madwomanwithabox: ([Jack] Certain Degree of Surrender)
I'm not political by nature, but when I heard about Ted Kennedy my heart sank like a stone.

My heart goes out to Senator Kennedy and his one should ever have to suffer through anything like this.

A glioblastoma multiforme killed my mother twelve years ago. The glioma he's been diagnosed with is far more aggressive...and let me tell you, I wouldn't wish a brain tumor like this on my worst enemy.

The funny thing? Mom loved the Kennedys...she campaigned for Bobby back in the day. Heh.

Sometimes life is just one big kick in the head.
madwomanwithabox: ([Sawyer] Childhood - Goodbye)
In my world, Christmas is a bad thing...Christmas Eve in particular. There's nothing festive or merry about the holidays for me...and most of that is probably due to the fact that Christmas was one of my mother's favorite times of year. It all just hurts...knowing she's not here to be a part of it, and for some reason it hurts more this year than it usually does.

Twelve years today, Waynette Carlie died...and I wish with all my heart that all of you could have known her...known the life she lived.

This is not a good time of year for me, but I really hope it is for all of you. For my mom, and for myself...I wish you all the very happiest of holidays. Enjoy the great food and the buttload of gifts, and may you be able to spend this special time of year with the people you love. I hope it's magical, I hope it's festive, and I hope with all my heart that it's happy...because that's just the way Mom would want it to be.

And today...especially today...find the person you love most and hug them. Hard. And if you can't, then call or write or something...tell them what they mean to both if you can. Life is far too short not to love as hard and as much as you can, because the people we love...we don't get to keep them long enough.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

I love you, Mom.

Waynette Maria McKnight Carlie
July 15, 1950 - December 24, 1995
madwomanwithabox: ([Random Fandom] Rock Biter Hands)
Waynette Maria McKnight Carlie
July 15, 1950 - December 24, 1995

So this year, it's Black Sunday. It changes every year, but the day is always the same. It's the one part of the year that I dread, and it's the only reason that the holidays have been a living nightmare since I was a kid.

Eleven years ago today, I lost my best friend. And I know it's not the case for some of's not the case for a lot of people in what MIGHT be considered normal families, but my best friend was my mom.

Her name was Waynette, and she was 45 years old when brain cancer killed her on Christmas Eve in 1995. I was thirteen years old at the time.

I could go on and on and sing her praises, and talk about her for ages, but that'd get me all emotional...and even though I still shed my fair share for her, tears are the last thing she'd want.

Funny thing in my family...even Mom was luckier than I was, because she never lost her mother. My grandmother didn't pass on until a few months after Mom did. And she had issues with her mother...a lot of it was fairly petty. I don't think she ever really appreciated what she had.

My mom was everything to friend, mentor, sister I never had. And I know that not everyone has that...but if you still have your mother, or someone who's just as close to you...stop for a second today and take a second to think about this:

You're never going to get a better gift for Christmas than the ability to be with your mother, or whoever holds that special place in your heart. To tell her you love her, what she means to hear her voice, to be near hold her. To be with her.

Normally I'd still have a small piece of that...after Mom died, my cat Ramona became that person to me...the surrogate mother I needed when Mom was gone. For the last ten years, she was the shoulder I cried on, she was the one who listened to me, who looked after me when no one else was there to do it.

She's not here this year...and so this Christmas, I'm alone as I mourn the death of two mothers instead of one.

I'm not trying to bum anyone out...but I want everyone who has what I don't to appreciate just what a good thing they got going.

Help me remember my mother today...don't ever take *yours* for granted. Find your mom and tell her how much you care...hug her if you can.

Because I'd give back every gift I'm gonna receive tomorrow...I'd sell my soul just to be able to just *talk* to my mom one more time.

I don't usually say it and mean it...but this time I do.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

And Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you.
madwomanwithabox: (Sawyer Sing To Me)
I want to talk to you all about a woman.

She wasn't a great beauty, but she was pretty. Long dark hair that was black unless you looked at it in the sun to find it was really dark brown. For the purposes of dyeing out the grey that sometimes cropped up, however...her hair was black. She had amber eyes, and when she was young she had a lovely figure. Even as the years wore on, and the birth of two children caused her figure to expand and droop with gravity and that bit of fast food or chocolate we all ought not to eat, she wore it well. Even at her worst, she was pretty.

This woman was smart, too...she had to drop out of high school to take care of her sick mother, but she got her GED later on, and became a pharmacy technician. In her spare time, she was a writer...her imagination was a fertile place, and her pen was a formidable weapon to contend with. She wrote letters...lots of them, and considered it a lost art. Many of the most important things she ever had to say were in notes, letters, and brief words jotted down in random places that would later be treasured objects to those she loved.

She was formidable...a force to be reckoned with. Face to face with people, she wasn't very a store, she'd make her husband go and do her talking if she needed something. Put her on the phone, however...and God help you if she was calling to make you the target of her anger. She was kind and had a positive outlook...a way of making bad things better. Money was always tight, but she usually had a small stash of mad money at her disposal, thanks to a little wise saving. That money went for a few personal pleasures, but also to her children...secret gifts to her daughter of books the family couldn't afford to buy. It was their shared passion, reading...more than a passion, an addiction that this woman passed on to her little girl.

She was a woman of God...a staunch Catholic that brought her children up in the faith...even brought her Jewish husband to the fold, marrying him twice, once by law and once again later on in the church, on the same day he was baptized, confirmed, and recieved his first communion. To date, it's still a record in their parish for most sacraments recieved in a single day. Even when God tried to take everything from her, she kept her the face of imminent death, it only seemed to grow.

Virtuous though she was, this woman was not perfect. She was quick tempered and spiteful when angry...she liked the taste of wine, had a glass on many nights. Alcoholism ran in her family, and a weaker woman would have been driven to excess. Still, she courted disaster with her favorite white zinfandel in the refrigerator every night. She was stubborn, sometimes harsh, and was ferocious about holding grudges. Her marriage was volatile and a job in and of itself to maintain...but she was lucky that while difficult, it was a marriage filled with love.

She touched a lot of lives by the time she turned forty four...she was loved, hated, appreciated and respected, but above all she was remembered by all that crossed her path.

But a trip to the mountains during the Thanksgiving holidays would change her life forever...because it was the last thing she'd remember for a very long time.

A year after tripping on a snowy driveway and landing on her butt, she was home with her family again...fifteen pounds lighter and on ten different medications. Her long dark hair that she was so proud of was gone, a victim of brain surgery and radiation therapy to eradicate the remains of a tumor that nearly killed her. In its place was a mowhawk, one that left her surgical scar exposed. She didn't bother with scarves or wigs...she enjoyed shocking people. It was just in her nature.

By the time another year was out, she'd lost still more weight...could've clocked in at just a little over one hundred pounds as she lay in a hospital bed, the left side of her body paralyzed by the tumor that had returned with a vengeance. The mowhawk had grown a bit, but was peppered with grey that was left unchecked.

She couldn't even talk, but still her eyes were bright and aware, darting around as she struggled to she fought to live.

This woman's name was Waynette Maria McKnight Carlie...but she always wanted to change it to Anette. No one could ever get her name right...that's what happens when people associate your name with Tammy Wynette and Carlee Simon...more than once, she had records of hers filed under W instead of C where they belonged.

This woman was a normal person, just like you and me...flawed, but virtuous, with strength and character. Her writing was never published, but many people knew her name. She wasn't famous, but over half a church was filled at her memorial mass. Waynette believed in life, not death...wouldn't even let her children attend a wake or an open casket funeral. When she herself died, her last wish was to avoid her own funeral. There was no casket at the church, no graveside service. There was only a mass...a celebration of her faith, and a reception...a gathering of those who knew her in a celebration of her life.

This woman was a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend, a co-worker, a sister. She was *my* best friend.

Forgive me for this long entry, just this once, but I won't put it behind a's midnight, December 24...the anniversary of the day she died, a victim of cancer. I want everyone to see this, everyone to read...I want everyone to know her.

No one's ever dead as long as they're remembered...and today, ten years after her passing, I want my mother to live again.

Waynette Maria McKnight Carlie

Love you, miss you...never gonna forget you.
madwomanwithabox: (Sawyer Shit)
...and four days until Christmas Eve. Milestone, this one...we're hitting the decade mark.

Ten years since my mother died, and it still hasn't gotten any easier.

Whoever said 'time heals all wounds' was high.


madwomanwithabox: (Default)

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