Memories on my mom's birthday

My mom would've been 69 today.  I posted something on my Facebook account and had a couple friends post what they remembered about her and times when we were young, and I thought, "Why not put some more of those in a blog?"

1. I miss her homemade potato salad.  Julie and Brigitte have tried--but it isn't the same.
2. I miss harassing her about eating bacon grease sandwiches.
3. I miss the 12:01am call on my birthday and how she'd sing to me.
4. I didn't appreciate enough her willingness to have 4-8 teenage boys over on Fridays or Saturdays in the basement, playing loud music, being loud and playing games--and graciously buying pizza and pop.
5. I loved that when we visited Davenport, she still got excited when we got together and did stuff at The House.
6. I loved that she was always wanting to know how my friends were doing--not out of nosiness, but because she cared--but that sounds unfair towards their parents and that isn't the intent because my friends' parents all care about me and the other friends as well.
7. I loved that after my parents' divorce, they still were a united front when dealing with the incompetent administration at my high school (the original Satan's School on Earth, now renamed Rivermont).  Having taught, I've seen that many divorced couples don't do that for their children.
8. I loved that if my mom made a mistake, she owned up to it...except for the fact that she never ever ever punished my sister as harshly as she punished me.
9. I remember going into Taco John's with her when I was 19, placing the order, and having the worker assume it was 'to go'.  Oh, no.  It was just us....of course, those were the days when I had a metabolism!
10. Oh the arguments about her giving the kids ice cream three meals/day when they were in Davenport on vacation. 
11. I remember Julie was so nervous the first time she met my parents.  My mom saw her pull up in the car, when she got up to the house, she opened the door and gave Julie a big hug and treated her like family right away.
12. I miss arguing with my mom.  Nice, big arguments--loud, raucous.  And the best thing?  When it was done, it was done--you don't carry it in to the next argument, you don't take it out on someone else.
13. My mom always worked extra hours on holidays like Christmas, so that once we were in college, we celebrated at weird times.  What she never told anyone was that she took that extra OT money and bought presents for kids and patients at the hospital.  Everyone talks about giving--but to know that she did this and avoided ANY attention for doing it made me so proud of her.
14. I miss watching horror movies with her--the more gore the better.  I watched one this weekend (No One Lives) and I know she would've loved it/laughed hysterically.
15. I remember watching Borat with her and needing to pause the movie when she peed her pants.
16. For her last birthday, I drove up to the Quad Cities, bought her a movie (The Departed...she liked gangster movies, too) and Steak and Shake, and spent that evening just talking and watching the movie.
17. I think she loved her grandchildren more than she did anyone else.
18. Until she died, I don't think I realized how much she was hurt/saddened when my grandparents died.  I get that now.
19. I always liked that if my friends came over, once we were over 18, she'd treat them as equals.  I loved that my mom didn't give a crap how rich you were, what your job was--she judged you on how you treated her, the family, and people in general.
20. My mom was always proud of her strength.  As a nurse, she was able to lift 250+lb patients without assistance.  And her skill--she never, not once, had to try a second time with a needle on a patient.  Twenty or more years--perfect record.  I dare you to find a nurse that good.
21. I remember my 21st birthday, right after my Dad had died really.  The best gift--she handed me the keys to her car and said, "Have a good day".  That car was a 25th anniversary edition Mustang convertible.  Me and Erik Johnson drove that all over the place.  Of course, I also let his little sister Patty go for a ride in it, too.
22. I remember singing to the 8-track of Elton John on the way to/from school as a little kid.
23. Never compromise your values for anyone.  Pity people who think money can buy everything.  No better advice ever.

It still sucks four years down the road--but I think some of what bothers me is how much gets forgotten, the small stories.  Do her friends still think of her?  That doesn't really matter-- I think about her every day.  So does my sister, and no one truly dies until all memory of them are forgotten, and I'll try to make sure that never happens.

1965 Mustang--almost thereeeeeee.....

So the Mustang is almost done.   "What Mustang?" you ask.
Well, the one I purchased with money my mom left me and made me promise to spend on something silly.  Since Mom loved Mustangs, I purchased a 1965 Mustang.  In decent shape, it needed some professional work--replacing some rust and needing a pro paint job. 

I wound up taking it to Heartland Classics in Effingham.  Not relevant to the Mustang, but they have an insanely amazing collection of old, 'classic' vehicles available to purchase, so that when the last Dietz kid clears college, I WILL get myself another Mustang.  Mmmmm....mmmmm...

Originally, the car looked like this:

It was a nice wine/burgundy color with a black interior, but the previous owner went for a crappy paint job and with the fake restoration stuff on the inside.  I liked the color, but decided to go with one of the original 1965 options for Mustangs--> Cobalt Blue.

Wait?  You say the sun is in the way?  Well--let's try a different photo of the greatest sports car ever designed in America.

You can also see where the twin white stripes are in the process of going...

Obviously, there's still work to go--especially since they are putting four-point safety units in for the driver and passenger, and did I mention a real sound system attached to a USB/iPod port (hidden in the ashtray)?

The last thing you can't see--Heartland was great to me.  Before they did the paint job, I took a vial of my mom's ashes and Pete's ashes, and asked if they could please mix those in with the paint--some people get thrown into the sea...but that didn't seem right.  So now--they are part of the hood...wherever the car goes, they are in the lead.

Still on pace--and still coming in on/under budget...right now, I can not recommend Heartland's work enough.  Six weeks to go and then I'm going to drive in styleeeeee.

Dear Mom (open letter, maybe one of many)

Dear Mom,

I keep wondering since it's been a long time now since we were able to sit and talk--almost 10% of my life now spent without you around--but, are you proud of me?  Am I doing all right?
I suppose I know the answer, and I know how Julie would respond.  I know how the kids would respond, and I know what Pete would've said, though he's been gone now 16 months, too.  I can hear you, "You're fine, honey.  Are you happy?  You should be because Julie is great and the kids are wonderful.  If you're happy, then screw everyone else."

Hah--I know you would've said some more though: "Though it would be nice if you guys tidied up the house more.  I swear, the kids are slobs, and the clutter is through the roof."  Yeah, two of the three kids are messy--but is that any different than we were as kids?  Do you remember Debbie having a glass in her room that got crusted over with mold-stuff?  Hah--I do.  I remember you letting me just stack clean clothes on the floor, as long as they were in my room--it was my room and I could do what I wanted.  I appreciated that.  It's why our upstairs looks like Ground Zero--because we've handled their rooms like you handled ours.

You do realize that we've done a ton of things in the spirit of what you taught me, right?  We didn't push Erick into engineering, nor either him or Brigitte into studying abroad.  They wanted to and we let/are letting them.  That was scary, but you were gone by then.  

I guess that's why I'm writing--you knew you were dying, didn't you?  That's the heart of it.  I know you had COPD.  You said there were stages, but I trusted you to tell me everything--and you didn't.  I know now you were 'end-stage' and what that means.  You were a nurse, the best possibly to ever walk the halls of Mercy/St. Luke's/Genesis East and West, and on a pulmonary unit, you would've seen those cases for years.  Bronchial drugs, your body burning its fat for daily needs, and oxygen assistance to get up and down a flight of stairs or to merely walk into a grocery store.  I know you knew and I wish you would've just told me.

Then again, you did, didn't you?  It's why you brought a couple of sentimental things down to us.  It's why you made the pointed comment about if you died while Erick was in Poland that he was not to be brought back for a funeral.  The end point for the last stage of COPD is four years tops--see, I've learned.  I know when you started losing weight even when you didn't want to.  I can do the math.  You were probably in Year Four already when you came for that last visit, weren't you? 

You knew and didn't say anything, damn it.  I'm still upset by that, but you know what's worse?  Realizing you did it to not upset me, as well as the fact that if we reversed places, I would've done the exact same thing you did.  So here I am, still upset three years later, even though I would've done the same thing, made worse because I'm upset--why?  Because I'm glad you did what you did.  Telling me would've ruined my memories of that last week, your last visit with you and Pete.  It was an amazing week--laughing at Zombieland, you finding that you liked playing Pandemic (a geeky boardgame!), and those baby e-trade commercials and finding crap on YouTube.

The goodbye was wonderful, too.  If you're going to have last words from a parent, I think "I love you so much" is the best possible thing to hear, even if you already know your mom feels that way.  And I hope you know that I love you still.  I hope you saw that in the values we've tried to share with the kids, how we put family above everything, that I am honest with everyone, that I will not compromise my ethics--you taught me well.  All of that was wrapped up in those last three words I said to you: I love you.

I'll write more soon, but I've got volleyball, writing, and Jolly Roger stuff to do, and then get Brigitte from school when they are done with senior assembly...three days of class remaining until she is done with her senior year.  Time goes so fast.

Love,

Your son.