A Wish for Ashley

When we were little, my mom ran a Soviet regime.  As the children in her household, there were high standards for personal presentation (Ms. Desmond? I know everyone else has to wipe down the lunch tables, but I can’t.  My mom will be very, very angry if I get my purple leather miniskirt dirty), academic achievement (Mrs. Cupp… sob… that is A+ work.  I am not an A student, I’m an A+ student, damnit!) professional prowess (there are how many other kids auditioning for this campaign? Let me save you some time- your search is officially over) and nutritional balance (Why am I grounded Mrs. Mullen?  Well, I ate four M&Ms without asking.  Yes, my mom did count them).  It’s no wonder that 20+ years later Sister One takes 3 hours to get ready to leave the house, I have panic attacks if someone so much as even thinks about not giving me a perfect review, and Sister Two believes that M&Ms are worth the guilt of breaking any diet and exercise plan.  The Berlin Wall may have fallen but the era it represented did not instantaneously dissipate.

Enter: Cake for Breakfast.  This past weekend, the change in my mom’s household could not have been more apparent than her serving me up birthday cake for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.  All while ensuring I had a men’s XXL sweatshirt to dress up in while eating said cake and watching the fabulously bad show NYC Prep.  So much for nutritional balance. And intellectual development. And personal appearances.  But it’s a whole new era now.  She no longer runs a regime because she’s war torn; tested.  She has mourned the loss of both her brothers in the past two years; she has reprioritized bigger things over little details.  The impact on the rest of us is just as striking.  The result is that we have gotten closer.  We use to joke around that our family motto should be “life’s a bitch, be its pimp.”  Nowadays, it couldn’t be more true.

My Uncles are in the dining room.  I ate some cake with them this weekend.  Just me, a room splashed with black and white furniture, two urns and two portraits.  Cake for breakfast; because family matters, and the separation of heaven and earth become little details.  Ashley is only miles away.  Maybe far away or maybe real nearby.  She may remember the Soviet era.  She’ll laugh at the new regime.  I hope that one day she’ll join me in the dining room.  Let them eat cake.

Ashley, we miss you.  And the wall comes tumbling down.

With love (and recognition that it’s past my bedtime),

Audra