Mom's Darkness
In preparation for 100
Keeping it simple this week. “Mom’s Darkness” is a piece from my most recent one-man show, previously titled Feed Wolf Ice Cream: A Comedy Show About Death and which I’m now calling Literally the Afterlife, but since I haven’t remounted the show yet, the rename is kinda moot. Nonetheless, I’ve performed this piece dozens of times, and like Shakespeare, it’s intended to be experienced in performance. I’m exactly like Shakespeare. I say all this because I would much rather you listen to the piece, embedded as audio below, before/instead of reading it. But I’ve included the text as well because this wouldn’t be much of a newsletter without text. I had my very talented friend Al Church accompany my words with guitar and you should check out Al’s music on Bandcamp today, Bandcamp Friday. I’m including this snippet in episode 100 of This Is Your Afterlife, which is an interview with my mom and comes out Tuesday. Consider this a sneak preview of an old revue.
Mom’s Darkness
Surviving a coma didn’t solve my fear of death. I couldn’t even think about it too long without panicking. But my mom was by my bedside the whole time, and she’s not afraid. She believes in heaven. My friends who visited the hospital commented on her strength. They expected to see a withered woman, but they found her grateful and trying to make them comfortable. One guy told me how dark and intense her eyes were, all whites and big, deep pupils.
Her oldest sister Sheila, Ben’s mother, was a support beam for her.
Sheila died this January. She had brain cancer for a year, but my mom’s hope during that year made Sheila’s decline seem more sudden than it probably was.
When I visited for Christmas, I asked my mom if it terrified her that Sheila was going to die. She said, “I’m very sad, and I’m going to miss her. But I know she’ll be in heaven, and I know she’s looking forward to seeing Ben.”
I couldn’t believe her confidence, and I feel embarrassed saying her words now. But there was something undeniable about her belief.
I wanted to send Sheila a complete and perfect letter with all my thoughts and feelings for her to read on her death bed, but I didn’t get the chance before she pocket dialed my mom on Christmas Day. When my mom handed me the phone, I swallowed to hold back tears and told Sheila that I loved her and had a thousand things to say but no words.
In a soft, tired voice, she said, “Thank you, David. I understand. Some things are bigger than words.”
Then she said, “I guess this is it.” And it was.
The first question people ask when they find out I was in a coma is, “Do you remember anything?” And I always tell them, “No.” But that’s not the whole truth. There is something.
I’ve never told anyone this, but there was a moment where I left my body. I became two inches tall. I pulled back one eyelid like a manhole cover, and I stood on top of my own forehead. My parents were having a conversation by my bedside. My dad was frustrated.
“Why aren’t you worried?”
“I am, but I know God will provide.”
“Provide what?”
“A way.”
“A way what?”
“For this to work out. An answer to our prayers. You are praying, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m praying, but our son’s body is expiring. These life supports aren’t meant for long-term use. If something doesn’t change, he’ll die.”
And in that moment, I saw her grief. It poured from her mouth like smooth black vomit. It covered the floor like tar, until they were stuck, but standing.
Even after the coma, I feared death, so I tried to keep the darkness at bay. My mother doesn’t fear the darkness. Her reality holds space for it.
THIS IS MY PODCAST, THIS IS YOUR AFTERLIFE
Joanna Jamerson (The Neo-Futurists) records the most scatological episode of This Is Your Afterlife yet while leaving the door open to becoming a very devout Christian by the end of her life.
Content warning: depression, Steve Harvey, Fifth Harmony, the curse of empathy.
Episode 100 with my mom comes out Tuesday! If you listen to This Is Your Afterlife, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Episode 101 will be my reflections on the show so far, and I’d love to include other voices. Reply here, email thisisdavemaher at gmail, or leave me a voicemail to play on the show: (313) MIST-URA (647-8872).
MAY I PLAY YOU A SOUND?
I’ve been playing Cleo Sol’s newest album, Mother, in the mornings, and “Know That You Are Loved” is sticking with me, despite/because of its simplicity. The lyrics are just the song’s title, plus “even if you don’t love yourself,” sung over and over again as if casting a spell that requires repetition to sink in. It could be the absolute cheesiest thing in the world, but it melts me. Felt like a nice pairing with my words this week.
Love,
DM