The insight and the cartharsis

I thought that while wallowing in this crushing, albeit fleeting, sadness of missing my cats, that I’d go the extra mile and say how much I love and miss my mother, too.

This is something J posted a while back, and I didn’t know what to say to it. It just is what it is.

Story the First

This video reminds me of so much. (No, my mother is not dead!) But I can remember one time being very young and calling my mother at work after school. I had read in a videogame magazine that a new videogame, a sequel to one of my favorites ever, was being released on that day. I called and begged my mom to take my to the mall when she got home so she could get it for me.

She huffed a bit and made me repeat the surely-frightening-to-a-parent title several times. She said she had a lot of work to clear up, and she might end up having to stay late at the office—again. But she said she’d try.

Several long hours later, my mom comes home, comes in the kitchen door with armfuls of groceries. I ran up to her expectantly, and she said she was too tired that night to go back out. “There are more groceries on the carport.” I wilted in disappointment and moped outside to bring in the groceries.

I made a few trips, then sat in the kitchen while she put things away in the cabinets. She asked whether I was sure I had brought everything in. Annoyed, petulant: “Yes, mom.” She bade me check again. Still nothing. Check again, she said. “Maybe inside the cat tower?”

There was a cat play tower we’d gotten from somewhere out on the porch. We kept it there because sometimes a cat would sneak out late at night, and we didn’t feel like waiting for them to realize what a mistake it was to forsake a cozy home with blankets and beds for a freezing winter night out in the lawn. They could curl up inside the tower and spend the night out of the cold, waiting by the door until we got up the next day.

I reached inside the cat tower—after peeking, to make sure I wouldn’t punch a cat—and there was a plastic bag from Electronics Boutique. (Yes, this was before they changed their name to EB Games.) The game I’d asked for was inside it. I did a collision hug with my mom’s legs while she patted my head and presumably smiled at how easy it can be to make a child’s universe explode in rainbows of joy.

Story the Second

One day, also when I was quite young, I’m at the mall at a toy store, browsing through all the nonsensical things I was absolutely convinced I needed. Actually, I still haven’t shaken the conviction that my life would be better if I had an elaborate chest-harness system which housed several holsters for various Nerf guns, but that’s a different tale.

Near the front of the store, there’s a bargain bin, filled with VHSes like “Cocoon” and old videogames like “Barbie Saves Pets: PETA Edition!” Bear with me here. I’m waving aside the fog of memory and pretty much guessing at what I descry through the swirling mists. But that sounds like a bargain bin game, doesn’t it? So I’m rifling through used SNES games, and I find a jewel not in my collection: Starfox. Oh man I wanted that game so much! But I know how pestering I can be, always clamoring for new games, so I set it back in its slot between some junk titles, and move along.

Before I’m out of range of the bin, though, I espy an attractively colored game box, and pluck it out from the ranks. It looks pretty neat. The color palette matched what my sick, violent mind thought was cool, so I just marvelled the box for a bit.

I flip it over and read the game description, see that it’s a totally lame sidescroller based on some ancient one that ran on an ENIAC or abacus or something. Sucks. I take one last look at the cover, which today I have a lot of trouble believing looked cool to me, then return it to its spot in the white metal wire bin.

About two months later, at Christmas, I get Pitfall for SNES as a gift from my mother. I was stunned, seeing as it was a game I never wanted to play, but it dawned on me that she had seen me poring raptly over the box in the store, only to tamely replace it in the bin without saying a word. She thought this was my favorite game. And no doubt, I did pay more attention to its box than the one of Starfox, which I already knew I wanted.

She was so completely wrong, but she never could have shown me so well how much she loved me if she had been right. I played the game every day for months, and just thought about my mom, and how awesome she is. I don’t think I ever got past level 5.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for everything.