Friday Things // 11.27.20

The one after Thanksgiving.

Hi friends!

As I write to you, I’m sitting on my couch drinking coffee out of one of my favorite mugs (it’s from a bookstore in Brooklyn, Books Are Magic, in case you’re curious). I don’t know about you, but I’m a big mug person — I have what my husband would likely describe as too many, and am always on the hunt for a new one. It’s one of my favorite ways to capture a mood or a memory. 🤗

One of the last mugs I bought was back in February, for my mom. And it was from what I’d call my last * major * outing before the pandemic kicked us in the teeth. Randomly enough, it was to a taping of The Ellen DeGeneres Show; one of my close friends/college roomie had gotten tickets. Anyways, I remember wandering through the crowded gift shop waiting area at the show, trying to figure out what to buy my mom. She loved Ellen, mainly because she LOVED - all caps necessary - to laugh, more than anything. So, even though frankly my mom didn’t even drink hot coffee or most anything else you’d pour into a mug, I bought her a pink one that had “Be kind” written on it, which was also essentially my mom’s ethos. She loved it, which was unsurprising, because my mom loved everything and anything I gave her, and sat it next to her desk at home to hold her pens. I know this because I saw it there back in late July when I went to see her.

Now, if you follow me on social media or know me in IRL, then you already know what I’m about to say… That July, when I was in my mom’s house and saw the mug I’d given her — that was the last time I saw my mom.

Yesterday — Thanksgiving — marked four months since my mom passed away. Even just typing those words, they still do not seem real. While I don’t want this email to ever be a downer, I promised top of mind rambles for this newsletter, and this, my friends, is most top of mind for me on this sunshine-y Friday. Four months — it’s a blink, a blip, a flash in the pan in the greater construct of time, and yet.

And yet, it feels like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at the same time.

I won’t get into the how and why of my mom’s unexpected passing, but if you’re curious, you can read my essay for Medium about it. But what I will say is that grief is the sneakiest of thieves. It steals your sense of what is up or down, and peels apart your dreams, and throws the clocks against the wall. There is no time, there is no tomorrow or yesterday… there’s just when my mom was alive, and when she wasn’t. She was here, and then gone. I spoke to her on the phone just hours before she was unexpectedly intubated (put on a ventilator); I had no idea that would be the last call we’d ever have, the last time I’d ever hear her voice in real-time, or have her speak back to me and say she loved me.

I expected to feel this ever so viscerally yesterday, on my favorite holiday — the day where we would always sit around and say what we’re most grateful for, and stuff ourselves silly with my mom’s marshmallow topped-sweet potatoes, which she always made the same extra large aluminum tray of regardless of how many people were coming for dinner, four or 24. But……..I didn’t. For most of the day, I felt like it was any other day, no more special than Wednesday, or less normal than today.

To be honest, I was surprised. I suspect that pandemic life helped there, because it was an unusual holiday for the best of us, wasn’t it? And no matter where the calendar lands, I miss my mom, full stop. It wasn’t until around 10pm, when I probably should have already shoveled myself into bed after pizza (yup) and apple pie, that I started to cry, and let my mind wander into the “but why” territory, wondering the whys of it all, and upset I didn’t feel or see some obvious sign of my mom being near or watching over me. (Probably because I’m not clairvoyant, but, you know, whatever.) And so, I did what any self-respecting, basic millennial woman would do, and turned on the Taylor Swift concert on Disney Plus. (Because truly, why wouldn’t you listen to a 2-hour performance of possibly the most heart-aching album of 2020 at 11pm when you’re already sad?) And in case you’re wondering, yes, it’s wonderful. 10/10, fully recommend.

And as I finally crawled into bed, I did something I haven’t done in the last four months at all — I looked at my mom’s rarely used Instagram account. I don’t really know why, but I did, and I skimmed straight down to her first ever post, my eyes landing there on the grid because I noticed it was a photo of the two of us. (My mom only posted like twice a year, if that, so it was not hard to see post numero uno.) What I read caught me off guard, and you’d think after this year nothing would be surprising anymore, right?

The post was the two of us (with me having a bad hair day, but I digress…), with a caption about how much she loved and appreciated me… from exactly. four. years. ago.

It was posted Nov. 26, 2016.

I could not have predicted that or set it up if I’d tried. And the hashtag she’d used at the end was #iloveyoujoellealways.

Coincidence? Probably. Serendipity? Sure. But that… well, that felt like my sign, friends. 🌻

On hard days, and regular days, there is still good. There is still possibility. There are still signs of connection and truth and love out there. Sometimes you just have to want to see them. (Or listen to Taylor Swift for two-hours past your bedtime.)

Have a great weekend! I’m rooting for you. 💛

Joelle