On February 23, 2010, comfort was hard for me to find.
I was taking care of my then five-month-old son solo while working remotely from my mom’s home in Oregon, all the while trying to prepare for the inevitability of soon saying my final farewell to my mom.
Monday’s post helped me remember my mom’s life instead of the days leading up to the end of it, but that only goes so far. Today, for example, my heart believes very much that it is living February 23, 2010 and February 23, 2012 simultaneously.
As written on TMiYC’s Facebook page this morning:
Yesterday I wrote about how the Mayan calendar was cyclical, not linear and conclusively ending.
So, too, with grief. There isn’t a set amount of grief that becomes gradually and predictably lesser day by day. Rather, there are ebbs and flows.
As this Gregorian calendar year’s cycle nears March 4, I’m in a flow of mourning, remembering these days two years ago.
And yet, looking through the source document for a book I might someday write–with my sisters–about my mom, I was startled and pleased to remember that there was some comfort in unexpected places.
Let’s step in a time machine back to my law school days, shall we?
A die-hard Joss Whedon fan, I celebrated and supported all things Whedon-related during my law school days. I seized every opportunity I could to be an extra on Whedon’s shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel and even (once) Firefly. When I learned Angel‘s David Boreanaz would be playing at a charity hockey event, I was in. So in.
Except, when I got to the event, I realized I wasn’t much of a hockey fan. In fact, the only thing that kept my attention on the game at all was this guy named Michael Rosenbaum, known to many as Smallville’s Lex Luthor.
It wasn’t him, exactly; rather, it was his impact on the menfolk who’d clearly been dragged to the game by their wives.
Watching Rosenbaum play with skill even I could appreciate, I saw many of the men go from half-asleep and disengaged to actually being present. Something good was happening! Real sport was being played!
Men’s enthusiastic voices began to punctuate the silence. “Rosenbaum!” “Rosey!” “Go, Rosey!”
I didn’t expect to think about that game or Michael Rosenbaum ever again, but the thing about going to school at UCLA was that lots of movie premieres happened right off campus. One such premiere was of Rosenbaum’s film Sorority Boys. I nabbed a free pass to the premiere on a trip into Westwood for ice cream.
When the stars of the movies came into the “civilian” theater to say hello, I yelled “Rosey!” in my attempt at a booming, masculine hockey fan voice before bursting into a fit of giggles. Rosenbaum looked around with a question on his face as I sank into my seat.
A few moments later, I found myself unable to resist a repeat. “Rosey!” I boomed.
Rosenbaum looked around again and said something like, “Seriously, who’s saying that?”
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