!

i don't know how to write this

because it feels almost unwritable. i can say it. i've been saying it for two weeks. it's the writing...

my mom died.