Todd's Last Letter to Mom

I think you all know that Janet would want laughter at her Memorial Celebration Ceremony. More than most everything else, Mom cherished laughter, especially the irreverent kind. Her sense of humor was a gift she shared with all of us. And while our hearts are heavy with the weight of her loss, I know she would want us to laugh through our tears.

At the house, I found my old letters to her. There were a few new ones, too, though not nearly enough. My letters were one of the best ways I could make her laugh. And so I’d like to share with you my Last Letter to Mother. I don’t know if she’ll get to read this one, but I’m pretty sure she’d enjoy it.

Lake Bluff, IL

September 2009

Dear Mother,

The hospital sent a kind note, thanking us for your extensive and highly profitable stay in the ICU. (They were especially grateful that you repeatedly requested Carmex at $32 per tube.) Nonetheless, they regret to inform us that you are no longer welcome as a patient. Not because of the precipitous decline in your condition, it turns out that they, in fact, offer a premium intensive care service for the excessively-insured deceased. But rather because the nursing staff caught wind that you thought they were clueless. Seri and I feel somewhat at fault for this, since when we attempted to interpret your writing that declared that the radio appeared to be a foreign concept to the nurses, we may have inadvertently broadcast that conclusion for the entire ICU to hear.

For obvious reasons, I am suspending the usual listing of grievances for which you may be blameworthy. You are, after all, unable or unwilling to fairly respond to them. However, I do note that your recent action—leaving us so abruptly—is a significant grievance for which you must eventually be punished. I am presently in consultation with various clergy members available here today regarding the rather murky theological mechanics of such punishment. I’ll be in touch.

In other matters, it probably won’t surprise you to know that there is some debate with respect to identifying the proper charity to which people should donate in your honor. We know how much you loved the notion of funding a new comic-book wing at the Champaign library. But we are still considering other organizations. So far we have identified the National Association for the Advancement of Smart-Alecks, The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Danes, particularly by the Swedes, and Casseroles Anonymous.

And while we are on the subject, though I hate to bring up a perennial sore spot, I will be relieved to be free from the specter of California casserole haunting the dinner table. I actually find its other name, plenty-more-in-the-kitchen, more apt. Rather than serving up a blanket condemnation of a fine state, plenty-more-in-the-kitchen more accurately explains where the dish is and, frankly, should remain, hermetically sealed in its abundance.

On a related note, Thanksgiving dinner will not be the same without you. We expect that the stuffing will not explode; that there will in fact be a thawed turkey available for roasting; and that the oven will actually be turned on at some point BEFORE we are all sitting down to dinner. That said, I am quite concerned that we might not have the proper number of dinner rolls for the 16 of us this year. I’m not sure what your will says, but let me just say that it would have been thoughtful if you had provided for adequate rolls in perpetuity.

But seriously, you know that no one can begin to fill your apron in the kitchen. No one but Susanne is willing to even try. Scott, Seri and I would have just appreciated it if you’d left a few of your meatballs and some bean dip in the freezer when you left. You know, with the exception that Susan can’t cook, I’ve come to recognize that in many ways, the second time around, I married a girl just like dear old mom—a small-town midwestern gal—warm, kind, and fun. In fact, I need to thank you for winning her over, as she says she knew she wanted to marry me when she met you for the first time at the Champaign airport terminal, wearing reindeer antlers. While your similarity was great while you were alive, now it has become a bit creepy. So I have asked Susan to undergo a dramatic personality change. I really don’t think, at this point, it’s fair to ask you to change.

Holiday dinners aside, I am concerned about our ability to guide our children through this wacky world without your able assistance. For instance, last week, Zach asked me a confounding question, for which I really could have used your help. He and I were in a public restroom designed for families, where Zachary observed a dispensary of various products, specifically labeled tampons, shields and napkins. He inquired about their purpose, to which I responded that they were useful for girls to protect their underpants. He seemed to intuitively grasp this was a valid goal and, thankfully, required no further specifics. After pondering some time, though, he asked, “Which do you think is stronger, a tampon, napkin, or shield?” Not quite knowing where he was going with this line of questioning, I lobbed it right back at him. And he answered, “Obviously a shield is the strongest, if there is a well-protected shield generator.” And, I immediately thought , “I can’t wait to tell Mom that one—it’ll really make her laugh.” That was one of the things that made you such a special grandmother: your genuine amusement at all the funny things that they ever thought to say.

Your grandkids daily express how much they love you. Amanda exudes your intelligence and grace. Nick will cherish all his memories of you and is especially glad he saw you in July. Emily shares your sociable nature. Sarah has your impudent sense of humor. Elizabeth’s empathy helps her find a little bit of you in all of us. Zach tries to hide his sadness, a lot like you would. Kristin often stops what she’s doing and states simply that she misses you. Carolyn wants to know if you are with Harley now. And Kevin’s impish grin reminds us of you. You should know, however, there is a raging debate among the younger ones regarding whether and how they will become Big Nasties. Of course, the original Big Nasties would like to limit admittance to their surly ranks and have declared that you are the sole source of inspiration and definition of what it means to be a Big Nasty. I have tried to reassure them all that in your eyes, they are all big and nasty in their own special way.

Despite my best efforts, this service is being held in a church. I’m not sure you’d recognize it as a church, however, given that no one here seems to be wearing their pajamas. But afterwards, we have a great party planned in your honor—one we know you would have loved to have thrown yourself. Please don’t crash it though, especially with any of your new friends. At this stage, let’s face it, you barely know them, and more importantly, there will never be enough dinner rolls.

With love, your son, Todd