My Last Letter to My Mom - Episode II

I also remember when I was a young boy around the age of eight, dad telling me that you were in New Westminster and staying at a hotel.  When we went to visit you, transferring from one streetcar to the next, it seemed to take forever to get there.  And, I have to admit; I was really amazed to see such a huge hotel overlooking the undulating, well-manicured, green lawns that surrounded it; I must have thought you were really rich.  I have no recollection of what was said during our short visit, sitting on what seemed to be a park bench under a large shady tree but you have no idea how shocked I was, when as a young man, I came to visit you there again.  This time, a bus instead of a streetcar stopped in front of the same wooden park bench and extensive green lawns.  However, it wasn’t a hotel you were staying at, but Riverview/Essondale, a place for mentally disturbed people and for me, it was like a giant step back into time.  I was troubled to learn from your psychiatrist that you had been there many times before, and sadly, as the years went by, how often you would return.

I don’t recall specifically when I began taking mental snapshots, something special to hold onto, but over the many years of visiting you mom, I took many.  To this day when I bring them into view, some bring a smile to my face and often as not, others bring tears as well.  Now, that I’m definitely in the autumn of my years, only footsteps away from the snowline, I still think and cherish our times together.  Not sure if I am just like you, which you once mentioned, but mom, without a doubt there is a big part of you that is a big part of me.  You certainly had a wicked smile and how your vivid blue eyes sparkled; even with age, you were still a beautiful woman to behold.  People often tell me that I look younger than my age and I guess I have you to thank for that trait.

I’m not sure if you know how I’ve been doing over the years, and to be honest mom, at times, I’m not all that certain myself.  Some would say and some have even related that I don’t count in society – perhaps living on the edge and not having similar or so-called normal endeavours has something to do with it.  Being an artist, I like to think of myself as a rather colourful individual, even if I am a wee bit of a reject.  Not sure if my personality or somewhat different growing up patterns over the years has been a problem but I’ve definitely made some bad choices and mistakes.  Perhaps, like you, I’m somewhat of a free spirit marching out of step; at least that’s my excuse for being a touch different.

Like I mentioned a little earlier in the letter about taking mental snapshots – some of the most amazing ones were taken before and after we left Nanaimo early one morning and proceeded driving to Prince George, where you were living at the time.  I sometimes wonder if you remember visiting me and my family after you quit taking your medication, which was meant to keep you mentally stabilized.  I can still see you when you somehow magically transformed from being a paranoid, vicious cave-like woman wielding a chunk of firewood like a club threatening my kids into a sophisticated and charming southern belle, complete with a southern drawl.  You promised me a mansion and oil wells that night; even servants.  It was wonderful to see your happy smile and twinkling blue eyes as you twirled and danced to some imaginary music that only you could hear; you seemed so sprightly agile and oblivious to your surroundings, it was as if you were young again; your prominent limp, aches and pains miraculously cured. 

To me, the drive back to Prince George will always be a memorable highlight and to this day, I still thank my lucky stars that we actually survived the journey, at least as far as we got anyway.  The scene you caused on the ferry ride to Vancouver was slightly tamer than at the Chilliwack gas station but when we arrived at Hope - well, what can I say - you were really getting out of hand, much to the chagrin of the waitress and the restaurant customers.  I never knew you could swear like a beer-swilling lumberjack.       During our cat and mouse drive along the Fraser canyon traveling at dangerously high speeds and then at a snail’s crawl down the highway’s gravel shoulder overlooking the edge of a cliff, at times bumper to bumper with a blue van, which you were convinced was out to get us; I wonder if you recall nonchalantly saying, “Leonard, I’m surprised you’re not asleep; you usually fall asleep when you’re in the car.” 
If you only knew mother; without a doubt, it was probably the scariest and weirdest car trip I ever experienced; I expect my fingerprints are still on the dashboard and anything else that I could hold onto.  How we managed to get as far as Cache Creek I’ll never know but that stop proved to be your starring moment of our journey!  However, instead of the people in the restaurant giving you a standing ovation – I heard snide remarks like, “Look at that lady; I’ll bet she’s drunk,” and “She’s whacko!”  I’m sorry mom, but up until you threw yourself down on the hot pavement in front of the semi that was attempting to leave the parking lot, I was still on your side.  However, when I bent over you on that summer day and looked down at you lying on the hot pavement, your blonde hair glowing, eyes mischievously glinting in the sunlight and your arms defiantly crossed over your chest, I had no other alternative except to call for an ambulance.  If I’d been able to drive a car, I most likely would have simply dragged you into your car, strapped you into the seat and then drove you home.  When we arrived at the Ashcroft Hospital via ambulance (they didn’t need a siren, your screams were loud enough to clear the highway) and before a doctor was able to stick a huge needle into your arm filled to the brim with a sedative to knock you out, you managed to cause yet another huge scene. This was perhaps your crowning encore – I have no idea how that old man struggling with his wheelchair felt when this wild and crazy woman broke away from the ambulance attendants and suddenly leaped onto his lap, planting a big wet kiss on his shriveled lips – perhaps he couldn’t believe his luck at his age that some hot woman still found him desirable.

To my valued readers - I hope you're enjoying this intimate letter about my mom and I - don't be shy to leave a comment or become a follower so you don't miss out on the final episode of My Last Letter to My Mom.  Cheers - eh!