She’s with me always. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Not after the visit I had.
I’ve been asking Monica for a very specific sign for months. Just weeks after her passing I asked for a Cabbage Patch Doll. Primarily because it reminds me of when we were 10 years old and happy, carefree and together. Something from our childhood. I insisted she whip up something grandiose and unmistakable.
“When I see it, I want to know without a doubt it’s YOU.” I said out loud on a day her death was weighing on me heavily.
Sure there were false alarms. I saw a poster of Garbage Pail Kids last month and thought perhaps she was messing with me in a spoof, but that wasn’t personal enough. 1985 was right on target though.
I waited longer.
When I made plans to go to CT, I was intentional about wanting to stay in my childhood home. I wanted to occupy as much of the same space we spent so much time in together. I went there to grieve. I went to pay respects to her family. I assumed this trip would be an emotional one, but Monica gave me the strength to have unfettered interactions and intensely emotional conversations without shedding a single tear. What a gift!
I didn’t know what to expect from my visit with Monica’s mother, Cheryl. Would I need to comfort her? Would she need to comfort me? I didn’t know what the dynamic would be, but it was necessary and a critical piece of my grieving process; our grieving process— I think?
Before my visit with Cheryl, I settled into my childhood bedroom; today a more formal guest room, luggage stand and all. A neutral, adult space I still find an amazing night’s sleep in.
I unpacked and placed all my clothes neatly in the top two dresser drawers and hung additional clothing items in the closet. I adult well when I want to.
I grabbed some pictures I brought from home to show Cheryl and a gift I picked up– the book Signs by Laura Lynn Jackson.
I stopped at the liquor store to pick up some wine. I walked the aisles for 20 minutes, scanning the shelves of wine I do not drink.
‘Come on, Mon. Help me out. What does your mom like to drink?’ I asked in my head.
Within minutes of my silent request, I saw a beautiful floral label that read “Tapestry”. (See blog post Dear Friends and Family 3/2/24)
‘At last! Thanks for the help, Toots.’
Of course, I also purchased a medium bottle of Prosecco and was on my way.
Three minutes to 3pm and it was time to head up. I walked up the hill to Monica’s childhood home for the first time in decades. Cheryl greeted me outside with a hug and a proposal.
“Want to go to the cemetery? I need to show you where she is. Her stone isn’t in yet.”
Cheryl and I hopped in her car and were off to Mansfield. It was overcast, but the rain was holding off. When we arrived to Monica’s plot- a prime piece of real estate on a hilltop, under a tree, with views of the Mansfield Hollow Dam reservoir, Cheryl was elated to see Monica’s stone had been installed.
“She knew we were coming, Jess. It’s a sign!” Cheryl said.
Monica’s stone is beautiful. Minimal writing, a single sunflower picked out by her first born Mallory. It reads, “Love Never Ends”.
‘It sure doesn’t.’
Visiting with Cheryl was just like being with Monica. It was as if it hadn’t been decades since seeing her last. Easy, fun, comfortable. Nothing was off limits, we discussed it all. The day Cheryl lost her daughter was described in a way that gave me more clarity. Nobody ever wants to ask for those details and I didn’t have to.
Again— easy, fun, comfortable. The apple doesn’t fall far…
When we arrived back to Cheryl’s house, I picked up the bottle of Tapestry wine and told her about asking Monica for a sign while I was in the liquor store.
“It’s a red blend. I chose it after asking Monica what I should get.” I explained.
“Are you serious? Monica loves red blends.” Cheryl noted with the same familiar smirk she wore while watching Monica and I act like fools in the yard at 10 years old.
We drank the bottle of Prosecco and ate Cheryl’s world-class bean dip. We reminisced and laughed. No tears out of either of us.
Cheryl told me about Monica’s organ donation. Monica’s corneas are giving someone vision. Her upper lip is being used to repair a child’s cleft pallet. Several of her heart valves were shipped to Boston Children’s Hospital.
Monica still manages to be useful even in death! Such a show off!
Imagine the parents of those kids. They must be so grateful, and thankful and I bet they too will think of you for years to come. I know I would.
“She will live on, Jess! She will see again, kiss again, and love again! Love never ends!” Cheryl said.
How does anyone argue that?
I tried to catch up with LP and the kids a couple of times, but was unsuccessful. LP is keeping the kids busy with trips to NH and in sports, opening day fishing festivities, and Wolfpack hockey games. That’s all while I was in town. He’s doing it Mon, and he’s doing it well. He reached out and apologized for not getting to catch up. I told him not to worry because one day he’ll open the door and I’ll be on his doorstep coming in hot for a hug. Next time, LP. I’ll bring Dan and beer.
On my last day, I was emptying drawers and packing my things. I only used the top two drawers of the dresser, but I was specifically looking for my gray cardigan and pulled open the third drawer. Just some random stuff, old pics, and toys for my gang of nieces when they visit. No cardigan. I opened the last drawer and there it was. The sign I had been asking for. Sirena, my 39 year old Cabbage Patch doll from 1985. The very same one I picked out for my 10th birthday.
For today’s generation… Cabbage Patch dolls were like what Squishmallows are today. All the rage, but a more expensive cult classic. For the record, my daughter is completely creeped out by this doll.
You loved to tell the story about my love for Cabbage Patch dolls— which may or may not have resulted in a doll napping. I took your CP doll home with me one time because I wanted a bald preemie, but chose a practically grown ginger for my own. Must have been an impulse buy, but I maintain my undying love for Sirena.
I needed that. I don’t go looking for signs, they seem to come to me. In my eyeline somehow. Keep them coming.
-JD
