Why have you forsaken me...

I could feel it happening. As the plane slowly descended into Phoenix. The heart gripping reality that I was going to Arizona and there would be no Mom there to see. My heart felt tight. Sad. I know this feeling well. It happens frequently when I do things that once was a part of mom’s life or was something significant in our lives. It’s that cold memory that bubbles up that you will be doing this without her. In her spirit maybe, but without her.

The plane landed without incident and I was thrust into the hot Phoenix air. That dessert smell and warm arid air reminds me of home. It's a trigger for Mom memories. I pushed those memories aside and got on with what I needed to do. Get a car and meet a friend for lunch.

During lunch I kept any conversations about my mom to a minimum. My emotions were on a hair trigger and there was no telling what would get me going. I didn't want to be a slobbering, crying mess over my enchiladas. My friend and I met at a sketchy looking Mexican restaurant called Cocina Madrigal. It has rave reviews on Yelp and she’d been dying to try it. Yelp was not wrong. We started with Oaxaca Fundido (basically bubbling cheese of goodness) and we both had the Birria Beef enchiladas. So amazing. The flavor of birria is one that I love and not one I get a lot of up in the Pacific Northwest.

Birria Burritos from Cocina Madrigal

My scrapping, former work buddy, scrapping enabler, Anandi. 

We chatted on and off about work, why I was down, and scrapbooking. But we stayed away from any "mom" talk. She knows. She’s aware that my mom had been in Tucson and that I miss her horribly. Whether she steered away from Mom talk intentionally or not, it was nice to just sit and chat about anything and everything. But I'm secretly glad she didn't ask any “mom” questions.

I drove her back to her house and we hugged goodbye after a tour of her gorgeous house. As I returned to the restaurant to pick up Janet, I wondered why I felt relatively "ok". I anticipated tears. I anticipated sadness. And all I had was a very full tummy and a bit of heartburn. I decided to not wallow in it and just see where the emotional roller coaster would take me. It was anybody's guess. 

I arrived back at the restaurant and met up with Janet and her friends she had been down to visit. I was worried that the moment I saw her I’d lose it (I could tell you a story about her offering me peanuts while cleaning out Mom's house. She left the room to get them and I was fine. She came back in and I was a blubbering mess. To this day we joke about not bringing me peanuts.) I opened the door to a whiff of fried tortillas, cheese and spice expecting to feel something. Nope. Nothing. I kept those emotions in check. “huh”, I thought, “ I might be getting better at this.” But how long could it last? How long before the dam burst open? We were seeing a bunch of family and friends that were close to Mom. We would be going to places that Mom went. Places she took us to. Where in all those times would I lose it? If not now, when? 

I was prepared though. I had Kleenex in my back pack and I was ready for any level of cry. Be it gross cry or simple sniffle. Because that's how grief works. You don't know when it'll hit you and you don't know if it'll be a light touch on your shoulder of it it'll take you to your knees. 

As Janet and I drove south towards Tucson, the scenery is amazing. It’s beautiful really. It’s no PNW beautiful, but a different type of beauty. Desert beauty. I love the desert. Always have. I think it’s because we lived in Lancaster for so many years and I grew to appreciate all the desert had. But the Tucson desert is different. It’s scattered with these crazy saguaro cacti that stand so boldly. Proud of the years it has taken for them to get to where they are. The years without water. And yet, they survived. I just love them. Each one has their own unique personality. None the same. 

We reached our hotel, The Day’s Inn & Suites in Marana. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. We dropped our luggage, took a moment to refresh ourselves and “rest” after travel.

We had a list of food places we wanted to visit. Food was a big deal in our family life. If you knew either of my parents you'd know that food was what we bonded over. It was the way we showed love and appreciation. It's comfort. 

So it should be no big surprise that we had a list of places we had to go. Each restaurant has a story about Mom. Each one “special” for it’s own reason. They won’t mean anything to anyone else, but they mean something to us. Our list included In N Out, Cracker Barrel, Sonoran Hot dogs from Guero Canelo, and a steak house right off the I10 freeway– though we couldn’t remember the name of it.

Our first stop was In N Out. Mom LOVED In N Out. There was a 100% guarantee that we’d stop there during some point of my visits with mom. Always. They didn't have them in Tucson when they first moved down there and I can remember how excited she was when she first heard one was coming to Tucson. It was a good hour from her house. All the way across town. (And “across town” in Tucson is not an easy feat. It’s spread out.) Still, she was going. She didn’t care. She loaded dad into the car and off they went to find her beloved In N Out. They then started popping up in locations closer to her, which made her quest just that much easier.

Me? I think they’re good burgers, but I’m not IN LOVE with them like mom was. In N Out now is a stop in honor of mom. We go because she would have. We get the double double because she would have. We get a chocolate shake because she would have. And we get fries because…you got it…she would have. This time though Janet got the double double and chocolate shake. I got a simple cheese burger and fries (well done) for us to share. 

As we sat eating the burgers mom loved with the workers in the crisp white uniforms with a red apron held together with a huge safety pin and the smell of fries animal style in the air, we talked about her and how it was a given we’d find an In N Out. Surely this would get my tears flowing. This was Mom. This was something anyone who mentioned In N Out would say her name after. I was sure I’d start tearing up. But there was nothing. Nothing. What’s happening? Have I cried all I can? Are there no more tears for mom? I consoled myself with knowing it was still early in our trip and that I should continue to be prepared because, well grief. Grief is a cruel mistress.

The next day we got up had a horrible breakfast at the hotel and we headed to Mt. Lemmon to find the vista point where we scattered Mom's ashes. As I brushed my teeth I was thinking about 5 years ago and how so very different I am now. The things that have happened in my life that Mom would be so proud of - and maybe some she wouldn't be. 

The day we scattered Mom's ashes was windy, rainy and blustery. It seemed fitting considering the task we had in front of us. I mean Hollywood shows us funerals and it's always raining, so why couldn't real life be like that. I had absolutely no idea where this vista point was. I had done some research and we figured out how to get to Mt. Lemmon. As we drove along we passed a Safeway and we both yelled, "That's where we met to carpool!". We knew we were going the right way. 

We started up the windy road that leads to the top of Mt. Lemmon. It's a narrow, two line road that transports you up the side of the rugged mountain. Around every hair pin turn I expected to find this vista. And then, there it was! The Babad Do'ag vista. We found our way. I pushed all emotion down again. I just needed to be there for a moment. Remembering her. As we parked and got out of the car we were hit by a what felt like a gale force wind. My god it's windy up there. We grabbed out crab hats and started walking toward the trail that we walked down to scatter her ashes. Then we laughed because part of the trees around there were scorched. We joked that mom was definitely there. We spent a couple of minutes there. We took our crab photo and we hopped back in the car and took off.

View from where we scattered Mom's ashes

Nothing. No tears. No thought of tears. Nothing. Dry as the desert. By now I'm starting to wonder if, by chance, I had turned off all those emotions too much. 

Next stop was to visit our cousins Gary and Jeannette. They live in the same retirement community mom did. In fact, they’re the reason mom moved there. We knew we'd drive by the last house she lived in and I knew this would be the time I lose it. It just had to be. I had so many fond memories there tied up with the worst weeks of my life cleaning out her place. 

We found it easily. Janet remembered half the directions and I remembered half. I slowly rolled past it making comments about how it hasn't changed and "was it always blue and white?". Anything to keep my mind away from drudging up all those old, painful memories. 

After lunch we followed Gary and Jeannette back to their place to sit and chat for a bit. Gary was dad's cousin and was like a brother to him. These two have been a significant part of my life for so many years that I've lost count. Gary is a quiet, kind man with a head full of graying hair. His smile makes you feel welcome and that he was very interested in anything you had to say. Jeannette was the classy one. She was always put together. Nails always done. Not a hair on her head dared to be out of place. Her style was refined without being pretentious. But Jeannette was dying. The doctors diagnosed her with a brain tumor several months ago. She opted to not undergo any treatment of any kind. The doctors told her it wouldn't really gain her any more months. They told her she'd lose her ability to talk and walk within weeks. And yet, sitting across from me in their small park model was a woman who's determined to not let cancer win. She shows no sign of slowing down. Her hair may be not so in place anymore, but I somehow think she doesn't mind. 

We sat and talked about the old days. Recounting funny memories of dad buying a dozen pineapples just because they were on sale and how Mom sent everyone home that Easter with a pine apples. We talked about their daughter and how well she was doing and about their grandson's pending visit. It was a delightful time. 

After we noticed Gary falling asleep as we chatted, we decided it was time to go. We hugged each other tightly. Jeannette whispering in my ear how very glad she was that we took the time to come visit them. That hug. That strong, unwavering hug. I won't soon forget it. I felt, immediately, that would be the last hug I ever had from her. And having lost a good hugger in my life (BigBro), I knew not to squander for a minute that time wrapped in her arms. 

We drove out of the park and I felt a little looser. Like a tightly wound yo-yo that had found it's last drop. I felt joy in a place that had held such sadness for me. 

Jeannette, Gary, Janet and myself

Crab shot for mom.

While chatting with Gary and Jeannette, Gary was able to remember the steak house off I10 that we used to go to. The Silver Saddle. The plan was set. Janet and I would go back to the hotel for a little break (grabbing some coffee on our way) and we'd eat out at the Silver Saddle. 

This steak house...I can't even tell you how good it is. It's PACKED almost every night and on a Saturday night you were sure to have an hour wait. I dropped Janet at the door and drove in circles looking for a spot to park the horrid little rental car we had. 

Inside the restaurant I didn't see Janet immediately, but saw a sign pointing to the cocktail lounge. I've traveled with Janet enough to know she was already seated with an ice cold margarita on the rocks in her hands. I sat down next to hear and ordered a beer. We had about a 60 minute wait so we figured we'd order an appetizer. That was a rookie mistake. We should have known that would fill us up and not leave room for the steak and potato. We sat in the bar not talking about anything in particular. It wasn't until we were seated that I started (did you see that? I started...) the conversation about Mom. All the times we'd been to this restaurant. Who was with us? Why we came? And on and on. I felt no need to cry. No lingering shutters in my throat that announced sobbing was on it's way. Nothing. Nada. Zip. 

The "dinner" salad came with fresh baked rolls, and not long after the 10oz sirloin came cooked to perfection with a fully loaded baked potato on the side. Mom probably would have ordered the prime rib, but you can bet she'd have had the salad and that fully loaded potato as "loaded" as they could get it. I am not sure what exactly they do to their steaks. They don't season them in any way. The grill is out where you can watch them drop your steak on and you can watch as they grill it. The whole place smells of burning wood and cooking steak fat. And when you roll yourself out of this place and regret eating every single bite, you too smell like burning wood and steak fat. 

Back at the hotel in our stretchy pants, we sat quietly. Each checking FB, emails, texts, etc. I sat wondering about Mom and what she'd have done in the last 5 years if she was still with us. I wondered if she'd still be working at the Mail Room at the Voyager. I wondered if I'd still come down to visit every Christmas and each day I was down visiting we'd have a "date" with some friend or relative who was just "dying to see me". My Mom. The social butterfly. 

Sunday we woke to another beautiful day in the desert. The wind was blowing, the sun was out and the sky was blue. Today we'd be going to have a Sonoran Hot Dog for lunch and visit with our family friend Roger. 

But before we did all that, Janet jokingly said, "we should stop by Sprouts in honor of your dad."

I know this trip seems to be all about Mom, and it is in so many ways. But dad lived in Tucson too for a while and he LOVED Sprouts. Well, Dad loved to grocer shop. Which is where I get it from. He'd get the Tuesday paper that had all the grocery sales in it and he'd write his list. He'd drive all the way across town to save 3 cents on tomatoes. And then he'd buy 10 lbs of them. 

We found the Sprouts dad frequented and we talked about how often Mom would tell us to NOT let dad talk us into stopping at Sprouts for "just a few things". Remember those pineapples? Yep. Dad bought them at Sprouts. 

Dad's favorite produce location.

Now it was time for lunch. Off we went to Guero Canelo. 

carne asada street tacos
and a Sonoran Hot dog

I wish I could remember how Mom discovered this place. I'm sure one of her friends introduced her to the Sonoran Hot dog and the rest is, as they say, history. This place was almost always lunch and was never not on the list to go to when I came down. She took everyone and anyone to this place. None of us from the PNW had any idea what a Sonoran Dog was. And Mom was going to introduce the world to them. 

A Sonoran Hot dog is, as you can guess, from the Sonora region in Mexico. It's a hotdog wrapped in bacon and grilled. It's then put in a bililo- style bun. It's a little sweeter than a normal hotdog bun and has the cut in the top, so it's like a bowl. The dog is topped with pinto beans, onions, pico de gallo, mayo and mustard. It sounds odd, I know, but that combination of ingredients is unlike anything you've ever had. 

We also wanted to have some of their street tacos. So we opted for a single taco each and then we'd split the hot dog. Their street tacos are full of meat. We put on the cabbage, some pico de gallo and squirted some lime juice on them! These are the street tacos that all other street tacos are compared to. I've found some very close here in the PNW, but none really compare. 

Full of Mexican food, we drove up Oracle to Oro Valley to see Roger. We were early so we thought we'd swing by the Catalina house. This was the first house they bought in Tucson. It sits up on a hill overlooking the Catalina mountains. Mom called them "her mountains." She loved the view from this house. This house holds a lot of memories too. It's where dad died. It's where we had countless family gatherings. Where dad made his tritip or ribs or standing rib. It's where we celebrated Christmas. Where we laughed, cried, and drank a little too much. It was home. 

The Catalina house sitting high on the hill.
It was a "desert rose" color - and now it's blue.

The view of the Catalinas. You can see Mt.
Lemmon's snow covered top peeking out.

We parked just down from the house. There was no way I was driving up the road to it. I wasn't really sure I could even see the house without some tears. Instead, as I sat at the bottom of that hill and looked up I was reminded of all the love in that house. All the hugs, all the laughter, all the food, all the everything that Mom and Dad gave to us, their family. I think everyone has a story or two about being at that house, and that makes me smile. 

After the afternoon with Roger, we had dinner plans with good family friends Jack & Suzi. Mom met Jack and Suzi when her cousin Ted was visiting. Jack and Ted when to high school together. And as Mom did, once she met you, you were family. Jack and Suzi became part Wraspir. Mom and Dad traveled with them all over the place. Then when Dad died, they became a sounding board for Mom. Suzi and mom were the best of friends. 

Mexican food again and again we were stuffed with real, authentic Mexican food. When Jack and Suzi walked in we instantly noticed Suzi had a brace around her neck. I looked at Janet and said, "What has she done now?" Suzi is a notorious clutz. This time, she tripped while at the trainers and nicked a nerve in her neck. 

Suzi is slowing down. Her dementia was obvious 5 years ago. Mom was concerned about it and spoke frequently with Jack about it. Having gone through it with Dad, she knew the signs. Now, 5 years later, it's getting worse. I just smiled after the 6th time she asked how long we were in town and patiently answered her, "We leave on Monday."  Her humor is still with her though. When we asked how long she had to wear the brace she told us she could take it off when she was eating. Then with a gleam in her eye said, "I think I should add some meals to my day."

Molinto Special

Jack, Suzi, Janet and me

The two of them go together like peanut butter and jelly. Married for a thousand years. They are perfect together. And they make me smile. My heart was full that day. As I hugged Suzi, I was reminded of my hug with Jeannette and wondered if this was the last hug with her too. 

After all that. Still no tears. I sat in my hotel bed with the Olympics playing in the background thinking about the last three days. Wondering why were no tears coming? Had I beaten grief? Or had I gotten to the point where tears were no longer needed to remember Mom? Where remembering now was not followed by days of uncontrollable crying and sadness. Where remembering no longer made my heart ache. Did this make me a bad person? Wasn't I supposed to feel sad all the time? 

The answer came somewhat easy to me. It's not acceptance. It's not denial. It's not anger or bargaining. It's not bad. And I'm not bad. I've just reached that point where Mom is always with me. Where I no longer needed to shed a tear every time I thought about her. I was stronger now. Grief will still be there, but it won't make me cry in the middle of a store with strangers looking at me like I lost my mind. 

Monday we headed home. Janet's flight left a couple of hours before mine. We got to the Tucson airport early - thank god because the security line was insane. We had a beer and recounted the last couple of days and all the fun we had. As we sat there I thought about all the people we got to see this trip and I think about how each hug that I gave each one of them really felt like it might be the last hug. 

All of them aging gracefully - or in Suzi's case not so gracefully. All of them slowly changing. All of them I love you so very much and will miss them dearly. And yet I’m very glad that I get this opportunity to come down and visit with them perhaps for the last time. 

This whole time my emotions have been in check I have not tear it up or cried. 

Janet's group to board was called. She walked down the hallway to the plane and turned the corner. She was out of sight. I picked up my backpack and burst into tears.