Dear Godmother

I read a book recently where the author, when describing a nurse that took care of her daughter, wrote ‘She wears heavy blue eye shadow and smells of Jean Nate perfume’. I sat in bed caught between smiling and having tears well in my eyes. This sentence is you and I couldn’t believe that it was there in print, in a book I had just gotten for Christmas. As I read that sentence over and over again, I saw a picture of you in my mind. You’re sitting on the couch in my Grandmother’s house, I think it was my Christening Day, not entirely sure, but you’re holding me and you’re wearing a blue floral blouse and your blue eye shadow is shining bright in the picture. And there’s no doubt in my mind that you were wearing Jean Nate as that was always your favorite.

That one sentence in that book was the last sign I needed to tell me it was time to write to you. I’ve put it off long enough and I can’t keep it in any longer. The truth is, it’s blocking me from other things because thoughts of you are front and center in my mind and they’re not leaving. So, it’s time. People always ask the question ‘If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?’ and for the longest time my answer would be you, my dear Godmother. And I wouldn’t need a whole night, probably not even an hour, because once I saw you, I think the words would spew from my mouth like a bad taste I’ve been holding in for way too long.

So here it goes. The words I haven’t been able to admit until recently. The words I didn’t want to say for so many reasons. I fucked up. It really is that simple. I. Fucked. Up. I let my pride, my stubbornness, my selfishness, my bitchiness, myself come between making things right with you. I let the anger win. I put up a wall that had no business being there. I felt I was right and that you weren’t taking my feelings into consideration so why should I try to understand you? That was the stupidity of me, the naivete, the bullshit I let win. I put up this facade of making people think I don’t care and nothing bothers me and the only person that really suffers from that is me. Because it’s 20 years later and I still feel so much pain and hurt and disappointment in myself. But one day, months ago, I finally admitted to myself that it’s on me, it was my own fault, and I took responsibility for our relationship crumbling. And that was my first step. And this is the next, and hopefully last.

As I sit here writing, the tears are coming on their own and that’s fine with me. I feel like it’s the cleanse that I need to get rid of the shit I’ve been carrying around. I can still remember the day you died. I remember that day so clearly. I can replay every moment. I heard the news and after that first moment of sadness, regret filled every piece of my heart and soul. You passed away in 2001, the year I was getting married and I told myself I had time to make things right with you before my wedding. Plenty of time to rebuild our relationship so you would be there when I got married. But I never got that chance. We had a memorial for you at my parent’s house and I can still see myself sitting on the couch, drowning my sorrows in raspberry vodka and 7-up, praying it would numb the pain. Cousin Patty and Diana were in chairs across from me and in my drunken stupor, with tears streaming down my face I remember saying, ‘I thought I had time. I was supposed to make things right’, almost pleading with them to give me an answer, to help me understand, but of course there is no answer. Shit happens when you least expect it, the train comes out of nowhere and knocks you on your ass, and you’re left here to wonder why. Why did I let it get so bad? Why did I let it go so far? Why, why, why? Only questions, never any answers, or at least none that are satisfying enough. You were just gone. No last goodbye, no final moment to say I was sorry or tell you I love you. Any hopes I had for a better future just disappeared.

I have so many fond memories of you. I used to love going to your house in Long Island. We’d take the train and as soon as we stepped off, I felt like we were in another world. Brooklyn is so crowded and everything is concrete but going to your house I saw nothing but grass and trees. Even the air smelled different and it seemed like the sun was always shining. I grew up in apartments so for me, as a little kid, your house was glamorous. My two cousins had their own big bedrooms, but the most glamorous part to me was your bathroom. I remember the big counter with the huge mirror. And laid out on the counter was your make-up and your Jean Nate powder, which was something I bought for you every Christmas. I loved that powder with the big pink puff to apply it with. I would go into your bathroom just to take a sniff. I would know that scent anywhere and I remember smelling it once in a store and it stopped me in my tracks. Just a tiny scent of it brought me back to you. I looked it up once and the powder is discontinued but you can still buy it for over $100, which is ridiculous. And it’s not even pink anymore, or maybe it never was and I just remember it that way. I thought about buying it but convinced myself that you’re not in the product and my memories of you wearing that scent are priceless. And it’s best when it hits me somewhere unexpectedly, those are the best moments. When just one scent, out of nowhere, can bring you back to a better place and time, can bring you back to me.

Christmas Eve has always been important to me but as a kid it was the best day. Everyone would crowd around two tables in a tiny apartment, and most of the adults sat together, but you and Uncle Tom always chose to sit with us kids. It always meant so much to me that you would rather be with us. That you preferred our company. And we would laugh with you and talk about crazy things. You would make fun of the other adults and treat us with respect, not just like we were kids. The truth is, both you and Uncle Tom were big kids yourselves. You never took life too seriously. You were always smiling and you would do anything you could to make us smile and laugh. No one else ever did that for us. Everyone else made it clear that we were the kids and they were the adults. But with you, we were equal, nothing separated us. And I don’t think you ever knew how much that meant to me, so thank you.

You had this beautiful presence and I remember that your laugh could light up the room. But as the years keep going by, I can’t remember the sound of your laugh. I can’t remember your voice. I search my memory for it but it’s always someone else’s voice I hear. I borrowed my sister’s wedding video just so I could hear your voice because I remember you spoke on it, but it still didn’t sound right. Something was off. And it makes me sad that I can’t hear it clearly in my mind. I hope there comes a day when I remember it again.

I still have the ring you gave me although I haven’t worn it in a very long time. I think a part of me feels that I don’t have the right to wear it, that I’m not worthy. But I’ll get there and wear it with pride as it is a piece of you I can carry with me. After Uncle Tom died, anytime we would play cards, you’d call yourself a ‘poor widow woman’, trying to get everyone to feel bad for you and let you win our money. Whenever I play any kind of cards, I think of you and smile. Any time I saw you, at some point, you would ask me to scratch your back. And not just a little spot, but your entire back. I would get so annoyed that I was the only one you asked. The funny thing is, I ask Pat to scratch my back all the time now. It’s as if that part of you got transferred to me, just like Uncle Tom’s love of 7-layer cookies, something I never liked as a kid, but years after he died, they became a favorite of mine. I feel the both of you with me at these times and it makes me happy.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of your passing. It’s been 20 years. I don’t know how that’s possible. Some days it feels like yesterday, some days it feels like a lifetime ago. Either way it’s been 20 years. And I think 20 years is long enough for me to be carrying around this weight of regret. I have to let it go. I know you would want me to, you would’ve wanted me to years ago. But I had to feel like I punished myself enough. I can’t do it anymore. There’s nothing I can do to change what did or didn’t happen. It’s been over a long time. The only thing I can do now is make sure I never feel this kind of regret with anyone else in my life. Make sure I do better and I think I’m doing that. I wish things had been different. I wish I knew certain things while you were still here. I wish I understood back then the way I understand things now. But all the wishes in the world won’t do me any good. I have to unhook myself from the anchor that has weighed me down for so long. I have to give myself permission to forgive myself, because I know you forgave me a long time ago. So I apologize to you and to myself. I am sorry for not doing better by you, I am sorry for any pain I ever caused you, I am sorry for not coming to your wedding, I am sorry I wasn’t a better Godchild to you. I am sorry I never told you or showed you how much you meant to me. I will still miss you more than you know and I will love you for the rest of my life.