For You, I’d Buy My Kids a Cockroach

I’d do anything to bring you back

“Can I buy the girls a la cucaracha?” You asked with a sense of urgency. I could hear your enthusiasm leaping through the phone as I rolled the absurd question around in my mind. Unphased by the fact that my mother-in-law had such an interesting request, I pondered what you were trying to ask me. I was positive you weren’t itching to buy my daughters a cockroach.

This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you, Maryjo. You were known for mixing up words. It led to some hilarious conversations.

I still feel guilty for laughing when you proudly told me you had arranged for us to have “beef with hay soos sauce” for my baby shower. When the beef was presented with au jus sauce, I was slightly relieved.

And then there was the time you asked if you should have a customized shirt made for my oldest that said “CeeCee” on it. When I inquired as to why Joey would want a shirt with someone else’s name on it, you seemed confused. “Well, isn’t that what you always call her?”

No, Maryjo. We call her “Sissy” as in “big sister.” But of course, now she will be CeeCee always.

There are so many funny stories we could laugh about if only you were still with us. It’s a strange feeling to be crying my eyes out in absolute sadness and yet feel a belly laugh coming on when I think about how you mugged a man in New York City because he had the same wallet as your husband.

I wish I could have seen the shock on the man’s face when a ninety-five pound woman grabbed the wallet out of his hand and screamed “Oh no you don’t!” right outside an ATM machine on a bustling street in the Big Apple. What was your plan if he actually had in fact mugged your husband, I wonder.

People love to complain about what a witch of a mother-in-law they have. I love to brag about you. I knew I hit the lottery when we met all those years ago.

You always gave so much. Too much. To everyone. I’ll never forget when my friend approached me at my wedding and asked who the lady dancing in the corner was. “That’s my mother-in-law,” I replied, waiting for what I knew would be a hilarious Maryjo story.

My friend’s response didn’t disappoint (or should I say, you didn’t disappoint, Maryjo), “I went up to her and told her I liked her dress. She told me I could have it at the end of the night because she won’t need it anymore. Told me to meet her at the bathroom later.”

That one story describes your entire existence. You would give the beautiful dress you were wearing to a total stranger, simply because she complimented it. Your generosity knew no bounds.

You were so excited to become a grandmother. If only it happened sooner, you would have had more than two years with Joey and five months with Kelsey.

Joey will never remember you whispering to her “I know I have a scary voice but I promise I’ll be your best friend someday, CeeCee.” Kelsey won’t hear you tell her not to worry, just because she’s smaller than most babies doesn’t mean she won’t grow big and strong.

That thought teleports me back to watching a home movie you took of my husband, your son Vincent, playing on the beach as a child. “Do you think he’s going to grow any? He’s really small,” Your voice can be heard nervously asking from behind the lens. He turned out just fine. And so will Kelsey, as you justly reassured her while you carefully held my five-pound baby girl.

My daughters may not remember you, but trust me, they will come to seek comfort in your memories as if they were their security blankets. They’ll ask me to retell the story about the last day we were all together for the hundredth time.

We went to the fair. Remember? While I was off searching for a suitable meal for a toddler, you bought Joey a corn dog and some ice cream. She was covered in chocolate when I returned with fresh vegetables. You were right of course, toddlers should be able to eat what they want at the fair.

I was so annoyed when you bought Kelsey real silver silverware. What did a baby need with a tiny silver spoon? You wanted her to feel big and special despite her size. And while I complained that the last thing I wanted to do with two kids under two was polish silverware, Kelsey now refuses to use any utensils except those damn silver ones. And so, I polish. Again, you knew what you were doing.

I miss you a little extra this month. It’s your birthday in a few weeks. The first one we won’t get to spend together. I would have gotten you that gift card you always begged for, even though I’d be annoyed by the purchase. You would always swear up and down that you’d spend it on yourself but then a week later, you’d be bringing me gifts. You had a hard time focusing on yourself.

While we are all lost without you, we are grateful that you died peacefully in your sleep, no matter how much of a shock it was to lose you at only sixty-three, without any warning. The world is jumbled now. It makes less sense. It lacks the warmth and luster you carried with you and shared with everyone you met.

Your funeral services were breathtaking. You looked so peaceful. And the line of people who came to say their goodbyes stretched on for days. Everyone had a story about you. I’m sure you heard them all. Everyone claimed to be your best friend. I bet they all were.

It’s impossible to say goodbye to you. So, I never will. I’ll share your funny stories and generosity with anyone who will listen.

I know you would hate having your face on the internet, despite your natural beauty. Instead, I’ve settled on this picture.

It’s a special moment by the ocean. Do you remember? Vincent was grumpy so we decided to dance around him on the beach. What I wouldn’t give for a chance for us to dance in our bare feet together again. I bet my daughters would have loved to join in the fun.

I have some news you’ve been waiting so long to hear! You know how year after year, you assured everyone that Vincent would get the work transfer closer to home so we could all be together? The transfer finally went through after all this time. You never gave up hope. If only you could have just held out a bit longer to share in the joy with us.

As for our last phone conversation, I will forever laugh at your excitement as you explained what you thought a la cucaracha was.

“You know, those things that you shake from Mexico.”

“A maraca?”

“Oops. Yea, that’s what I meant. Do you think the girls would want one?”

Today, I am tempted to buy my kids a cockroach in your honor. But I suppose a maraca makes more sense. Either way, thank you for making our last phone call together as lighthearted and fun as our entire relationship was. I love you so much, Maryjo.

Let this be a friendly reminder to call the ones you love often. Laugh with them. Cry with them. Appreciate every last second with them because, no matter how much we wish things wouldn’t end, dances on the beach can’t last forever.