HOLIDAZE (Excerpt from a Short Story About the Loss of My Mother)

Image Credit & Copyright: David Castillo Dominici

I am sharing an excerpt from a short story about the affect of my mother's death on my life (Sarah Bernice Turner Oliver Hoskins, March 2, 1933 - September 12, 1979).

A book of short stories is a component of my memoir project that's been in storage for a while. This one is from Holidaze in the chapter titled, "The Anniversary." The short story isn't finished yet, nor has it been edited (I've no guilt about imperfections as per Cassie's guest post), but I'm happy that my Creator has guided me to share it with you just the same. Remember to hug your mother and tell her you love her. Love, serenity and joy to you and your loved ones.

HOLIDAZE
by Valerie Michele Oliver

THE ANNIVERSARY. 
I write. We buried her. Anger, sadness, and numbness competed inside me for priority. When I last saw my mom, she was not the person I wanted her to be: the face with the perpetual smile. She tried to be though, attempting smiles through urine-soaked eyes, and dry, wrinkled skin. She vacillated between being skeletal thin or bloated, expanding with intravenous fluids. Eyes full of sorrow and desperation, she asked me to take her home, far from the intensive care unit.
“I want to go home,” she stated. Her eyes looked into mine. I imagined tiny striped and solid pool balls in her mouth. Yeah. I smoked some extremely potent weed on the ride down from Athens, GA to Savannah. I shook the hallucination off.

I held her bony, frail hand, returned her look, and responded, “I can’t, Ma. This is the best place for you.”

That was not the answer she wanted to hear. Perhaps, she thought I hadn’t heard her the first time. Perhaps, she was expecting me to be the strong one, and take charge as I had many times in the past when she had been able to rely on me.

“I want to go home. Please. Take me home.” It was more urgent this time. A few of the balls fell out of her mouth and shattered on the floor. Tiny, white, thin skeletons laid among the remains.

 “Ma, I wish I could, but I can’t. They can take better care of you here. Now eat something. Please ma, you’ve got to keep up your strength, so you can fight this thing and get better. Drink this juice. It will help you get stronger.” I placed the juice up close to her lips. She forced herself to take a few sips. I knew that it was not for her benefit, but for mine.

“Please. Please, take me home.” She had tears in her eyes now, and pleaded through them. My hand was in hers, and I knew that if she had more strength, she would have pulled me closer to her by them. It wasn’t happening, but I felt that pull anyway. I knew I couldn’t take her away. I had no power in this situation. My stepfather had all the control, and was calling the shots (which in my mind were bad ones). At that time, I loathed myself for being weak. I told myself, “You’re weak.” And after she died, I blamed myself. I was weak. 

That evening, when to hospital rooms were dark, and most of them quiet, I laid on a cot next to my mother's bed listening to her breathing. I don't remember sleeping, but do listening. Her breathing became low moans like the kind you have when you dream someone is chasing you, and about to catch you, and you're trying to scream but it comes out like muffled moans. I climbed into her bed, put my arms around her, stroked and rocked her, and said "I love you." This was what she needed. What she didn't get from her husband. It was the exact opposite of what he offered her as she slipped away, everyday . . . a little . . . death. It was what she needed, and I gave it to her. 

That morning, I left town. I returned to my home about four hours away from the hospital. She told me she wanted to leave. I believed her, but could not face that she was dying, and that I couldn’t even grant her last urgent wish. I felt that I deserted her. She deserted me a few hours after I left. I got the call only minutes after I returned home. She checked out on her own.

Less than an hour after I returned home, the phone rang with news of her death. Three voices on the telephone, my sisters and my brother, spoke to me. “She’s dead,” said a voice. Was anyone crying? “She died not too long after you left,” said another.

I dialed my best friend. It was time for her to take charge, and she was definitive: “I’ll be right over.” Company and comfort were on the way. I rolled a joint and smoked it—a familiar, unconscious pattern to help distance reality. I shed my clothing—anesthetized—and stepped into the bathtub. I stood washed away by tears underneath the shower head. They kept flowing. They soaked my body. They went down the drain.

copyright © 2016 Valerie Michele Oliver

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Magical Music Moments: Nataly Dawn & Dawn Kallevig (Her Mom) Singing "Wild Horses"

Credit: FanPop.com

Simply magical. Love these tears in my eyes. It's like I'm hearing it for the first time. I'm so grateful for Nataly Dawn posting this video of her and your mom singing together. The ties that bind and endure. Dedicating this to Lisa Renee Andrews (my former business manager & friend who was murdered last year after Thanksgiving, and whose birthday is today).

Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones - Nataly Dawn & mom (Click Link)
In case you were wondering where I learned everything I know. My mom and I did this piano vocal arrangement of Wild Horses. She's an incredible pianist, arranger and vocalist (and mom). When I was growing up we would sit at the piano and do this all the time. It's because of her that music is such a huge part of my life.To support my music: http://www.patreon.com/natalydawnWild Horses - by The Rolling Stones - performed by Nataly Dawn and Dawn Kallevig
Posted by Nataly Dawn on Thursday, November 5, 2015

Nataly Dawn uploaded a new video: November 5 at 7:51pm ·
In case you were wondering where I learned everything I know. My mom and I did this piano vocal arrangement of Wild Horses. She's an incredible pianist, arranger and vocalist (and mom). When I was growing up we would sit at the piano and do this all the time. It's because of her that music is such a huge part of my life.

To support my music: http://www.patreon.com/natalydawn
Wild Horses - by The Rolling Stones - performed by Nataly Dawn and Dawn Kallevig

Support Nataly and her music!

Archangel Ariel/Auriel/Uriel -- Which One?

Archangel Uriel (Peace)

Sometimes I wonder exactly who put all that light into my body when I had a death without dying in Cusco, Peru. Was it the Queen of Angels who my mom loved so much, or was it Archangel Ariel, Archangel Uriel, or my angelic Self?

A spirit, great Light Being stood between my mother (Sarah) and my grandmother (Mana) at the end of the tunnel. All three of them were bathed in light but the Being in the middle was brighter. As soon as I understood I had to return to Earth, the Light Being filled me with an incredible amount of light, and I awakened in my bed in Cusco, Peru.

The doctor said: "You would have been dead in another 20 minutes if Eleanora hadn't called me right away after checking your condition so we could get you to the clinic." Uh-huh. No one knew I had died and returned. Actually, Eleanora has told me she saw my illuminated body outside of me and did know.

Recently, a dear friend gave me a book to read written by Doreen Virtue titled: Mesages from Your Angels. The first part I read was about Ariel/Auriel/Uriel, to whom I have felt a strong connection for quite some time.

Later that day, I had a couple of encounters with Ariel while going about my daily life.

First, I was driving down a road on my way to work and passed a business named Ariel's Child. Next, someone I spoke to at work later told me they live in Ariel, PA.

Light, rainbow light, colors are becoming more important and vital to me. I see rainbows a lot. My little niece and I saw a rainbow on the ground next to my car one day. We checked around all the other cars in the area, but no rainbow. I said: This rainbow is just for us today." She said: "We're special."

What wonderful communications to receive.