Greetings, babies. As always, its been a while. On Sunday, my ma-in-law, Pat, or as I lovingly refer to her, "The Killarney Killjoy", passed away.She was 79 years old. and I loved her.
She really wasnt a killjoy. Actually, she was pretty hilarious, as long as she was focusing on someone else. At about 4'10, and 100 lbs, she was small, but like a homemade M-80, she could kaboom with no warning. She was never loud, never profane, well unless you count the time she said"motherfucker" and even that came out "maetherfakr" shit, that was a night ill never forget, but she could administer an ass whooping you didnt know you were even getting till you got home and noticed the bruises. Passive/ Agressive doesnt begin to descibe her. On a recent visit, my dear friend Toni and I were talking with her and I mentioned someone who passed by, wondering who he was. "He is just visiting his father" she said. " But if you were at Mass this morning you would have known that" After 27 years I finally had an independent witness. Toni thought it was golden. That was Pat.
Pat was the mother of 7 kids, Grandma to 20, Great Gram to 7. I came to the family, at 21, divorced with an 11 month old daughter of my own. Now, my husband was the pick of that litter, and Mom knew it. Her best child, only a baby himself, and here he is carrying someone elses life. It must have worried her sick. But she never once made me feel less than her own children. She loved me and punished me just like I was her own. And more important, she loved my daughter. Never did a day go by that she didnt make my child feel loved. She was and always will be "Sticker" to Tiffany, my oldest. Love notes in the mail always had stickers the kids loved to much. No event in our lives was too small for her. Maybe it was because she knew I had no family of my own, but really I think she just loved that much.
She was sharp, and oppinionated, but she would be the first one to be confused as to why everyone just couldnt "get along" She would say something that would start a friggin shitstorm, shake her head and walk away wondering why everyone was so pissed off all the time.She was the first to point out any flaw, but the next minute she was telling someone you were perfect. Keeps you on your toes, and fully medicated to be around that, but, that was Pat.
A devout Catholic, there were two things you NEVER bullshitted about to her . The Pope, and her mother country, Ireland. In the early '80's someone gave me a "Pope on a Rope" bath bar. I thought it was the funniest fucking thing. She was PISSED. Party foul of epic magnitude. That and when I refered to my dumping of bottles after a party as "Irish wind chimes". She kicked my ass from here to the old county. But she was the one, when I was having a hard time with my Catholicism, that I would go to. She would sit for as long as I needed, answering questions the only way she knew how.Some of the answers were just not good enough for me. Until at one point she took my hands and said " Thats why they call it faith". At 21 thats a head of cabbage being pounded up my ass. At 49, its my beacon of light.
On Saturday we go to honor her. Everyone there will bring with them a lifetime of experiances they had with her. And i will bet my soul not one of us will recognize the Pat that the others knew. She was just that special and different. Im gonna miss her notes, her phone calls, her wheezy "Muttley" laugh. Im gonna miss her unsolicited advise about the evils of t.v. video games and too many potato chips. Im gonna miss her shitty fruitcake and her care packages that were wrapped in so much strapping tape i dreaded opening them.Im gonna miss her 5o'clock martini time, no matter where she was, she pulled out her fully stocked traveling mini bar, and mixed up perfect Bombay martinis, stired, never shaken. Im gonna miss seeing how proud she was of her son.Im gonna miss how she loved my children. Im gonna miss her honesty and her deception. She was the poster child for confused emotions. And I loved her. No confusion there.
