comedianseriously-blog

[comedianseriously-blog]

The saddest $1400 I ever made

Today I sold the engagement ring.

I remember buying it. It's funny, because she and I joked(but we were serious) about getting married before we even started dating. I knew she'd say yes. I knew what kind of ring she wanted. I'd picked it out before our first kiss. I know it sounds crazy, but it wasn't to us. I wanted to wait til we went to Hawaii but I couldn't. I couldn't even wait til we were in New Orleans. I did it in my apartment bedroom as soon as she walked in. I remember her heartbeat and tears and going to get it resized. I remember her saying "it'll Blind all the other boys". I remember hew posting "I said yes!" and then making us a page on The Knot(which is still up last time I checked.).

I remember the day she gave it back. She left it in the living room table while I was out running errands. I didn't even know she was back in town. She'd told me she was going to give it back...but seeing it there felt different. Still, I held it. I felt like one day she and I would find each other and she could decide if she wanted that ring back or to pick a new one. I kept it in my "special things" box. Today was different. I met a shady, Eastern Europe guy in a track suit at the Sciota Downs parking lot who paid me in crisp 100 dollar bills. Then I choked back tears walking back to my car. I'm sure everyone who saw me assumed I just lost a lot of money gambling. I was the saddest guy walking out of there with $1400 ever. I got in my car and broke down and now I'm writing this.

I know I write about her a lot, but I don't have or really want many followers. I don't post this to my socials. I just want to write it as it feels so it's tangible.

I guess it wasn't real when she gave back the ring because I hadn't given up. "She'd wear it again one day". This is worse. I'm still in love with her even though I've given up.

[comedianseriously-blog]

You are appreciated

The first stitch of clothing I ever wore was a red, velvet dress.  No, my parents weren't anti-gender role progressives; my mom just really hoped I'd be a girl and bought a pretty dress to put me in before the sonogram dashed her dreams.  She put the dress on me anyway.  She was a stubborn woman. 

My mom became a mother at 15.  She was a mother longer than she was anything else.  She never graduated high school or put together anything resembling a career.  I'm not sure how to best explain my mom's method of parenting aside from simply saying "she loved us.".  I don't mean that in the basic way that it sounds.  I mean that, above all else (preparing us, disciplining us, raising us, teaching us) she loved us.  She didn't give a damn about what we were supposed to do or be as long as we were happy.  She loved us when we were despicable.  I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but it's true. 

When I was 4 years old I sat in the living room of my aunt's home.  My aunt began to playfully tease me.  "Hey little boy.  Why are you so ugly?"  She said with a smile as I ignored her.  "You sure are an ugly little boy."  She elbowed my mom playfully as I ignored her again.  "Hey little boy..." I cut her off.  "You're an ugly bitch and your momma's an ugly fat bitch."  Her jaw dropped as she looked at my mom.  My mom smiled and said "I guess you'll stop fuckin with him now, won't you?"  That was my mom.  

She worked jobs that I'd honestly probably kill myself if I had to do for a living.  Convenience store clerk, vending machine operator, school bus driver, cafeteria lady.  When I went to Hunt School(located square in the slums of Columbus, MS) she'd pick me up on Wednesday's mid day for lunch.  She told me how she used to go to school here and how she'd skip school to shoot dice across the street.  "Don't do that or you'll be driving this damn bus like me."  Every Friday she'd buy a different Disney movie from a coworker and watch it with me.   The Big Green was my favorite. 

I was 11 when my mom had her first stroke, which caused her to have major trouble speaking and walking after.  My dad was deployed to Iraq and my older brother was in prison.  During this time I believe my mom, my little brother, and I created the type of bond you can only form when you go through really fucked up things together.  We ate fast food every day and stayed up way too late making fun of the world.  If you didn't want to see roaches and rats then you better keep the lights off.  One night we had no groceries in the house and Nathan and I were hungry.  He found a bowl of cool whip in the back of the refrigerator and started eating it.  "You want some of this cool whip with blueberries?" he asked after several bites.  I looked at him, puzzled.  "We don't have any blueberries." I replied.  He showed me a cool whip bowl filled with mold.  Shit was just like that.  We probably fell through the societal cracks a bit, but we made it through together. 

I used to get in a lot of fights.  I had anger and pain and emotional problems I didn't know how to deal with....and I was good at fighting and not much else.  I kicked the shit out of my teacher's son, who was 2 years older than me, one day and she called my mom to the school.  She told my mom I was an awful child who only wanted to fight and would never amount to anything.  My mom took her earrings out and said "say one more thing like that and you and your son can compare ass whoopins tonight."  That was my mom.  She could barely walk, but she was ready to scrap for me. 

I grew up and started working pretty decent jobs and got into standup and life changed. One of my proudest moments is having taken my mom to Paradise Island in the Bahamas.  As a kid I'd ask her "When I get rich and famous, where do you want to live?" and she'd tell me an island.  I never got rich and famous, but I got her to that island.  We drank booze out of coconuts and we accidently wound up at a nude beach.  I was almost assuredly the only guy pushing his mom's wheelchair around a nude beach that day. 

Life wasn't always particularly kind or fair to my mom.  She found happiness in her children.  I was sitting in a bathtub in my old apartment in Birmingham when I got a call that she'd had another stroke.  I drove back to Mississippi thinking it'd be a lot like the first one.  It wasn't.  She could no longer speak at all and most of her brain was destroyed.  They were preparing to airlift my mom to Jackson when she motioned to Nathan and I(who were somewhat on the outs at the time) that she wanted us to hug.  We did and I promised her we'd be ok in time. 

The last time I visited my mom in Jackson, I knew she'd be gone soon.  She was on a breathing machine and hadn't woken up since being airlifted to Jackson.  The nurse came in and told me visiting hours would be done soon and I leaned down to kiss mom goodbye before heading back to Birmingham.  She popped her eyes open and squeezed my hand.  She couldn't speak at all and her tongue was hanging completely out of her mouth.  "Mom...can you hear me?  Squeeze my hands 3 times if you can understand me."  She squeezed strong 3 times using the one limb she still had mobility in.  I've never cried harder in my life.  "Mom, I know it's hard and you're trying to hang on.  I want you to know I love you.  You know that don't you?"  She squeezed my hand harder.  "You were an amazing mom.  I remember all the things you taught me.  I'm going to be ok.  We all are.  Thank you for everything you were for me."  The nurse came back to the room saying time was up.  I started to say goodbye, but mom pulled my hand toward her.  I nodded.  "This is her first time being awake since this happened.  I'm going to stay until she falls asleep."  The nurse smiled and walked away.  She fell asleep 20 minutes later and never woke back up.  She died a week later. 

Home never felt much like home after that.  I needed to leave it all, so I did. 

I spoke at her funeral.  I didn't want some preacher who didn't really know her trying to sum up her life while pimping his church.  I wanted to speak from the heart.  I don't really remember a lot of what I said, but people seemed to like it.  When I was 8, my mom told me she wanted me to play "How Can I Help You Say Goodbye" by Patty Loveless at her funeral.  I always remembered that.   The song, if you haven't heard it, is song about a mother helping her child through loss.  "How can I help you say goodbye" First to a childhood best friend moving away, then to someone they're in love with who has chosen to leave them, and, ultimately, to her at her own death.  Mom knew.  She knew how life is sometimes.  She knew I was like her...that things hurt harder.  The song she wanted played at her funeral wasn't a hymn or her favorite song.  It was a song about helping her children be ok.  That's my mom.