So, not too long after I started dreaming again, and having vivid dreams about Mom, I dreamed that I was going to do whatever it took to save Mom. I would go back and take all the science classes that I needed to get into medical school and play mad scientist. It is, of course, no coincidence that during the same time that I had this dream I was reading and discussing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein for one of my classes. In my dream I made it; I was a research scientist bringing people back to life. Yes, bringing people back to life. How weird is that? Maybe it isn’t so strange an idea, because she is dead. I would like for her to be alive, even if I have to play Victor Frankenstein to accomplish such a task.
Labor Day weekend Dad told us all, since we would all be in for a cook out, that we needed to clean out the cabinet in the bathroom. We needed to get out or throw away all the stuff that was Mom’s. When the time came to do it we went into the bathroom and I settled onto the cool tile floor in front of the cabinet. I started emptying the contents of the drawers and cabinets. As I did that, we were wondering how we would go about dividing up the things that were there. I had pulled everything out that was hers. The Boy (our brother) suggested that we all just close our eyes and just start grabbing stuff. After some initial discussion as to the various methods of pursuing our morbid task, we finally started going through each item and stating whether we wanted it or not. We took the things that we had individually bought for her. Then, like an auctioneer, I began to select items, describe them and would give the item to the first one with their hand up.
That worked for a little while, but we finally couldn’t decide without having a 5-10 minute discussion of whatever the item in question made us consider discussing. Dad eventually came in and wondered what the hell was taking so long. Then we began dividing things up; the really old lotions went together; the skin care items; the hair care items; the hospital personal hygiene bottles; and the first aid supplies. You get the idea. We did rock, paper, scissors to decide who got each “set.” And even that seemed to require a decision about who won all on its own. We chose a selection of practical items that should stay there—the blow dryer, some lotions, and the first aid supplies.
Some of the items that were in the cabinet were “throw away” items—like the used razors and the lip balm from the hospital—or at least the rest of my siblings seemed to think it would be best to toss them. I, on the other hand—mad scientist that I am, wanted to keep them.
“These probably have the purest DNA samples. I have been thinking about cloning Mom,” I said, holding up selection of used Lady Bics. They stared at me, expressions of ghastly horror on their faces.
"You know, we could always just dig her up and get bone marrow if we need to," my brother interjected.
“No, no. Don’t even go there,” my eldest sister said. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
And just like that the discussion was over. But my mind was still roiling. What would a clone of Mom be like? Would it be like Mom or just look eerily similar to her and act like a crazy monster? This reminds me of two movies: Godsend and The Island. I wonder what it would be like to raise my own mother from infancy. Surely that would be all kinds of weird. Yeah, all kinds of weird.
Nothing makes you more aware that someone is really gone until you’re going through their things. Someone once remarked to me that they didn’t think that they had known Mom as well as they thought. I often wonder what I didn’t know—what was I missing. I like to think that I know a lot of the things that Mom knew. She taught me how to sew—by hand and machine, make apple stack cake and pancakes (on a good day mine taste almost like Mom’s), and just about everything else there is to learn. But what about everything else? What about all the things that I didn't get to ask her about. I wasn't prepared for all this. What will I ever know that she wanted me to know. That's what she was asking us in the hospital, I know that now. But how can you encompass a lifetime of motherly advice in a single conversation, let alone be expected to come up with something to say when asked, "Is there anything you want to know?"
We also went over to the grave yard that weekend. Everybody went. We took turns sitting on her stone bench and told Dad how great the name marker looked on it. It did look good. It makes a nice place to sit and hang out with our dead Mom.
I am still left pondering the various issues related to cloning. It would be different if we could pop some DNA in a nifty machine and out would pop your dead relative like the Jetsons made dinner. It sounds nice, in theory, but as we all know, nothing is ever as simple in application as it is in theory.
Medical science is both amazing and horrific. Will it solve our problems or create more dilemmas? Do some research in past, current, and future medical experiments; you will discover incredible details the likes of which you never conceived.
“Some say the end is near
Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon
Certainly hope we will
Sure could use a vacation from this
Bull shit three ring circus side show…
Some say a comet would fall from the sky
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves
Followed by fault lines that cannot sit still
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits…
Mom’s gonna fix it all soon
Mom’s comin’ ‘round to put it back the way it ought to be…”
Zombie Mom, Clone Mom, what's next Ghost Mom?
