The Haunting

Today, Kevin and I completed the USA Rock and Roll Half Marathon in DC. It's not unusual to see familiar faces along the course at a local event. While we were riding home on the Metro, I mentioned that I had seen Team in Training running coach, John Park, on the course. Kevin said that he had also seen John riding his bike along the course in Rock Creek Park and almost called out to him. 

Normally, it wouldn't be unusual to see John, clad in neon green compression socks, on the course supporting runners, especially during a TNT event. 

However, John died over two years ago during the Nation's Triathlon.

This isn't the first time I've seen, heard or smelled things that couldn't possibly there. Shortly after my mom died, the light on the front porch would flicker each time I would walk under it. There was nothing wrong with the lightbulb or the light itself. 

The day after she died, a green light flickered as I drove under it.

One morning, I woke up to the strong smell of perfume. Specifically, my mother's perfume. Later that week, my husband mentioned smelling her perfume at work.

My Dad's TV keeps coming on by itself at random. The show that consistently comes on? My Dad's favorite show, NCIS. (Kevin insists it isn't mom, or else the TV would turn to HSN. I insist that she is being nice and letting him watch NCIS.)

I often get the sensation of being watched, which is annoying. I mean, who really wants their mother to be omnipresent?

Do we miss Mom so much, that we attribute a bunch of coincidences to her actions beyond the grave? Are we so accustomed to seeing John at races that we think that someone who looks similar to him is actually him? Or are they trying to reach out to us in the only way they can? I truly want to believe the latter. I mean, Mom did threaten to haunt us on a number of occasions. And John wouldn't be anywhere else but supporting his team on the course.

Don't cross this woman. She WILL haunt you.

Happy Birthday, Part 2

I had dinner at Ruth's Chris with two of my favorite men last night, Dad and Kevin. The waiter looked a little like David Tennant, which was just fine. Kevin got me gift cards to two of my favorite places and Dad got me, wait for it, cash. He's a smart man! Sammy, my parents' dog, gave me plenty of kisses. Mom provided a great parking spot, courtesy of her handicap parking pass. All in all, a good evening.

Happy Birthday!

Birthdays usually begin with three people. The one who is being birthed, the person doing the birthing and lastly, the poor man who has been putting up with a pregnant woman for nine months. For parents, the birthdays of their children mark the passing of time. Young parents never think about the time when their children will turn 40-something, but if you are lucky enough, you will live to see them become middle aged. It is quite funny to ask my dad how old he thinks I am. He is usually never right. But one person always remembered, with incredible accuracy, the entire event. And that was Mom.

To hear her tell it, the entire pregnancy was torture. I was the reason why my mother gave up a perfectly good career. I was to blame for months of bed rest while she waited for a baby that was never supposed to happen. Because of me, Mom ate awful food and Dad worked two jobs. Mom woke up after the Cesarian, called my dad at home, only to find out hours later that he had gone out with his friends to drink and watch Jimmy Durante perform. All for me. Except the Jimmy Durante part. I was reminded of this quite frequently while growing up, often when I messed up. She would recount this event at the most inopportune times, usually in front of unsuspecting boyfriends.

My mother with the object that led to nine months of unbearable torture. 

This weekend, I'll celebrate my birthday a few days early. My dad is going to treat me to a dinner at Ruth's Chris using a gift certificate he got for Christmas. From me. I am actually buying my own birthday dinner. Boy, he's good. 

This will be the first time my dad has picked out my birthday present unsupervised. Dad didn't ask me what I wanted and I didn't volunteer. This seems like this is a test to see if he has been paying attention the past 47 years. Perhaps, in her own way, this is Mom's revenge for Dad stepping out on the town 47 years ago while she was recovering in the hospital. I wouldn't put it past her...