My December to Remember 3: Day Four
News: Bank records show Joe Biden received over $1,300 a month from one of son Hunter’s China-linked businesses.
Parents of 9-year old Chiefs fan accused of “blackface” by Deadspin reporter threaten to sue paper.
I miss my mom a lot. More and more each day, in fact. Last night was rough in that right before I fell asleep, I had a thought that I’m never going to see the version of her I know ever again. She’s off on some distant plane right now. The body that was here won’t be here anymore. Who knows what form her soul will take or has already taken? It hurts to think about. It’s just the grief process working its way out my eyes a lot. It’s to be expected. But there’s certainly one thing that’s still here that’s only a new occurrence: Her scent.
I know I complain all the time here about not being able to smell things, but it seems to be coming back in some respect. I still can’t smell New York City, but I’m getting the distinct scent of my mother here and there. I have some of her old clothes which certainly smell like her, but it’s wafting in in places it shouldn’t. Like when I’m at work. I swear it’s her. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the smell all mommies get when it’s time for them to be mommies.
No, I’m not pregnant. Just wishful thinking.
Because the more I think of my mother, I think of how great a mother she really was, even if I didn’t think so as an edgy thirteen-year-old. She was kind, she was generous, she only wanted the best for me. Every action she took was to better me, and make sure she unlocked my full potential. And it was all done out of love. I truly believe that. She was meant to be a mother, and I’m thankful she was mine. So when I get a whiff of how other parents parent, sometimes it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
In Italy, I spent a good chunk of time at the pool, staring out at the Italian Riviera. It wasn’t a massive resort, but there was a fair amount of people there, some I’d see more than once. Early October was still nice enough to be in a bathing suit, which I did not bring, so I tube-topped it poolside and got my tan anyway. There was a mom and daughter I saw a couple of times, and right away I got to judging. Mom, who was likely in her mid-forties, had all sorts of plastic surgery done to the face, the boobs, the tummy, etc. She had on a thong bikini and was far more interested in her phone than in her daughter, who was probably around eight and simply there to play with her toys. I liked how she didn’t seem to have any electronics and was actually using her imagination to play with a mermaid doll and a dolphin. But she did want mom to join in the fun. All the cries of, “Mom, look!” were all met with disinterest and disconnection. And the one time Mom did want to engage, it was when the daughter was curled up on the lounge chair, covered in a towel, telling her to go away because she was reading. It was hard not to detect the lingering friction in the air, even as I knew I was actively judging this scene.
But who am I to talk? I’ve got no child. I’m not even a candidate as long as I have no running mate. But I do like to think I know what makes a good parent, as I had two great examples growing up. If that were me wanting to play with my mom, she’d drop everything to listen to her baby, even if she wasn’t ever that big on hopping in pools. My mom treated having a child as a privilege, a blessing, something never to be taken for granted. And as long as I have this sense of motherhood, I could never fail as a parent.
I believe true families are always there for one another. You’d do anything for them in any capacity. I’d die for my children if it meant my life or theirs. My mother never explicitly said that to me, but I knew it’s something she thought of. She once said she knew the story Susan Smith originally told about her kids being taken in a carjacking reeked of BS, because “If that were me, I’d die before some asshole tried to steal my babies.” It’s just what you do when you’re meant to be a parent. And it’s fine that not everyone is necessarily meant to be a good one.
When you make the choice to become a family, you become a unit. Really, you do anything for your loved ones. Sometimes, for some, that means doing some shady things that, believe me, will soon come out about the Biden family. But until then, I can rest easy that this scent in the air is positive. It’s comforting. It’s telling me my time to begin my own family is on the way. Wonder who else will catch wind of it.
