My Super Hero.

I’m pretty sure the saddest moment of my life was the first time I ever saw my mom cry. I was 5 years old and it was Easter Sunday and my Poppy had just passed away. I remember my Mom took me into our bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat that was covered with this comforting but obnoxious pink and fuzzy cover. She held me as I straddled her lap and she explained to me that Poppy used to be really sick but that he wasn’t anymore. She told me that his pain went away and that he was happy and healthy again but that that meant that he was in a place called “heaven” and we couldn’t physically see him everyday like we wish we could. I realize now that her dad was her entire life and I can’t imagine how hard that conversation was for her to have with me. As she told me this she began to cry and I remember I began to cry too, but not because of the sadness I felt about my Pop Pop dying , because my mom was sad and that was a feeling that my heart just couldn’t bear. You see my mom exuberated strength. She had a well known history of kicking people’s asses throughout childhood, she never cried when she got needles, and she was never afraid of watching scary movies. She was my super hero. So to see my super hero break down with fear was something my heart couldn’t handle. After less than 2 minutes of crying she pulled herself together and told me everything was going to be ok. She debated whether or not she should bring me to the viewing and after talking to my pediatrician they both decided if I wanted to go and she didn’t let me that I would “resent her for the rest of my life”. So, the day of my Poppy’s wake, the saddest day of my Mom’s life, she dressed me in a leopard print dress and high black boots and coached me on how the evening would be. She explained that Poppy would look like he was sleeping. She explained that that was only Poppy’s physical body and that his spirit was in the beautiful place she told me about earlier “Heaven”. We got to the funeral home an hour before people were set to arrive, so I could see him privately. She held me, asked if I was ready, and after I nodded yes, walked me up to the coffin. I yelled, “he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping. He looks like he’s dead” I understand now, that this must have been agonizing for my mom, who just lost her best friend, but my mom, my super hero, held me in her arms in Migliccoos Funeral Home’s Basement bathroom and comforted me while I cried. She took time to answer all of my many questions and let me wipe my tears and boogers on her fancy shirt. I will always remember that on one of the worst days of her life, my mom was strong for me and that’s what being a mother is all about. Being your child’s super hero. My Mom continued to share stories of my Poppy with me for the rest of my life. She showed me the hundreds of pictures and home videos her and my Dad had taken and kept his spirit and memory alive in me growing up. It’s my turn to be the super hero. It’s my turn to be strong and keep my Mom’s memory alive in my daughter. So when her wind chime blows and Cagney says, “Nana” I can say “you’re right!” with a smile and when she touches my locket with my Mom’s picture on it and says, “Nana!” I can say, “right again, that is your Nana!” And eventually when she is older and she flips through the photo album of pictures of my Mom I compiled for her and says, “Tell me about Nana” I can tell her. With the same strength and composure my mom showed me all those years ago. I imagine the conversation will start with something like this... “Well, she was my super hero”