I saw Beetlejuice on Broadway twice.
And today I can say that I saw the movie for the second time, too.
It’s amazing how much you miss when you are sad as shit the first time around.
I won’t be the first one to say I wish the afterlife had visiting hours. But I will say it loud enough for the universe to hear.
It’s not fair that our beloveds come to us only in dreams, if we are even that lucky to get (or remember) those visitations.
Seeing Astrid and Lydia get some closure with Richard killed me the first time I saw it. Today it gave me joy.
It rocked me both times when Astrid said to Lydia, why can’t you talk to the one ghost who we both want to hear from. Lydia said this gift didn’t come with an instruction manual.
I used to say that to Mom. Why couldn’t we hear from Gram and Grampy via her, since hers was the stronger gift.
She didn’t know. But she seemed to know everything else.
Here in the most silent 100 days of my life, I keep having new revelations.
One of them is that the woman who was the smartest and most intuitive person I’ve ever known … focused on the wrong things.
The wrong men, though she ALWAYS put me first.
The wrong friends, though it’s not like she met better ones.
I wouldn’t say the wrong healthcare choices, as we are pretty limited here in South Florida when it comes to doctors and the treatments they bothered to offer.
But I would say that she was insistent on one aspirin every 24 hours. When I literally had an entire cabinet of oxy (she called it Ozzy, like the hero of my cousin Elaine, who died one year ago today) and morphine.
(Elaine and Robin must be proud that their daughters have become close like they were.)
Not that the meds touched the pain either. But she had herself convinced the aspirin was better.
Stuff like that.
I mean, her advice to me was mostly rock-solid. But I would still be an asshole and tell her I had more life experience so, zip it every now and again please.
She usually did end up being right. Also, I had no qualms about saying I picked the wrong job or apartment or guy and how do you see me worming my way out of this one.
Thank god she wasn’t the “I told you so” type.
She did get mad at me for calling Magic “Fuckface” and expressing my regret for stopping to take that call from Norbit before I returned to my current job.
I had looked down and saw this tiny kitten playing at my feet.
And I couldn’t resist — I picked him up and he slept on my lap the whole drive home.
I put him on Mom’s (temporary) hospital bed that was delivered after a surgery, and they had their little love affair.
Her boy.
Her “good boy, good boy,” as he likes to be called.
Anyway I blame Norbit for that and SO MUCH MORE. Which … Mom called it that being his “Kate” would be great and that it would be awful and then it would be done.
No, Rasputia, ain’t nobody talking about you today, boo. Go be the mayor of Key West 10 years before I ever set foot in it, like usual. I’ve been wearing an Italian horn — maybe you were suddenly born in Italy like 11 other cities you claim birthright to.
Anyway, Momma and I had a great relationship. But I feel like I could have been less of an asshole on so many occasions.
I also feel like I should be more attuned to her frequency. Like, I do see her in my dreams all the time. But is there more?
I hope she doesn’t have a shitty ghost job. Poor shrunken-head Bob having to report to Beetlejuice till BJ’s soul-sucking wife came along.
I know about soul-sucking wives too, Bob.
I will close out with one thing I noticed in “Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!” today that I missed the first time.
When Delia was being forced for the final time to go to the afterlife, Lydia said “I’ll miss you” and Delia said “No you won’t.”
I got the oddest deja vu.
Not from seeing the film twice, as I clearly blacked out for that part the first time around.
But … Mom always said I loved to hear myself talk. That she didn’t even need to listen most of the time because I was usually just processing things and coming to my own conclusions. That and I love to hear myself talk.
That used to make me so mad. I had CATS for 30 years. I TALK for THEM.
But, she wasn’t wrong. I did have the life experiences.
And the problems.
And the people (usually men) with different work and life experiences always having something to say about the things I say and do (or don’t say/do).
Seriously, the lack of dangly bits has really not been helpful. Maybe shut the fuck up about trans people till you see how hard it is for the women in YOUR lives to breathe when you are standing on our necks.
But, that Delia line really made me see my mom.
She really did give me more freedom over my own decision-making than I ever perceived.
So many times I said “I’m not allowed” to do something. That would infuriate her. You have the money and the car and the free will, she’d say.
But that’s why I’d hold back. I did have the money, the car and the freedom. She had none of the three.
Was that her own doing, at least in part? Possibly. Yes, sure, and it was the source of a lot of my frustration 16 or 17 or even 10 years ago.
But really I could do — and did — what I wanted. And I picked her 95% of the time, at least.
So while I was never ever perfect, I do believe I got closer than most.
I don’t want to relate to that “no you won’t miss me” line so much.
HOWEVER, I do think she is laughing somewhere.
That I get to talk to her anytime I want … and never have to listen for a reply. Just like before.
My friends tell me that they see me as the picture of grace in my grief. Someone whose existence is a tribute to her mom.
I mean, they don’t know all this madness. But, I’ll take it.
I don’t want to say grief gets easier. It fills the space left behind by the one you loved.
And eventually, it’s like that dopey cat you took home. It provides consistency and even comfort after a while.
Grief is just there, with no car or money to go entertain itself, so you just have to take it with you everywhere you go. Though, that’s what you used to do with your momma and it would sure be nice to have her as your copilot and navigator again instead.