Mama Needs a Cosmo

I spent the better part of this afternoon and evening helping my old neighborhood church (and my son’s school) get ready for their annual Parish Festival. It’s a big deal, this festival. And has been for the past 50-plus years.

Up until the time Jake started Kindergarten, I got to enjoy this shindig like all the rest of the festival visitors — at my leisure. I’d stop in on Saturday afternoon for some food, get a few margaritas, go home and sleep, and then go back on Saturday night when the band is loud and the dance floor is hopping and all my friends from elementary and high school look really awesome because I’VE HAD WAY TOO MUCH TO DRINK. Then Sunday I’d get in line for some Menudo and everything would be okay again.

But all that changed in 2008, when I decided that it was MY turn to learn the ropes and see what it was like to prepare food for 2,000 people. It was my turn to take over the reigns that my mom had been holding for the past 5 decades. Talk about some major shoes to fill.

I spent that weekend introducing myself as a new Kindergarten parent and, “Carole’s daughter.” And ever since then, the name (“Carole’s Daughter”) has kind of stuck.

“What’s your name again?”

“I’m Kathleen. Lancaster. Jake’s mom . . .”

“I’m sorry? . . .”

“I’m CAROLE BONILLA’S DAUGHTER.”

“Ohhhhh. I THOUGHT you looked familiar . . .”

Because that’s the kind of reputation my family has with this Parish. I’ll ALWAYS BE A BONILLA. And the “YOUNGEST” Bonilla at that. Even though I’ve been married to a Lancaster for TEN YEARS.

Anyway, I’ll be spending this weekend rolling dough for home-made piroshkis. I’ll fry meat and chop tomatoes and onions and cilantro for the best tacos north of Mexico. And I’ll consume mass quantities of free beer and margaritas because basically, if I’m wearing an apron covered in flour and salsa, and feeding those who pour beer and margaritas, they return the favor quite nicely.

Then on Sunday, we’ll all be thinking of HER.

Sunday is her birthday.

Time still hasn’t healed this wound, especially for my mom and her son.

And my favorite brother.

But being at the festival, and being all together, will help us get through the day a little easier.

She loved that school, and the piroshkis, and the best tacos north of Mexico.

She loved the festival, and the music, and being around her family.

We’ll save a spot at our table for her, and have the band play some of the music that she loved to listen to.

And maybe one of her brothers will jump on stage and steal the mic and sing her a song. And the rest of us will laugh and pee our pants and say, “She would have LOVED this.”

Because that’s what Bonillas do to celebrate the memory of their sister. And daughter. And mother. We party until we pee our pants.

Happy Birthday, Laurie.

f

Dear Laurie:

It’s been one whole year since I watched you leave this earth. I actually WATCHED. I was THERE. And I honestly can’t remember who else was in the room, other than Mom and Terry. I think Lynne was there too, and maybe Michael, but I’m not sure anymore. I was so transfixed on what was happening that when it was finally over I almost threw up. I’ve never watched anyone die before. And I sure as hell never thought I’d ever watch one of my brothers or sister pass away. I hope I never have to do it again.

Mom is still grieving. Michael is still burdened with the decision he had to make on your behalf, and probably will for the rest of his life. Emily and the kids keep him going and boy does he EVER love those kids. You should be proud of the father that he’s become. The rest of us are missing you in different ways.

Laurie's grandchildren, playfully decorating her grave (and even some of her neighbor's graves too.)

Terry kept asking me if I’d dreamed about you not long after you passed away. And I remember thinking, “Why? We weren’t that close.” But then, finally, it happened. And the weird thing was that it perfectly foreshadowed an argument that Troy and I would have a few weeks later  (with the exception of you being there, all silent and observant). Troy & I have never had a fight like that before. EVER. How did you know? Or were you the one who made it happen? Because it was one of those rare “we needed to have that fight in order to make our relationship better” kinds of fights. What were you trying to tell me? (Well, actually Terry sent me all of the results from a dream analysis website . . . I’m not sure I’m fully on board with what she found but I did agree with most of it.) What do you think?

Anyway, I don’t believe that you’ve been back since, and that’s okay. I’m quite certain that if you have any more messages for me, you’ll find a way to deliver them.

So today was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. I’m sure you know all of this, but I need to paint a bit of a picture for the rest of those who weren’t there . . . Terry picked me up and we were the first ones at the cemetery. And Terry — always the prepared one — brought some chairs so we could just “hang out” and chat with you while we waited for everyone else to arrive. We even joked that next time we all went for a visit that I needed to bring my 10 X 10 pop-up tent and barbecue so we could really show you that we can still party, even if it was at a cemetery. And then later on Dad would tell us that he actually saw some people do that not long ago. So now, of course, we have to figure out a way to outdo them.

I hope you didn’t mind that we encouraged Michael and Emily to head over to the restaurant with us not long after they arrived. Terry & I both knew that today was going to be especially rough for Michael, and, well, we thought he could use a margarita.

And of course, true to Bonilla fashion, we turned our frowns upside-down and made an afternoon of “having lunch” at El Caballo Blanco. I’d never eaten there before, but I’m considering making it my new backup to Emma’s because (unlike Emma’s) THEY’RE OPEN ON SUNDAYS. I know, right? Do you know how hard it is to get quality Mexican food in this town on a Sunday? Emma was closed . . . El Novillero was closed . . . but this place was MUY BUENO. And even a bit cheaper than Emma’s. I’m hooked.

My nephew (and Laurie's grandson) Mason, getting his grub on at El Caballo Blanco. I have no idea where this kid put it, but that plate was CLEAN in a few minutes flat.

Before I go, can you please send a clearer message to Mom that you’re okay, so she stops with this whole “I’m worried about where Laurie is” business? We all know where you’re at. Or you would have appeared miserable in all of your visits to your family. Right?

Say hello to Tom and Nanie and Grandpa for me. And tell Auntie Phyllis that I’ve been thinking about her too.

Oh! And I’m supposed to tell you that Rick said, “please tell Laurie how much I miss her and how sorry I am that I can’t be there. I’ll make up for today when I get home next week.” Because (and I’m sure you also already know this) he’s in Roswell for work and is keeping us all up to speed on the paranormal activity in the area.

PS: Thank you for keeping the weather nice today — it’s supposed to rain tomorrow!

Love you and miss you.

Kathy

Right now, I’m in my happy place.

Drink on a coaster at the computer desk, editing photos for a client while the kids scream and laugh and fight and yell and provide the background buzz that I’m used to. The LOML has settled into his weekly UFC watching position — beer in one hand and remote in the other.

But tomorrow will be completely different.

And I’m not sure how I will handle it. After all, I wasn’t close to her. I had no relationship or anything in common with her, really, except for the fact that we shared blood and she was my oldest sister. I’ve had regrets about that, but I’m learning how to get over it.

A year ago, at this moment, my sister Terry and I were skipping through a Safeway supermarket looking for beer and cold booze and anything else we could carry back to her hospital room. Because no matter WHAT the situation, my family will somehow manage to turn it into a party, even if the situation is “my sister could die at any minute.” Because “Oh my GOD Smirnoff Ice and Corona is on sale! ”

So, party we did.

The hours leading up to her death, all of my other brothers and sisters, along with my mother, aunt, and her close friends, sat in that hospital room and told stories. We laughed until we cried. I just remember thinking, “The nurses must think we are out of our minds,” because we did not look like a family in mourning. In fact, I still have pain in my toes after my sister Terry stomped on them during a story my brother told about a prank they pulled on my dad when they were all kids — long before I was born. Terry laughed so hard that she began to stomp her feet and my exposed toes bore the brunt of the stomping. But I didn’t even feel it. I was too busy laughing myself and wishing I’d had the presence of mind to whip out my mini-cam and tape the whole thing.

One hundred and eight minutes later, she would die.

And as I drove home I would have to pull over because when I realized I was no longer able to say “I have seven brothers and sisters.” I broke down and cried so hard that I couldn’t see the road. Which is dangerous at 2am.

Tomorrow will mark the one year anniversary of the death of my sister. My family has plans to go to the cemetery together. And of course, have lunch afterward, which will no doubt turn into a massive party.

We all learned a lot about ourselves the in the week that preceded my sister’s death. We were strong. We were weak. We were not ready. We had faith. We had questions. And we got through it — some better than others. (BTW: All things written about my family’s experience while my sister was dying are located here.)

I have started a post for tomorrow, but it will remain unfinished until the days’ events are over.

In the mean time, here is a photo of my sister Laurie during better times. This was taken at my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary party –  which took place during a period of her life when she was at her happiest. From the left is my sister Terry, me, my mom, and Laurie.

We really do miss you sis. See you tomorrow.

Dear Laurie,

It’s been four months since God called you home. And I’ve been feeling incredibly guilty about the fact that I think about you more in death than I did when you were alive.

We all miss you terribly. We’ve been receiving your little “messages” loud and clear, and I hope you don’t mind that I share a couple of stories with my readers about how you’ve been delivering those love notes. I’m still freaking out about the balloon.

You’d be 55 this Saturday, and you know it’s going to be a rough day for Mom. She’ll be out at the cemetery with Lynne in the morning — but I’m sure you already know that. Saturday night we all plan on going out and celebrating your life “Bonilla” style. We were supposed to go to Emma’s, but they told us they couldn’t handle our party of 20. (Seriously — they turned down a party of 20. Margaritas, Mexican food, and Dad’s beer; they missed out on one serious money-making opportunity!)

Anyway, all that aside, I hope you are having a blast in your new home with Tom and Nanie. I had to laugh at our cousin, who told us that she was jealous of the fact that you got to be the first one to see Nanie after she died. I don’t remember Nanie much, but everyone seems to have fond memories of her. Make sure that she enjoys your company — I know that everyone misses her as much as they miss you, but I don’t want you two thinking you need another buddy and go looking around down here for one to take away.

We know you’re keeping your eye on us. If you haven’t been doing so already, please make sure to let Michael and his family know that you’re okay.

And have a Happy Birthday.

Love,

Your sister. (The cool one.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took me all week to write that letter. So you can imagine how long it took me to pull it together enough to write the following story.

Several members of my family have been receiving “messages” from my dearly departed sister since her death in April. While most of them have come in the form of dreams or small coincidences, these two instances were just too significant to go unshared.

I have to preface these stories by stating that my sister Laurie and my mother very, very close, and talked nearly every day. The death of my sister has been extremely difficult for my mom. My sister, Terry, also shared a unique bond with Laurie, and she’s been relying on her faith to get her through her rough days.

Two months after my sister died (and the day before Father’s Day), my brother Steve was at my parents’ house mowing their back lawn.

As he was making a pass, he thought something was “hanging” over his head. When he turned around, there was nothing there.

A few seconds later, he felt it again. And as he slowed the mower to a stop, he saw movement in his peripheral vision. He started as he turned around, as anyone would do when they realize something is about to fall on them.

As he put up his forearm in “defense,” he realized that what was coming at him was a balloon. It was a large, almost airless mylar (foil) balloon that was well-traveled and showed signs of serious wear.

When he turned the balloon around, he saw a colorful design and words written in lavender (my sister’s favorite color) that read, “I love you, Mom.”

My mother’s reaction, as you would imagine, was quite emotional. She kept the balloon and hung it in her bedroom.

A month later, My sister Terry was “talking” to Laurie, letting her know how her upcoming birthday was going to difficult for my mom. She “told” Laurie, “I need you to give me a sign to let me know you’re okay.”

The very next day, Terry received a gift from some co-workers: a music box and a figurine about sisters. (Leave it to me to delete the email she sent containing a picture of the gift. I had hoped to include it in this post!) UPDATE! MY BROTHER FOUND THE PICTURE! Here it is:

My sister Terry was so touched, that she wrote back to the friend who sent her the gift:

From: ”Terry”
To: ”Terry’s Co-worker”
Date: Tue, 21 Jul 2009 15:05:14 -0700
Subject: Hey You!

Well, I think you were probably the mastermind behind the special box that came in the mail today.  Your timing is impeccable and  unfortunately, I’m so touched that I’m unable to call and tell you how special it is.  You see, I was just talking to my sister last night telling her how hard her upcoming birthday is going to be on my mom – that she needs to send a message of some sort that she’s OK.  Enter the box…  Wow.

I really believe she’s communicating through these gestures.  How does fate’s timing get to be so  impeccable?  On the day before Father’s Day, my brother was in my parent’s backyard mowing the lawn when he felt something lurking around him.  He looked around and saw nothing.  Pretty soon something brushed the side of his head.  It was a balloon.  It read, “I love you Mom”.  I know it was Mother’s Day a month before and the balloon that got loose from someone else was held in the air and brought down on the head of my brother while he was mowing the lawn. Coincidence?  I’m so far beyond that!

So, please know how you’ve touched my heart and how thankful I am.  If there were others that contributed, please forward my email.  Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This Saturday may be difficult for my family, but it’s going to be most difficult for me. I didn’t share a special bond with my sister Laurie. In fact, instead of trying to do more to help her, I actually resented her a for causing my Mom and family so much grief while she was alive. I don’t have many regrets in life, but feeling that way about my own sister will always be near the top of my list of things I’d like to do over if I could.

Laurie's High School Graduation Photo

I would like to take one final moment to thank everyone who sent thoughts and prayers to my sister and my family. The past ten days have been especially difficult, and reading through the comments of my blog posts and direct messages/replies to my tweets were truly special to everyone involved.

I would also like to take a moment to thank the fantastic staff of the Sutter General Hospital Intensive Care Unit. There was pretty much nothing that those nurses and doctors wouldn’t do for us. And we were a pretty demanding crowd.

Laurie passed at 12:07am on Saturday, April 18th. In the hours preceding her death, she was kept company by her mother, her son, her best friend, her aunt, and ALL seven of her brothers and sisters.

Most of the time spent in her room that day was passed by telling stories, either about Laurie (whose nickname was “Cochise”) or the family in general. From the hallway of the hospital, the noise coming from inside Laurie’s room sounded more like a rock concert after party than a family gathered together one last time before one of its members passed away.

I was there when she took her last breath. I have never watched anyone die before, and I made myself commit to memory all of the emotions and feelings that I had experienced.

I cried.

My body trembled.

My legs almost gave out.

And it took every fiber of my being to keep from running into the bathroom and retching. Not because what I had witnessed was so horrible that it caused nausea, but because of the realization that one of my sisters was dead.

It meant that I didn’t have seven brothers and sisters anymore.

It meant that my mother was going to have to bury her daughter.

It meant that my nephew would no longer have a mother.

And that his children would never get to know their grandmother.

But it also meant that Laurie would be free.

Her spirit would move into God’s Kingdom, where she would never again be in pain. Where she would be free of the addictions that plagued her for most of her life. And where she could be reunited with the husband and grandmother that she so desperately missed.

We love you, Laurie Jean. We’ll see you again when it’s time.

[Laurie's obituary can be viewed here.] Cochise