F Bombs Everywhere!

Everything changes the second you lose on of your parents.  That moment in time is forever cemented to your brain. The key is to find how to move on and remember that more than anything they lived and remembering that is critical to their memory.

My father passed away in 1992 and facing the first of everything when you lose someone close is met with fear, apprehension and just overall dread.  Well we had to face the first Christmas, just how we weren't sure.  We just knew that together we would get through it the best way we could.

In anticipation of the holiday approaching my oldest sister arrived from Florida to help get things started.  By this time we had moved our Mom from the house to a very nice apartment and were ready to let loose the decorating elves inside these four walls.  Susan was working as an amazing cake decorator and had some strange hours and being near the holidays was pulled in every direction at work with needs for cute, decorative creations she held in her talented hands.  

I got off work and headed to my Mom's to make dinner for all of us and wait until Susan got off work to come home and join in.  Snowing like a big dog, the roads getting snow-packed, it was decided I would stay the night too so we now have the makings of a good ole fashioned slumber party with the family version of the Golden Girls (that's another story, I'll tell later).  

While I'm in the kitchen making dinner I overhear a conversation by my oldest sister and my mom about the "F word" and how they don't ever use it, say it or even like to hear it.  I smile to myself and wonder what they would think if they knew I not only knew how to use that word, but did so with gusto on many occasions.  At the time I thought I knew what the origin of that word was (it was since been shown to be incorrect information).  So I walk around the kitchen to join them and give them a language lesson on the big bad F word.  I can see a glint in both of their eyes and dinner calls for my attention and I wander away.  Within five minutes I hear them both trying the word out like a new pair of shoes.  Biting my lip from laughing I hear more and more sentences with a F-Bomb being dropped left and right, but still in a hushed whisper.  When I clear the wall back to where they are sitting I'm met with the look of two guilty girls with their hand in the F-Bomb cookie jar.  My moms hands flew to her mouth in her attempt to look not only innocent but that she was pushed the blame over to by my older sister.  I think my mom was the one who invented throwing under the bus.  So now I have my mom looking innocent, my oldest sister in need of body armor from being run over by the mom bus.   And we are quickly moving to the next phase of this F-Bomb experiment, lord help us all!

For the next forty minutes I sat on the couch and listened to these two women toss F-Bombs everywhere wanting desperately to dive for cover.  Instead I went the opposite way and jumped in with both feet and mouth and came up with what I termed as a scathingly brilliant idea (again that's another story, I'll tell later).  So the plan I hatched was when Susan walks into the door from work that she's met with these two bombardiers saying to her "Where the F*** have you been?"  Originally they wanted me to be in on this and the trio would toss out the question.  After I said, "no, it won't surprise her if I said it" and saw that mock shock look at my moms face, they began to practice.  There was about an hour before Susan was to get there and the variations of their bomb was narrowed down to the best one.  Once that was decided they practiced over and over and over and over.  All the while thinking to myself, what would Daddy say to all this and laughing at the two bombers in full swing now.  There was a moment of comfort in knowing that this when this is done we will move on and the F Bomb experiment will be called done.  Man was I sooo wrong!

I hear Susan approaching the door walking carefully not to fall on the now several inches of snow covering the walkway and the key is in the door.  Mom and my sister are prepped, I'm standing up leaning against the wall and the stillness of the moment is palatable.   The door opens, Susan kicks off her shoes to keep from tracking in snow and steps in.  Mom and my other sister announce loud and proud "Where the F*** have you been?"  Susan without skipping a beat says "What the F***'s it to ya!!"  Susan falls down on the floor laughing hysterically, Mom covers her mouth in mock shame of her behavior, my other sister laughs at herself and her behavior and I laugh, shake my head and go get dinner on the table. Keep in mind I've been listening to this phrase for over an hour now, the thrill, so they say, is gone.

While sitting around the table still soft giggles all around at the greeting Susan came home to, I begin to offer to serve dinner.  Mom looks to Susan and tells her "Pass the F***ing salt please!" Proud what not only did she use it correctly, but she also added the polite ending of 'please'.  Daddy would be so proud!  But I also realize a monster is being born in front of our eyes.  Susan replies "I'm F***ing trying!" and now the wheels are officially off our little red wagon.  For the rest of the evening every sentence from every person in the house dropped an F-bomb. From "Dinner was F***ing great!" to "It's time for F***ing bed" and finally including after we all were safely in bed tucked in and Mom announce to the house full of giggles to "Shut the F*** up and go the F*** to sleep"  The last eruption of laughter was followed by exhausted sleep.  

While I was falling asleep I realized that this level of laughter had been missing since we lost daddy and it was something that we all needed.  We had made it a point to laugh and remember the fun times, we hadn't just laughed ourselves silly.  And did it ever feel good.

The next morning I got up and wandered into the living room to head for coffee and Mom was sitting in her chair reading.  Almost forgetting the previous evenings language adventure I lean over and kiss Mom good morning and she says with her twinkle only she could produce and said "It's about F***ing time you got up!" And we were off again!

Momma never did get use to "that word" but we often discussed that night and each time Mom would throw her hands to her mouth in mock shock and would proclaim she was coursed into that behavior.  We all know better!

Remember, it's not always about making lemonade, it's about remembering those who taught us, loved us, raised us and made us who we are today.  Remember to laugh and love together to remember and honor them too!  Now after saying that, go get a f***ing glass of lemonade!

~Cheers