I was a bit lost in thought and feeling somewhat...eh...when several things happened to snap me out of it.
First...a little family came in and sat in front of us with a mom and a dad and an uncle and two tiny little boys. The little guys were all decked out in tiny little flannel shirts and itty bitty little khaki pants and sporty little shoes, and they were so damn cute I almost couldn't stand it. And I immediately thought of my mom and how much she would have enjoyed sitting behind these little guys, and how she would have made faces and cooed and smiled at them and if they would have misbehaved, how she would have given them a nickel or quarter for doing so.
She was kinda ornery that way.
And then the Rector introduced the presiding priest, and right there in front of God and everybody (literally) was the priest that had to sign my formal withdrawl papers when I left Notre Dame for a year when Mom got sick and then died. I was a mess the day I withdrew and remember reaching down and taking off my ring to hand it back (because I thought that's what I was supposed to do), and Fr. Beauchamp patted my hand and told me I could keep my ring on and whenever I felt myself feeling lonely or lost in Phoenix, I should just look down at it and know that the Notre Dame family was praying for me and that I could come "home" whenever I felt strong enough to do so. And when Mom died, Fr. Beauchamp was one of the first people to call my dad to make sure he was taking care of himself.
Somewhere in the midst of all of this happening, my Jersey Boy looked over, gave me a nice warm smile, and then he took my hand and held it. This might not seem like a very big deal, but it was the exact right thing at the exact right moment, and it hit me that instead of bawling my eyes out today with grief and sadness...I want to remember and celebrate all of the things that made my mom so extraordinary.
They have a Book of Remembrance on the altar steps, so after Mass we went up and I wrote "In memory of and in thanksgiving for Bob, Sig, and Stewey Rich" and then we went down and lit candles at the Grotto. The thought of my mom and dad and Stewey up there watching over me and rolling their eyeballs over the latest neurotic lunatic shenanagins I've gotten myself into are somehow comforting, and I guess I am feeling like the luckiest girl on the planet that I had them all as long as I did.
A good breakfast out and freh pajamas later, and I am in the Happy Chair with the papers and my sippy cup. Rich is watching football and doing his laundry (!) and I am contemplating Christmas stitching.
The script is officially flipped, Dearies. At least for today. Thank you for indulging me and letting me share a woman named Sig with you. I do wish she were here to entertain you, but I have a feeling she's very happy to watch from far as you all indulge and care for her idiot daughter.