{"id":4121,"date":"2025-03-11T07:37:52","date_gmt":"2025-03-11T14:37:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/?p=4121"},"modified":"2025-02-20T11:00:49","modified_gmt":"2025-02-20T18:00:49","slug":"unintentional-memories","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/2025\/03\/11\/unintentional-memories\/","title":{"rendered":"Unintentional memories"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Mom and Gram, sometime in the early 1980s.<\/p><\/div>\n

She was asleep when I walked in. The nurse said they were purposely keeping her unconscious. Still, as I looked at the broken body that was my mother, I could see her wincing in pain. No one knew if she would ever wake up again.<\/p>\n

My home is 1,725 miles from hers. I sent an email to family of my arrival, only realizing then, I had no contact information for my nephew. We hadn\u2019t spoken since shortly after my grandmother\u2019s funeral 13 years ago.<\/p>\n

My mother raised David after my sister abandoned him at 16 months old. He was my little brother and nothing else mattered right now. The head-on collision had erased the chasm between us. We texted briefly after my cousin gave me his number. He offered to pick me up at Newark Airport. <\/p>\n

I climbed into his monstrous pickup and wondered how much silence would dominate the 90-minute drive to my hometown. He was worried I hated him. I wondered if he was still racist and bigoted. We found our answers before we even exited Newark Airport. In between catching up, there were lots of \u201cyou stupid bastard, learn how to drive\u201d and \u201ccome on, what the fuck are you doing?\u201d because, of course, we are the only ones who truly know the proper way to drive.<\/p>\n

We spoke until just before sunrise. He cried. \u201cYou used to take me everywhere and we\u2019d do all sorts of fun shit and I didn\u2019t appreciate it and I\u2019m sorry.\u201d I refrained from correcting his run-on sentence. Eventually, the words, \u201cDavid. Stop. Stop apologizing. We\u2019re good,\u201d tumbled from my brain and out of my mouth.<\/p>\n

We were no longer those struggling people of a decade ago. I was diagnosed with PTSD, a result of severe childhood trauma. He was, understandably, an angry young man. His parents abandoned him and refused to admit his existence. We shared our common experience of being abandoned by our fathers and how that shaped a part of who we are. Mom did her best to teach us to be honest and good. <\/p>\n

The first time I saw her after the accident, silence controlled the room. Her eyes fluttered. She tried to focus. Was she awake? No, well, maybe. There was no way to tell if she comprehended anything we said. Aunt Elaine and Uncle Dick, her brother and sister, had been there every day since the accident. They sat in silence. They spoke to her. They worried.<\/p>\n

Bruises \u2013 red, blue, black, and purple \u2013 littered themselves across her body. The broken bones are too numerous to list. A special surgeon repaired all the tiny bones in her right wrist. We all worried whether she would be able to crochet again. I thought of the blue and pink and white blanket she made me, which has been on my bed the better part of three decades. <\/p>\n

As I stood there looking at my mother, who at once appeared peaceful and wincing in pain, David leaned in to me and softly said, \u201cJust so you know, I\u2019m ready to go when you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

His tone was understood. Neither of us were handling the situation well. This is our mother. She spent her career helping others and, now, lies still in a hospital bed, relying on a machine to mechanically inflate her lungs so she can breathe. I choke back tears, but, later, alone, the salty liquid flows like the stream we always drank from in the Shawangunk Mountains.<\/p>\n

I leaned in to David and spoke quietly. \u201cI\u2019ve been ready to go for a while, but I\u2019m waiting for everyone else to leave so I can talk to Mom alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

David nodded and unfurled his arms. With a booming voice he said, \u201cAll right, y\u2019all need to get the fuck out so Irene can talk to Grandma alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone nodded. There were, \u201coh, okays\u201d and \u201cof courses,\u201d uttered. They left me alone with the beeps and boops from the machines now surrounding her.<\/p>\n

My life is 25 hours away from hers. It is impossible to stay, so I made my goodbyes. I am short and couldn\u2019t reach to kiss her on the forehead in the single place without bruises. I gently caressed her left cheek and thought of the times David and I had been bruised and beaten down by the world. She never gave up and always had her hand outstretched to lift us back up. I leaned in as far as I could and, holding back all the tears that wanted to fall out, whispered in her left ear, \u201cit\u2019s okay, Mom. You worry about getting better. I\u2019ll take care of everything else. David is helping. It\u2019s our turn to take care of you.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

She was asleep when I walked in. The nurse said they were purposely keeping her unconscious. Still, as I looked at the broken body that was my mother, I could see her wincing in pain. No one knew if she would ever wake up again. My home is 1,725 miles from hers. I sent an […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[136,417,257],"class_list":["post-4121","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stories","tag-family","tag-mom","tag-new-york"],"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4121","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4121"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4121\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4122,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4121\/revisions\/4122"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4121"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4121"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4121"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}