For my 48th birthday last year, in March 2023, my mom contributed to my getting an Art Institute of Chicago membership, something I’ve done and really enjoyed off and on over the years. I got it as part of a deal that lasted 15 months, so it doesn’t expire until the end of this month. One of the benefits is getting early access to the museum, one hour before it opens to the public every day, as well as the opportunity to preview new exhibits (before they officially open) and attend lectures by experts (often the curators).
The day before Mother’s Day last year (Saturday, May 13, 2023) Mom and I went to see a new exhibit, Van Gogh and the Avant-Garde: The Modern Landscape, using my membership, during member previews. We also attended a lecture for members with the curators of the exhibit, as well as had lunch in the museum cafe.
Mom and I talked that day about wanting to do things like that together more often, which is bittersweet to reflect on, as she died only two months later. In the last months of Mom’s life so much of our time together was spent at medical appointments, in the hospital and/or tending to other of her basic/quality of life needs, which didn’t leave a lot of space to do things just for fun.
One of the things I’ve discussed/worked on with my therapist since my mom’s death is ways to feel connected to her that are meaningful to me. Going to the Art Institute and other museums (including seeing special exhibits), something Mom introduced me to as a child and we did together many times over the years, is a big one.
So when I heard about the new Georgia O’Keefe exhibit, “My New Yorks,” I decided to go during member previews and attended a member lecture with one of the curators. I considered inviting a loved one to join me. However, as anyone who has been to a museum with me will tell you, I really like to take my time — reading everything and/or listening to audio guides, as well as studying the paintings. Thus, I opted to go solo on Saturday, June 1st.
Though I attended by myself, I thought of Mom often throughout my visit, even imagining her by my side and our being in conversation. Mom was a big Georgia O’Keefe fan and she loved New York City. So, she would’ve gotten a lot out of experiencing this exhibit and lecture. It is a fabulous exhibit, which I highly recommend if you like art and/or Georgia O’Keefe’s work.
I learned so many interesting tidbits about the artist, including that her friends called her “O’Keefe.” The curator who spoke at the lecture shared that visitors to the Art Institute are often surprised to find out that O’Keefe painted “The Shelton with Sunspots, N.Y.” from 1926 (pictured here), which is both part of the exhibit and the permanent collection there. O’Keefe is better known for her paintings of big flowers and southwestern motifs, inspired by the years she visited and lived in New Mexico.
Two quotes from O’Keefe on the walls of the exhibit that especially spoke to me:
“I’ll make them big like the huge buildings going up. People will be startled; they’ll have to look at them — and the did.” ~ O’Keefe, referring to her 1920s paintings of enlarged flowers, 1962
and
“I have always been willing to bet on myself you know — and been willing to stand on what I am and can do even when the world isn’t much with me.” ~ O’Keefe, 1950
I appreciate that O’Keefe was determined to make people look at/notice things through her art, which she was successful at, as well as that she was willing and able to bet on herself, in spite of not always feeling support for her work.
There were moments throughout my day at the Art Institute that were especially meaningful to me and felt like signs, including when I saw on the souvenir exhibit poster the date that it officially ends, September 22, 2024, which would be Mom’s 82nd birthday! Returning to see the exhibit again, maybe this time with my family, could be a special way to celebrate and honor her that day. Also, Mom and I took a special trip to New York City together 10 years ago, just after Thanksgiving in November 2014, another reason the timing of this exhibit feels so serendipitous.
Mom and I took two memorable trips together just the two of us — one was during my spring break in 1989 to Washington D.C. This was in part because my Haven 8th Grade class didn’t take one, as my older sister Meg’s had, and Mom wanted me to have that experience too.
The other was the 2014 one to NYC. That trip included us going to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) to see a special Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs exhibit, the 9/11 Memorial & Museum, Kinky Boots on Broadway (with Billy Porter in the role of Lola), as well as afternoon tea at The Palm Court at The Plaza Hotel. We also ate dinner one night at a fondue restaurant. Mom and Dad introduced Meg and me to fondue as kids, which we both thought was so fun and delicious, and it’s something that we both continue enjoy today. I can still remember sitting across from my mom that evening as we sipped wine, shared the yummy fondue and relished in our conversation/special time together in such an incredible city.
Today it has been 11 months since my dear mom died and a year from the beginning of the last month of her life.
Coming to terms with that continues to be difficult for and feel surreal to me.
Ever since Dad passed away unexpectedly three years ago, June has been a rough month to navigate. It brings back bittersweet memories of the four weeks between his hospital visit on June 3rd and his death on July 1, 2021.
Similarly, I took Mom to the hospital on this date (June 13th) last year, exactly one month before her death. She had fallen and hit her head on the carpet in her apartment, at the long term care community where she lived, but was feeling okay. However, we agreed it made sense to go to the ER that night, in an abundance of caution. Mom ended up being admitted, which spiraled into what ultimately led to her death on July 13th. I try not to perseverate for too long on the “if only,” as Taylor Swift cleverly wrote/sings about being addicted to in “I Look in People’s Windows.” I remind myself that we make the best decisions that we can with the resources and information we have at the time.
As an aside, one of the best stories from when my mom was a little girl is when her family had just moved to a new house/neighborhood and she was feeling bored. They lived across the street from someone who had a greenhouse attached or adjacent to their home. My maternal Grandma Dee suggested her daughter/my mom go “look in the neighbors’ windows,” intending for Mom to check out what they were growing in their greenhouse. However, Dee soon found out Mom had misunderstood the assignment and was looking in the windows of the neighbors’ home! We had so many giggles hearing about and picturing that scene over the years.
Two years ago, as we were approaching the first anniversary of Dad’s death, I wrote:
“There is so much more to this story and it is one that has been too painful for me to spend much time reflecting on since Dad died unexpectedly, on Thursday, July 1st last year. I am finding that as we near the first anniversary of Dad’s death, my heart and mind feels compelled to try to remember and piece together what happened in those last days and weeks of Dad’s life.”
Those words capture where I find myself again, as we get closer to the first anniversary of Mom’s death next month. Things like Facebook and OneDrive Memories can feel like scenes in horror movies sometimes, when someone says, “I’ll be right back.” As viewers, we know what’s coming and it’s so hard to watch the story unfold.
That said, when I wrote this post two weeks before Mom died last year, reflecting on on the days right before and after Dad died in 2021, as well as what we were going through with Mom in real time in 2023, it seems I might have had an inkling of what was to come (though I may not have wanted to fully admit it). I do recall trying to be present with Mom (in my body and my mind) as much as possible in her last days, even though we didn’t know that is what they were yet.
This week a loved one, who has Stage IV cancer, shared a video that their partner recorded of a very moving speech they gave recently to a group of old friends, while sitting around a campfire, at a milestone high school reunion. Our loved one talked about how since their diagnosis they have changed the way they think about time, especially recognizing theirs on this earth may be more limited than they previously anticipated, hoped and imagined. It is a beautiful, life affirming, reflection and I appreciated how they remind those listening that when we are together and able to really be present, it can feel like time expands. Thus, the length of our lives can be somewhat relative, compared to the depth and meaning we find in them, especially in quality moments spent with those we love.
My mom got to have 80 years on this earth and so many of them were deep and meaningful, including many of her last days (in spite of the pain she was experiencing).
I continue to feel thankful for the 48 of Mom’s 80 years that I was blessed and lucky enough to be present for.
As we move into and through this last month before the first anniversary of Mom’s death, I will take to heart the insight that our loved one shared.
In these times it can be difficult to seize the day for so many reasons and I will continue to remind myself that more than one thing can be true at the same time.
My mom was an incredible person, who lived an extraordinary life.
I love and I miss her so much.
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