entering my second saturn return, the end of my 50s and my "june is the shittiest" month of the year era

...and going LIVE today right here on Substack with author Dina Gachman!

My Mom Ellen died in June. We debate whether it was the day we got the call, or the day they took her off of life support. Death is in the details, is that how that saying goes?

It’s May of 1993.

I lived on East 70th Street, then. It was eight addresses and one husband ago. We had a 750 square foot one bedroom with coveted outdoor space, a grill and vintage iron table on the patio. Herbs growing in concrete clad beds.

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

Mom is in for a visit when Eddie is out of town. We went to a pasta joint on the block that’s casual but newly trendy. I am eager to use my Blue for Business Amex to treat.

She orders the penne arrabbiata, “please add shrimp”. I feel like her go-to was always shrimp scampi, but not this night. After the first few bites she mmmmm’d, “this is the best pasta I have ever had in my whole life.” These words remain tattooed on my brain and run on loop like a broken record. The woman has had pasta in Rome, with a view of the Spanish Steps. At fancy hotels near and abroad. Is known for a mean meat sauce of her own.

But this.

This is the best.

And thank God she lets me know.

We decline desert because I am eager to take her to the bodega on my corner where they have just installed a giant, two-flavors-every-day, frozen yogurt machine. We order medium vanillas and I ask for all the toppings in little to-go cups so we can sprinkle carob chips, Reece’s pieces, colored sprinkles and coconut flakes on them on at our leisure, while watching some so-good-it’s-bad, tv.

She takes in the fresh Country Living inspired sponge painting I have added to the entry. The entry being a coat rack and dining table a few colorful dabs from that which is the open living room. It has a door at the end of the long space to the garden. I matched the sofa given to us by my very English mother in law. It is a misty green with hand-embroidered flowers covering the just worn fabric. “There are so many patterns in here it is dizzy.” I am finding my own style as I make house, it’s the first I have ever owned.

We were renting from a casting agent called, Joy Todd. She’s still around. You can find her name at the end of the best movies. One day she rang us up and said, “kids, you have to buy it or move”. She was only able to rent two out of every three years and they caught up with us.

We did not have nearly enough for the twenty-five percent down the Co-op board required. Mom told anyone who would listen of our real estate coup. My husband traveled weekly for work, and we had world class pilot status (as Dad boasts), which equaled a whole lotta frequent flyer miles. We scrapped together an early 6k inheritance from his grandparents, our wedding stash and then offered Joy this and six round trips to LA. She had just invited a new grand baby to the family that lived out there. It was a deal. Mom, an award winning realtor, loved to tell our tale. Though she was not yet sold on my mix and match floral and striped pattern play and Matelasse bedding.

We enjoyed the yogurt and girl time. I offered the bed and she made cozy on the sofa. I don’t recall her leaving in the morning. I do remember her pretty nightgown. She always wore a silky nightgown. Maybe I was off to work first? Must have been, as I owned my own PR agency at the time. I am certain our last words that day were, “love you too”. They always were. We would talk on the phone at least twice daily.

And many times more before the call on June 17.

This year I am leaning into that good time. Setting myself up for the day that comes where I remember the line in the sand made my before and after. That hot day in June when she took the damn day off, too hot to sell a house to anyone she said.

You may know the part about the A&P receipt in her bag for three pounds of Santa Rosa plums. None remained. But I wanted you to know about the best meal she ever had in her whole life.

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Join me LIVE today HERE on Substack, with

Dina Gachman

, 1:30 est and learn about her best seller, So Sorry For Your Loss, and other awful things you might not want to say to a griever. She is wise and funny and an award winning ghost writer too!