On a day that should be filled with grief, I celebrate.
I sat down with my mom before she died and she told me…
…if heaven enables her to visit and keep an eye on me, she will do it daily.
Because of this, I never get lonely or sad at the loss of both my Ma and my Oldman.
Nobody told us when we were young that sooner than later, our parents would leave us.
I was forty-nine when my mom died. If I start feeling sorry for myself, I think about a classmate that lost her dad when we were in eighth grade.
I see my mom more often today than I did when she was alive. Heaven is much closer to Chicago than Indianapolis is.
Most of the time she kicks my bed at 2:22 in the morning. She occasionally leaves me dimes laying in the most random places.
I have a New Orleans Saints phone shaped like a football on the end table near my couch. I use that phone to call my mom. My Saints phone has a special connection to heaven. I can call anyone that I know who is in eternal peace.
My mom, my dad, my gramma, John Wagner, Mayor Daley, Matt Debono, Uncle Charlie, Farrah Fawcett, Aunt Eleanor, PopPop and even Pope John Paul has time for a telephone conversation.
I might get a gin martini this afternoon, maybe have a cigar. Maybe I’ll swing by Oak Park Bakery for a chocolate éclair or grab a hotdog at Parky’s. My friend with benefits even cleared her schedule for me today.
The 2025 edition of “Sixty Days of Celebrating Cecilia” is in the books.
Sixty Days isn’t a long period of time at the end of a life. It seems long when you give up things that you enjoy, but that isn’t that long either.
Jeez, the dash between a birth date and a death date is never long enough.
Hey ma, how about more green light during rush hour?
August 3rd, 1937 - May 6th, 2016
