"Calling in Mardi Gras"

My mom referred to her passport as her "Field of Dreams" and she thought that if she got one, the travel would come. She often suggested things like going  to Paris even if we just got off the plane, had a drink and came back, at least we could say we were there.  While this particular trip didn’t require a passport, it did seem like a dream.

The week after we got the news that my mom's cancer had returned with a vengeance, I took a week of vacation to go and be with her at home. I thought that we were going to talk game plan and strategy, but instead, most of the “talking” we did didn’t involve words, it involved wine and the intuitiveness and connection of  mothers with their daughters and vice versa.

One night that week, we were at a local bar having an after dinner drink and my mom noticed a poster on the wall advertising a Mardi Gras party for the next day. We should come down to that tomorrow, she said.  We didn’t even realize that it was time for Mardi Gras, already. Without skipping a beat, I replied – Or we could go to actual Mardi Gras. She looked at me for a minute, laughed, and agreed that we should definitely go to Louisiana for Mardi Gras next year. I can’t say how aware I was at the time that next year may not be a possibility, but  I suggested we  look up the rates, just for fun.  Within seconds my husband was on a travel site on his cell phone  and I said, OK,  what does the cost have to be for us to go? My mom threw out a figure and to our shock and surprise we found an available room on Bourbon street and RT airfare for the three of us within the budget. Ok, but surely the weather won’t cooperate! I asked my mother,  What does the temperature have to be for us to get on that plane?  70 degrees, she said.  Would you believe that the forecast was exactly 71 and sunny for the next 3 days? Before any of us could think twice we booked the flight and room, finished our drinks, drove to Pittsburgh and were on the first flight to Louisiana the next morning. 

While sipping Bloody Mary’s on our early morning flight and congratulating each other on finally being the spontaneous and exciting jet setters we always knew we could be, my mom suddenly remembered that she was scheduled to work the next few days. She had been working only part-time and had not yet shared with her work her grim prognosis, and as with most things at this point she had not yet decided if she was going to continue on at her job. I’ll  just have to call in sick, she said. I thought about this for a second and then said, No not sick, you will have to call in Mardi Gras. She got such a kick out of the idea and excitement of “calling in Mardi Gras” that it became a running joke between us, not only on the trip, but in hard months to come. Even though my stepdad actually called in reality check on my mom’s behalf and my mom never returned to her job, the life and love the memory of “calling in mardi gras” brought to her everytime she had the opportunity to share our adventure with someone will light up my dark days for years to come…

We were in New Orleans by 10am the next morning on actual Mardi Gras and the trip was a 2-day whirlwind.  We walked up and down Bourbon street, drank frozen drinks chalked full of Everclear and Sailor Jerry, sampled the best of  what Cajun culture and cuisine had to offer,  ate raw oysters untill we threw up ( literally in my case) and toured the beautiful neighborhoods and cemeteries of NOLA. We paraded up Bourbon street in masks and beads and watched as the horse cops cleared the chaos off the street at midnight on Fat Tuesday. My mother even saved me from being run over by said horse cop as I fell down and skinned both of  my knees ( In a very festive Mardi Gras tutu I had purchased from a stranger on the street upon arrival) . Actually, she laughed at me as I  knelt  in the street stunned at my lack of grace, (stunned mostly, that I had skinned both of my knees at 26 years old, not at my actual clumsiness, which is actually a specialty of mine)  it was my husband who picked me up off the street before I was trampled. Class act, I know, but I smile when I think of my mother amused at my drunken luck and that she was just as shocked as I was that all she could do was laugh rather than try to save me, however she did shout out a warning that I was about to be stepped on - I would have done the same for her.  

I recently heard someone, also dealing with a recent loss of a parent; offer some advice about making the most of our time with those who matter most.  Live each day as if it were your last they say. I get all that and I agree – Lord knows my Mom and I were way overdue to call in Mardi Gras, or Paris or cruise ship and it was only when facing our worst case scenario that we pulled the trigger on doing exactly what we wanted to do at that moment. However, I promise you that no matter how much you think you have made the most of your time, or how much you have spent each day with those you love like it is your last, or how prepared you may be to face what’s next that it will undoubtedly sneak up on you and hit you like a ton of bricks. But what you can do, what you should do, is make as many memories as possible. Fantastic ones. Remember to take a picture in the moment or do something spontaneous or out of the ordinary. Have our own version of “calling in Mardi Gras.” So that when you cannot be with those you love in the traditional sense, you have memories like mine that you can reflect on – that will comfort you and take you back to a place of life, laughter and togetherness.

My mother was my best friend and everyday something happens that I wish I could tell her…

Today I’d like to tell her, Happy 57th Birthday, Mom.  I miss you to the moon and back, I know if you were still here with me , today - we would have “called in Birthday.”