10 Years and Still Standing

The more time passes, the more I'm surprised by the little things I remember about my mom.

Just a few days ago I was making an Oreo pie crust and desecrating the cookies by opening them in half and scraping out whatever synthetic byproduct it is that Nabisco calls "creme filling." While committing that unholy deed I had an almost visceral memory of my mom--someone who rarely succumbed to any sugar, much less the Nabisco kind--doing the same thing. Twisting open each cookie, using the flat end of a butter knife, and plopping the filling out into the sink.

Or like when I open my little red jewelry bags that she got me just a few days before she died. Sometimes, while searching for an elusive pair for my earring, I think about that day. It was a Monday and we went into this little boutique on University Avenue, that has long since gone out of business, as we were waiting for our table at the Bombay House. I chose out a couple tops and while I was in the dressing room my mom decided I needed this set of three beaded, red bags. The shirts have long-since gone to DI due to puberty and peasant frocks going out of style, but the bags are still a perfect fit.

Even though these memories are still very real, they have grown uber stale. I know them all by heart. I can predict which things are going to remind me of her unique way of putting on lipstick, or which people will make me recall the way she turned her head and slapped her thigh when she laughed really hard, but I can never change those memories. They are just on a repeating loop in my subconscious. Reminding me each time that I won't ever have new stories about my mom. 

No matter how hard I scratch, I will never uncover something new in those memories. In fact, not only will I not discover something new, but that bank of memories will just slowly get smaller and smaller; the continuous loop running shorter and shorter. Even with the agile mind of a 24 year old I can't how it would smell when I would burrow into her shirt and cry. Or exactly what her big, black purse looked like. Was the zipper silver? And there was a big pocket in front--or were there two on each side?

While I ache for those memories I know I have already forgotten, I want even more for my mom to know me as the person I am today. Now that I know we would have more to talk about than ever, I'm stuck having this one-sided conversation. Or worse, I try to make up her responses by patching together memories to answer my hypotheticals. Either way, I end up feeling cheated and wondering if it would have been better if I had never known her. Easier to deal if I didn't know how infinitely cool she was. 

But, like the amazing movie About Time reminded me, "we're all traveling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is do our best to relish this remarkable ride." Every one of us is a time traveler and, like it or not, time has one speed: forward. As much as I would love to spend one more week with my mom body surfing at Hukilau beach, Smithsonian hopping on the mall, or even cuddling up with a new book and a warm bed, I just cannot. The only thing I can do is a live a life she would be proud of. And I can't do that if I am not unequivocally in the present.

 So here I am. Living. Moving forward.

We've all got reasons we wish we could go back and travel upstream to fix a mistake or revisit the good old days, but the more we focus on the past, the more we'll miss the ride. And memories don't taste nearly as good as the actual experience.

Before I give one last toast to the present, allow me one last bit of nostalgia. Just for today. In the first few seconds of this video you'll hear Emma ask a question that I still ask to this day (but with a little different vocabulary) and I like my dad's answer. I really hope it's true.

9 Years Later

Hey mom,

A great day for hair in the Thomas household

Wow. It has been a long time since we last talked. Nine years, right? Only nine years… It feels like an eternity to me. Does it feel that long to you? I’m sure you’re busy, but I like to think you have days that feel like they’ll never end because you just need to talk to me. You know that feeling you get behind your belly button that yanks down hard and lets you know you need something more? Maybe you don’t, but I know I do.

Things are going pretty great here. Work is still work, but at least it pays well and I have an end in sight. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! I will be going to BYU Law this fall. The same law school you went to so many years ago. Pretty soon my picture will be posted in the same hallway yours is.

Too bad no one will know that Alexandra Sandvik was raised by the curly-haired blonde who graduated in ’80. I remember you told me that you were recognized as a Featherstone descendant at a family reunion once just by your unique nose. No one will ever recognize me as your daughter by any physical trait you gave me, but maybe I will be recognized in different ways.

Like remember how we both like the same books? The whole time you were with me I don’t think I ever read a book that you didn’t read too. And since I devoured the entire juvenile fiction section at the Provo library, that was quite a feat for you.

You would read ones from the Scholastic Book Club like Maniac Magee and Whatever Happened to Janie. Then I would read your grown up book club books with you like Angela’s Ashes and the Color Purple. A lot of times those books scared me but I never told you that. I can’t wait to tell you about some of the new books I’ve read.  

I’ve also inherited something from you that I didn’t anticipate. Remember all those vacations we would take with early morning hikes and long drives? How I would complain the whole way? Well, it turns out I love nature’s bounty just as much as you now. 

Once the outdoors couldn’t offer me anything better than a sturdy tree to climb and a body of water to swim in. I’ve since turned to oohing and ahhing over things like sedimentary rock formations and dark clouds rumbling over mountain tops. But I have to admit I'm not as interested in bugs. I'll keep my animals furry and slobbery.

For a long time I was afraid to talk about you. Afraid to use the past-tense. So I would just avoid ever mentioning you; pretending you didn’t ever exist because that was easier than accepting the fact that you were once my best friend and are now inexplicably gone.

But what I didn’t realize is that I was killing you all over again. By refusing to accept the pain of the memories I had of you I was throwing away the only piece of you I had left.

I promise I won’t do that anymore, mom. I want to revive your memory so that I can feel you right by my side again. I might not get to introduce you to Jason – or do you know him already? I don’t know how things work up there – but I can make sure he knows you as well as anyone can through stories. And when the time comes to having kids I want to make sure their grandma is more than a name and a face.

So until we can all sit at a big table around a fabulous meal, I’ll try to keep in touch!

Love you mom.

Protecting Yourself From Sadness

8 years ago today my mom died. And 8 years ago I started feeling sorry for myself.

Even though I don't necessarily think it is natural for my personality, I kind of started seeing myself as some sort of victim. In class when we would be reading some book where a kid's parent dies, I always thought everyone was looking at me, or in church when we would talk about eternal families, I was sure that the teacher was sending side-long glances at me as if to silently tell me, "You know this lesson is for you, right?"

I've never liked being a victim; in fact, I don't even really like it when people hold the door open for me. I like to do things myself, I don't like to feel pitied and I don't like to feel like I am being looked down on. But for some reason, ever since I became this little half-orphan, I kind of expected it.

When I was going to Prom the first time I remembered thinking that people probably felt sorry for me that I didn't have a doting mother to help me find a dress or do my hair or take a thousand pictures that I would pretend to be embarrassed about but secretly adore.

Or when I went away to a different country for 4 months and I didn't have anyone to tell me how much they missed me and wanted me back home, I started to feel sorry for myself. Started telling myself that even though everyone didn't know my situation, they would pity me if they did.

And then I started being proud of my unfortunate self. "Look at me, I'm adopted and I planned my own wedding without a mom." "Yeah, I'm the only one in my family with brown eyes, but I still got into college." "Aren't you impressed that I didn't breastfeed and yet I'm still a fully-functioning adult?"


As embarrassed as I am to say this, it really wasn't until tonight that I realized what a complete idiot I've been.

A year ago I read the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Buy it. You'll love it. And I did love it. But I think I had so much on my mind a year ago that I couldn't really give the book my full attention, although I did remember the quote that says, "you cannot protect yourself from sadness, without protecting yourself from happiness."

If you haven't seen the movie/read the book, I'll give you a little teaser and just tell you it's about a kid who lost his dad on 9/11 and goes all over New York looking for clues from him and during the process, he meets all different people and learns about so many different lives.

Tonight, as we were watching the movie, I finally realized why my mom died. It's not so that I could prove to myself and everyone around me that I could grow up without a mom, it's not so that my dad can hit golfballs alone in the garage, it's not so that my little sister could grow up largely ignored and my older sister could have three beautiful children without a mom to brag about them for her.

It's just because that's life.

Life is good and bad! Being sad didn't make me unique, in fact it's the opposite--feeling sadness is the deepest connection we have with each other. There are happy times and there are sad times because without the sad we can't have the happy. Just like on a swing, you can't have your very best time at the peak of your swing without being at the very bottom. The good and the bad is what makes us human! It's what we all share with each other! The fact that we can let people both in our lives and out of it is the absolute best part of life!

I left the dinky old dollar theater absolutely in love with all of humanity and feeling so in tune with the human experience. Even though I didn't lose anyone in 9/11, I still feel a huge loss and deeply connected to those people. Just like my heart breaks when I see homeless people coughing at a bus stop, or an old person alone at a restaurant.

I love being sad because I love being happy! Each day is a miracle and each person in this world is miraculous!

The main criticism that Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close the movie got was that it was overly sentimental and a melodrama. As is this post.

Seven Years Now...

Seven years is a long time by anyone's standards.

Seven years was a long time for Brad Pitt when he was stuck in Tibet. I don't remember anything about that movie except Brad had some gnarly beard action going on and that Tibet isn't exactly a dream vacation destination pour moi.

Seven years is also long enough to terrify a child into never swallowing her Juicy Fruit again, by telling her she'll eventually have a stomach full of old gum. (Just to update you Grandma Brown, I've now thrown that scare-tactic to the wind and will swallow my gum just about whenever a trash can is too far away for my lazy legs.)

Thanks to an exceptional fifth grade teacher, I also know that seven years was a really long time to have a war with the French and Indians. Especially if your mother country's full of total softcheeks and they and will make you do all the grunt work. No wonder we won the Revolution.

I also know that seven years was a long time to have anorexic cows in Moses' day, and that it's a long time to have bad luck for after your ugly face shatters the mirror.

But how long has seven years been to me?

Mom, if I could show you how long seven years has felt for me, I would have a beard down to my ankles and an intestinal track so chock-full of bubblicious that the double rainbow guy would have something else to scream about.

It's been so long since I've had someone that I could always count on to be interested in every stupid, little thing I'm doing. To be rooting for me no matter what the odds. To be so blind with a mother's love that she can tell me I'm the best at everything and lacking in nothing without crossing any fingers or knocking on any wood.

The world's a scary place without a mom, whether you're 14 or 21. Seven years is a really long time, I've now lived a third of my life without you, and I know I've learned so much, but sometimes I wish I could just get a break from all this learning. Call a timeout with the Big Guy. Maybe I could get a two-sided conversation for once. Your part of the conversation was always more interesting anyway. But I know it will probably be a whole lot longer than seven years before I get that, so until then, I'll just have to live it up so we'll have plenty of good things to talk about.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, You're Watching Me

The last time I saw you was on a Wednesday night six years ago and we were just talking on your bed, about me of course, like we had done so many times before, and I couldn't imagine that we wouldn't do so many times again.

The last time I saw you I was a freshman in high school who only cared about which American Eagle shirt she was going to wear to the stake dance, and whether it would be more awesome to drive or to date when she turned sixteen.

The last time I saw you I wanted to be a veterinarian, with my instinctive and fierce love for all animals. You only fanned the flame by giving me all the James Herriot books, countless beanie babies (still have them) and even my own dog when I made my own collar and asked to eat my meals on the floor and on all fours.

But that was the last time I saw you.

The last time you saw me was at my high school graduation, and I'm sure you were rolling your eyes at all the speakers who were assuring the whole class of 07 that they were going to be world leaders--even the guy picking his nose and wiping it under the seat.

The last time you saw me I was unashamedly licking tzahi sauce from my kebab in Budapest, and walking barefoot on Viennese cobblestones. Even though I kind of hope you weren't, I'm sure you saw me at the discotheque in Prague, or bawling at the Holocaust museum in Berlin. But I know you saw me smelling the blossoms down the Champs Elysees, and gorging myself on baguettes and any fromage that came my way. I bet you smiled as I stopped dead in my tracks in front of la tour eiffel, because you know better than anyone the charm de paris.

The last time you saw me was as the sun was rising on Mount Sinai where you whispered in my ear where my life was supposed to go next. Giving me that extra little push I need so often so that I can fully dive into the Lord's plan for me.

People say that you've passed away, but that doesn't make any sense to me. You've gone away with me! You're there in all my most passionate moments, where I love everyone and everything in this beautiful world God created for us. You're there in all my quietest moments when I can't imagine being any less adequate for this hard world God makes us go through. But I know you're there, because even if I can't see you or feel you, I know you love me because you'd never want to miss a second of my life!

I love you mom, and I'll see you later!

“Difficult Times Help Me Understand How Infinitely Beautiful Life Is, And That So Many Things Truly Don't Matter"

5 Years.

1826		Days.
43832		Hours.
2629952		Minutes.

We've missed 5 of your Halloween soup parties. You used to be cooking and freezing, cooking and freezing for weeks to prepare for the pilgrimage of trick or treaters that made it to our steamy kitchen to warm their bodies with tomato-potato, cuban black bean, leek, chicken noodle, taco, lentil and corn chowder goodness. But even more, to warm their hearts with your unconditional love.

You've missed 1826 Diet Coke runs down to Crest's. I can't count on you pulling me into the Acura to escort you on your mid-afternoon aspartame rush. Before we'd even get down the hill someone would be calling your big black cell phone with a life crisis that only you could solve. You'd handle it with gentle compassion but make sure you were able to say hi to all the girls who worked the drive thru, whom you knew not only all their names, but about every tattoo, piercing, and when all their boyfriends got out of county. And you'd be sure to get in a joke about how I read the "beverages" sign as beaver-eggs and thought that beavers laid eggs from 1st-3rd grade, all while sipping on your Diet Coke and leaving dark lipstick all over the straw, and sitting in your heated seat--whether it was January or July.

We've missed 43832 of your around the house routines. In the morning hours you'd still be in bed, but insist that we come and say goodbye before we ate the cereal that Dad laid out for us and caught the bus/carpool. This was also the time that you'd give me the head-tilt-raised-eyebrows look that told me my clothes were too tight/short/low. The afternoon hours would always have you sitting in front of the fireplace reading your cases, and inevitably there was always a brightly colored scrunchie pulling your hair on the top of your head that made you look less like a judge for Workforce Services, and more like Stephanie from Full House. But the evening hours were the best because that's when we all got to eat the yummy food you would whip up in no time, and everyone else who craved your endless smile and caring wisdom would go away and we'd have you to ourselves. This was usually when you'd have to help me scramble to do a procrastinated homework project for Mrs. Busco, and not only would it be brilliant, but I'd have so much fun doing it because it would be with you.

But most of all, we've missed 157797166 of the little things that really made you our mom. We've missed the way you'd put your feet up on the dashboard every time dad was driving. We've missed it when you would drop a swear while crossing State Street on the way to dance and you'd always make sure to say "sorry my little darlings". We've missed the way you'd put lipstick on both lips at a time so the stick would get so deformed and eventually break in half. We've missed you frantically searching for your checkbook in the purse that carried every thing you would ever need, but most things that you wouldn't--like the Francs you've had since before France joined the EU. We've missed you dancing with dad in the kitchen to Andrea Boccelli, and loving Emma's detailed rants about middle school, and headbanging with Hannah to ZZ Top. But I've missed you Mom. I miss how you were the only one who knew what I was thinking when I wasn't saying. How you would always pull me onto your lap even though I've been 6 inches taller than you since 7th grade. How you were the only one who really listened for, and got all my jokes.

I miss you.

Can't wait to see you again Mommy.