Me 2000, Memorializing Mom at the Joan E. Nagy Memorial Garden, Milton, DE

This photograph was Given to the Cape Gazette by Amy Kratz for their story: Survivor: Attacker Should Serve Life,
April 19- May 2, 2005

This time of year always make me think of Mom She was the strongest, most caring, and loving person I know or have ever known. She  was a friend to many and my Best Friend, Mother, and Father. She never spoke poorly of people and in fact everyone I have ever met that knew her, has nothing but amazing things to say about her. No she wasn’t perfect but pretty Damn close, I think. Tonight while sitting in her house/my house; I was looking for something to write and found  a couple things about mom that I wrote in the past.

The Neat Nicks

Tonight as I made my bed, putting all clean sheets, pillowcases, and tucking in the hospital corners I had a good chuckle at the wonderful things I inherited from the Nagy family. Always meticulous at housework and creative in their tasks, I remembered something that mom taught me. I was putting the top sheet on and realized it was upside down, I turned it over and while doing so mom’s way came flooding back. Mom not only raised three kids alone making everything in the house sparkle and crinkle and sharp. She eventually went on to own a bed and breakfast in this home and I recall coming to visit and all of her top sheets were upside down because she turned them over at the top so they looked pretty as a hint of color protruded out of the bed spread. Of course I do not do that because… well because I am me and not mom. In fact I am so NOT mom that I have mix matched sheets, pillow cases, and comforter or bed spread because my main goal is clean and then comfortable and then whatever it’s called to being perfectly unmatched but comfortable.

So I flip the top sheet over and then make perfect hospital corner, noting to myself and the cat; that she would be proud of those corners that she taught me as a child, while I helped her make her bed. Last week I had gone to the attic and found pillowcases; which are much needed in this house. They were folded so perfectly in rectangles I hated to use them. I thought they are the last things that are still perfect about this home; the home that Joan built. However, I am a utilitarian and everything has a purpose so let’s use them. I washed the pillowcases and the put them away. Tonight I put them on my bed. I had forgotten how neatly folded they were and I bet ironed, that even after a good long washing and drying they still had the pattern of the fold like a nice pressed and starched shirt. The things I learned in the Nagy family were all so important except some of them I have discarded or some would say bastardized along the way, simply to uphold my own laziness. I cannot keep an immaculate home and nicely pressed sheets, a perfectly manicured garden or body for that matter. I guess some things will always stay completely mine, in the home that Amy built.

Spring’s Memories

This is the time of year that I always find so beautiful and so sad; Spring holds great promise and life and all I can think about is that mom’s birthday , death day and Mother’s day are all culminating on the horizon like a storm on a calm day. Everything reminds me of how much she loved this time of year. Her flowers blooming, the weeds trying desperately to destroy the beauty of the tidy beds she carved out, oh so long ago. When I sit on the deck in the morning I look at all the changes in the yard since she has left it. I stare at a raised bed full of weeds that used to have juniper bushes that she planted. I look at the Japanese maple she planted almost 20 year ago and think how very delicate yet sturdy it is. I sit on the porch and look at the worn out cushions and wicker that we used to sit on but now aren’t as well kept as they used to be.

All of my surroundings are a variation of what she began 21 years ago and left me almost 11 years ago with. It is hard to comprehend that she has been gone for so long but I can still hear voice in my head sometimes and it becomes more difficult every year to remember exactly how she sounded. I tend to cry a lot more at this time of year even though I am more revived because of the longer days and warmer nights. I tend to mope a little more at this time year even though I have far more energy. I even tend to see her in every moment of every day and at times, I day dream back to the days that she was here, to make me laugh and listen to all my wild adventures.

She certainly was one of a kind and everywhere I go, I see people who say to me,” I really miss Joan.” And at this time of year I am struck by their words harder; they are like a punch in the gut. Frequently, I cannot respond without crying at the words, as they spill out of their mouths. At times I find that that person is looking at me and I know they are thinking,  “I am sorry I brought it up.” In actuality I am happy that they still remember how great she was because I miss her daily. It just seems that at this time of year I miss her more; it is a measurable, palpable feeling of sadness; more so with Spring upon us than any other time.