My Mother Was a Badass
My mother was so many things… My mother was an amazing woman. My mother was a handful. She was intelligent. She was fun. As a teenager, I thought I had the coolest mom who could play Pac-Man for over two hours with a single quarter. In this regard, I was the envy of every other kid out there.
My mother instilled in me my love of music and of performing. When I became an adult, I jokingly called her the Sarah Bernhardt of Galveston. So, yes, I came by my larger-than-life personality, honestly. Her influence can be seen in almost every role I play on stage, the most obvious being my recent foray as Edna Turnblad in Hairspray.
Comparing photos of me as a woman to her was shocking in their similarity. But as crazy as mom could make me and my siblings—the love we shared was complete. I called Mom almost every other day; we’d talk about whatever the day held, the latest Facebook post, or an episode of Dancing with the Stars. Most recently, she’d call me every two hours to ensure Hurricane Florence hadn’t flooded me. Sometimes, the conversation lasted 30 seconds. Sometimes 30 minutes… Inevitably, we’d say goodbye. I’d say, “I love you,” and she’d reply, “I love you more.”
About six weeks ago, I performed my solo concert in Galveston as a fundraiser for a local theatre down there. The theme of the show is a journey back through my life. Near the show’s beginning, I talk about my mother, the Italian matriarch of our nuclear family, and the fact that if asked, my sister Cathy will tell you that of her four brothers, I’m most like mom. And then I go on to sing the song entitled “I’m Not My Mother.” As her kids, we tended to poke fun at mom a lot. It was an ongoing battle of wits with her. She gave as good as she got and was quick with banter (or a retort!).
We’d call her out on something, and her immediate response would be, “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” My brother Craig said something recently that struck me… We shared stories and watched the video I’d put together for the reception after her memorial service, and he said, “You know, as a kid, you don’t think about your parent dying.”
The stark truth of this is remarkable to me, particularly this week. I watched my mother care for my father during his struggle with Alzheimer’s. I saw the love and devotion she felt for him, which only solidified my belief about how absurdly in love they were. Daddy passed away nine years ago, and Momma told me so many times over those nine years how she missed him so much.
It makes me almost giddy to think of them doing the jitterbug down the streets in Heaven with Aunt Nita and Uncle Johnny, all the brothers and sisters up there having a great big Italian meal. In the concert, I mentioned that the older I got, the smarter my daddy became. I realize now how brilliant Mom was as well. She was right – she’s been gone a little over a week, and I miss her now that she’s gone. So, no – I’m not my mother. But for the foreseeable future, I am happy to be the one most like her.
