Rae, an unforgetful person.

I was raised in a normal home in suburbia. Oh whom am I kidding? Nothing about our home was normal. You walked in to find the Triple Goddess statue staring at you. Adorned with flowers and a candle burning at its base. To your right was a black lounge and to the left was the Dutch decorated dining room, in which the Cockatoo was also kept. His name was Sam and we never saw eye to eye. He now lives with my brother. We always had more animals than any other sane person would have. That’s because my mom would say “normal is boring”. Ranging from dogs, cats, birds, fish, snake, mountain tortoises, rats, hamsters and bunnies. It was labeled the local zoo. We didn’t really have any mayor pentagrams on display as we just simply didn’t have any. We had small things that told the average person that these people were different. Well besides for my mom’s collection of witches, we had small things. Like the Egyptian statues in the lounge, The Hindu items throughout the entire house. The fire pit in the back yard. People also knew that come end of April there would be a dress up party at our house. Neighbours knew that we had rituals of some sorts in the back yard but no one seemed to be curious enough to ask. And it seemed like my mom and I only wore black. This wasn’t the case but most of the time we wore black, sometimes we also wore brown or other earthy tones. Black is slimming. We were well liked and were always invited to the local gathering of the street. We got along with everyone and to this day I am not sure if it is because they knew that we could brew for or against them or if it was because they simply liked us. Neighbours never complained about our late night parties or chanting or dogs or ……..anything now that I think about it. We were pretty much left to do what ever we wanted. We looked like a normal family, …….sometimes. We had a sailboat  (a catamaran) and a normal car and our house looked pretty normal from outside Even during Christmas, even though we were so not Christians, my mom loved to decorate the entire house. I used to say to her “Mom we are not Christian.” She would say that she knows but that it doesn’t matter. That it is a festive season, one for giving. I would say “Mom our house looks like Santa’s workshop” and she would say, with a child like grin and giggle, “I know, isn’t it cool. “ and I would just shake my head.

But as silly or crazy as what she may have been from time to time, sometimes for entire days, she was my biggest teacher, mentor and guide. We could debate the mystery of the cosmos while sitting in the Wimpy with a coffee and a smoke and in the next instant we would laugh over what some woman has done with her hair as she walk into the smoking section. We understood each other and could communicate without having to talk. We were banned from being in a team at any game we played because we never lost when playing in the same team, because it was just like we were in each others minds. We were so alike, she used to say to me “The only thing you got from your father was your schlong” I look like her and I am the only one that got her blond hair. Gods she was pissed off with me when I coloured it black, yet she helped me to touch it up once a month.

She would come home from work on a hot day and announce that she went to go buy supper. We would get to the kitchen and there would be three big tubs of ice cream. She never understood why would want cooked food over ice cream, insisting that other kids would kill for a supper like this and that she even got us three flavours to choose from or mix. We were always up to something or getting into some mischief. She refused to get old and I would look at her and say to her “I look at you and at some of my other friends mothers and I cannot imagine you getting old like that”

She never did.

She was always in contact with her inner child, her younger self. From abducting clowns so they can entertain her kids to making fairy costumes. Oh don’t get me wrong, she had a temper that would start an ice age and a look that would make even Hitler stop what he is doing. But through all of that she remained a young girl.

She never went out late at night. One night she tells me that she is just quickly going with my older sister to my older sister’s then mother in law. She told me that they won’t be long because she doesn’t like the old bat in anyway. Well at two in the morning more then 5 hours later, I am sitting in a dark lounge smoking a cigarette waiting for her, which is the same thing she would have done. She quietly unlocks the gate, slips into the house and she walks past the lounge to go to her room in a normal tone of voice I say, “is this the time to come home?” She got such a fright and her only response was “who’s the fucking parent here?” Of course then we laughed and I went to sit with her in her room where we had a smoke before we went to bed.

On a Saturday morning she would knock on my door, and all she ever had to do to wake me up was to say my name. I would go to her room, get under the covers while she makes us coffee. We would have coffee and a smoke. She would go shower and I would make the beds. I would go shower while she packs her bag. Then we are off to my older sisters house where we would have a menthol cigarette and coffee. All three of us would there smoke a menthol, even though my sister and I didn’t smoke menthols. From there we would be on our way to the shops, because my mother understood the desire and need for shopping.

She moved from this world, into the Summer Lands at age 50. It was a heart attack that finally took her from here. She never got to be that old woman with the grey hair that I could never see. She remained that young vibrant person until the end of her days. It is a belief of mine that she is currently a guide for me. I can smell her and at times I just know she is there. Or maybe it is just wishful thinking and my inability to let go.

These blogs wont always have a nice point to it or a lesson. It is my blog and I put on here what is on my mind. Today, for some reason, I am thinking a lot about her, more than usual. The most unforgettable woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. They say that it is not easy for a parent to loose a child. Thankfully I will never know that pain. But I can tell you that it is not easy for a child to loose a parent either. Maybe one day we will talk about that day.

Mwah!