Anne-Marie Merle (amm)

Irene Lefrancq

Love to you, Irene!

I have been patiently waiting to see the sign of Arrine loving me. Really loving me. As in she herself is recognizing loving me. I tell her over and over again that I love her, but she has yet to say it back to me. I know she will one day. And I know that she loves me as her mom and shows her excitement to see me and comes to me when she is hurt. But I have never felt that real love from her, or her recognition of it. Does that make sense?

Until last night.

My poor girl still had a fever and we were going through her bedtime routine. I had her wrapped up in her pink kitty towel after her bath and she was laying on her bedroom floor as I dried her off. She was fussing so I started to sing to her. Each time I started singing a song she would say, “No.” And I would try another one. She finally accepted the lullaby that amm and Charles used to sing to me, Over In Killarney. This was the first song I ever sang to her and I remember singing it to her when we were still in the hospital. Each time I sing it to her I think of amm and how she sang to me.

So as I sang, I took out one leg of hers and slowly massage her with lotion, then tucked her leg back in, taking out her other leg. I did this with her arms and then rubbed her belly with lotion under her towel. Like how it’s done when you get a professional massage. And during this process, singing to her and keeping her snuggled up while massaging her, she looked into my eyes. And my heart stopped, then fluttered. I felt we connected as we never have before. It was a look of love in her eyes. Her understanding that I will always do everything for her. She is my priority. She loves me. And I wondered at that moment, if amm and I had shared the same exchange when I was just tiny too.

We finished our bedtime routine as every other night – sleeper, books and being laid down in her bed. But this time, I knew that she knew she loved me.

(Or the look was just her being completely dopey from the fever and I completely misinterpreted it.)

I am protective of my amm pj blanket – the quilt that amm’s dear friend made for me out of amm’s pajamas. The blanket has a permanent spot on my bed. It is never is lent out. It’s mine.

But today Arrine is in need of the love within my quilt. The poor girl has had a fever since Sunday. The doctor today didn’t have any answers and we are to take her back on Thursday if her fever doesn’t break by then.

My poor sicky is now wrapped in Grandma Anne-Marie’s love. It’s a special circumstance – I can share my blanket this time.

For this particular post, you all need to get past the fact that I watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians and Kim & Kourtney Take New York. I like to think that these shows are evened out with intellectual shows that I also watch, like Law & Order and SNL, right? And the odd DocZone.

I consider reality TV as ‘background’ shows. TV to put on in the background while I do other things, like ironing or going through emails or doing my nails, because you really don’t need to be concentrating on the content. Not that I am defending myself, simply explaining the reasoning behind it.

Ok, but what does this have to do with amm? The other day I was enjoying a Kardashian marathon and there were two episodes that brought me to tears. Yes, tears. The first episode followed the girls during the time leading to the anniversary of their father’s death. And it made me cry – they had home movies of him to watch and I was jealous. And then a more current episode followed Kim as she decided to meet with John Edward the medium, to connect with her dad. And I thought of how I too have considered doing the same. And so I cried again.

I wish I had home videos of amm when she was well. All I have are videos I took when we were in the hospital, and it takes a certain emotional state to watch those. One that I hardly ever have.

I was at dad’s yesterday for swimming and supper and found these mugs in his kitchen cupboard. Aren’t they the most fabulous, vintage glasses??

And they brought me back to Saskatoon and North Battleford and Pepsi floats with long spoons with amm.

And they are now in my kitchen cupboard.

amm was a writer. I am a wanna be writer. I tend to write more when I find life challenging. I wrote in a journal almost every day while in the hospital with amm. And now I have this website to release my thoughts with words again.

A number of years ago, amm recommended a book for me to read – The Artist’s Way. It’s all about living your creative life. It’s on my bookshelf, but still unread.

The other day I received a notice from Amazon.ca, letting me know of a new book available soon – The Artist’s Way Starter Kit. Think amm is nudging me??

http://www.amazon.ca/Artists-Way-Julia-Cameron/dp/1585421464/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_1

Book Description

About the Author

Ready to Wear. Not the true definition for me today, but this phrase came to mind. Ready to wear.

Today I wore a shirt that amm bought for me on our last shopping trip. I will always remember that trip since it was the last time amm visited me in Edmonton. I needed clothes for my upcoming New York trip and amm insisted on buying me almost everything. It was normal for her to offer to buy one or two items a trip, but this particular trip? Everything. Maybe she knew somehow it was our last shopping day together.

One of the shirts bought that day has been hiding in my closet for a long, long time. But today I brought it out. At one point I thought I would never wear it again.

But today I was Prêt-à-Porter. Ready to Wear.

I received a letter from the CJD Foundation notifying us that another donation was made in memory of amm by one of her dear friends. Thank-you for still remembering and honouring her in such a way.

It seems like all my posts are about how wonderful amm was at this, or how fantastic she was at that. And although she was all those things, she was still human. She still had faults…right? She must have. I just couldn’t see them because I was blinded by her light as being the most wonderful mom I could ever hope for.

But the other night, I found something to blame amm for. I was reading a book that a friend recommended. Something I probably wouldn’t have chosen for myself with no prior knowledge of it, but it turned out to be one of the most addicting books I have read in a long time. Even though I always have a novel on the go, this was a book that I was reading not just before bed. And the night I blamed amm, it was because I could not stop reading the darn book!! It was a work night and I was so close to finishing the book. It was almost 1:00am by the time I turned my light out.

So I found something to blame amm for. Her passing on to me loving books and loving to read…and it interfering with getting a good nights sleep.

A good book is a great friend.

This was a phrase that amm used throughout the years. “Don’t mess with my kids.” It was never meant to be a threat. Just a statement that showed she would defend and support her children when we were being wronged.

And I know having this support growing up led me to my own little phrase I use for myself when I need to. “Don’t mess with me.” I can remember a situation I had in a professional setting a few years back where I felt someone was messing with me. I took care of it (appropriately) and I remember telling amm and her pride in how I handled the situation.

So people, don’t mess with me. Again, this is not a threat. I am not going to retaliate. I am not going to look for revenge. I am simply telling you, in a calm, soothing voice, “Don’t mess with me.” I have a mom who instilled in me self-worth and confidence and the ability to speak my mind when the time was right.

It’s so weird. Whenever I feel that I am being wronged, or taken advantage of, or treated poorly, I get pumped up!! It seems like an unexpected reaction, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s excitement for recognizing the strength I have within to stand up to the challenge and knowing that I will be successful.

Don’t worry mom. I’m not letting anyone mess with me.