Joan Petschke

I have been having trouble getting motivated to write lately. I started this blog in order to have an outlet for my little stories, lists, and observations. Previously, they were all stuck in notebooks (or post-it notes) here and there in drawers and bookshelves around the house. It felt good to organize them and have them all live in one place where anyone who was interested could read them. Out of my...dozens of readers, my mom was the biggest fan. I began to tailor my entries toward stories that she might find funny, knowing she would read them the minute I posted them. There were many times in which I would consult her memory when I couldn’t trust my own to fill in the blanks of events that happened long, long ago. Out of her three sons, I’m the one who probably phoned her the least often, which looking back, I’m sure hurt her feelings. These little stories seemed to connect with her, and maybe, hopefully, made up for the lack of communication otherwise.

I’m writing all of this because six months ago, my mom died. Her health had been deteriorating, but it was still a sudden shock when it happened. For a long time, I didn’t want to write about it. At least not in this space which, generally, is filled with goofy or lightweight material. It just didn’t seem appropriate. However, after thinking about it for a while, I figured what better place to write about it than in this exact spot, where she enjoyed reading and also collaborating on some of the stories.

I’m actually not going to say a whole lot about her since most of the people reading this already knew her. But for those who didn’t, all you need to know is that she was kind. She was there for you when you needed her and gave you space when you just wanted to be alone. She never criticized the music blasting out our bedrooms, didn’t laugh at our fashion sense, or roll her eyes at any wild hairstyle we adopted. We were free to express ourselves how we saw fit. Don’t get me wrong, she would definitely get on our case if we were being idiots. In a house with three very different and sometimes wild boys, it must have been a challenge to keep her wits about her on a daily basis. She and my dad gave us a stable, comfortable home in which to grow up and argued so rarely that when they did, little Jeff would ask them if they were going to get a divorce.

She had more friends than you can count and kept in touch with all of them, even if they were grammar school classmates. She was the glue that kept her sister and brother’s families in touch and together on holidays and birthdays when they otherwise might have drifted apart. Sometimes, when a person like that dies, you don’t just lose them, you lose all of the people she was holding onto as well - without her there, so many of them simply fall away.

I always wanted her to write some of her own stories. She had so many tales to tell, and when she did write, even if it was just on a thank you note or in the comments section of a post, it was clear she had that skill. I would love to have those stories at my fingertips that I could read at the times of the year when her loss is felt the most. It would have helped a little, I am sure of that. My advice to anyone reading this - write stuff down, even if you don’t put it out to the world, there is value in articulating your thoughts. Sometimes the best way to process an event or find a way forward is to put it down on paper or type it out on the computer. When facing a challenge, or life-changing event, it can make it a little easier to turn the page and move on.

P.S. - Soon after she died, I visited my dad, and as I was leaving, he asked if I wanted to take some candy Mom had in the pantry. He produced a box of Dots that was half-eaten and it reminded me of all of the times she would buy candy (usually Jujyfruits) for the movies, bring home the unwanted colors, put them in the freezer (I like my candy frozen,) then give to me the next time I stopped by. This felt like the last box of candy we would ever share. I brought it home and put it on our kitchen counter, where it was slowly consumed over the next few days by any of us passing through. When it was empty, we just couldn’t bring ourselves to throw it away, so we put it in our memory box for 2021, where it will stay forever.