Tales From an Urban Chef

My mother was interred today joining my father. I wasn’t able to be present unfortunately having to head back to Pennsylvania to help my wife with her own ailing mother.

We created a shrine in her memory today. It’s conjured up many different feelings. Sadness, joy, frustration, regret and anger.

My mother was a complex person. Her trajectory in life was also complex. I’ve struggled with grief over the last couple of weeks. It’s been heart wrenching being the one tasked with closing down all her accounts.

Receiving her death certificate was a gut punch. It brought her death to the surface. It’s left me with a huge hole in my heart that can never be filled. I had so many questions I still wanted to ask her about her life and family which the more I’ve learned recently about her extended family fascinated me and I wanted more. Unfortunately that will never happen and it hurts. A lot.

My mom struggled in recent years. Personal issues with spending too much, hoarding and withdrawing from society. It was a difficult time for all of us. You can only help someone to the point where you realize it’s actually not helping anymore.

I lost contact with my mother for several years. Since my father passed fourteen years ago, her ability to stay balanced became more and more chaotic. Bipolar disorder is dreadful and can totally derail your sense of stability. I’m seeing it now with my brother.

I was able to repair my relationship with my mom. Her decline actually brought our family together.  It’s uncanny how much influence my mother had over us all, even during the times we despised her. She could spin a fascinating yarn then quickly insult you to the point you just sat there laughing in disbelief.

One of the most sadly hilarious situations in years was at their house on Greenlee ave in St.Bernard. My father was dying from bladder cancer and his sister came in from Arizona to pray over him. She was a Catholic Evangelical who was in a sect that spoke in tongues. Yes, these people do indeed exist. In the room was my father, my aunt Mary, my slumped over mother, my brother Jon-Paul and the cable guy trying to fix their satellite dish reception. 

I’m sitting on the couch, my mother is filling the room with cigarette smoke and my aunt is rambling on speaking in tongues over my dad while the repair guy is using the remote to channel surf.

My brother and I were texting back and forth on the absurdity we were witnessing and I texted “the only thing missing here is a guy in a Hitler uniform and a gorilla eating spaghetti.” They all wondered why we were both laughing. I love inside jokes.

Even during death, I can find a way to lighten up the mood because life is fucking hard. I know personally. Heart issues, cancer, burying deep down unprocessed grief, being verbally abused by my mother-in-law. The full gambit dressed up like a double barreled shotgun pointing at my head. I made it through the other side so far but there’s more work to do.

Having to deal with my mothers personal estate or what remained of it has been hard. I had no experience in what I was doing including cremation, certificates, internment etc. I got all these tasks accomplished but I could have used my brothers help. He’s vanished.

Another family member struggling with bipolar disorder but refuses to acknowledge it.  He’s actually embraced it and has weaponized it to emotionally attack family and friends. He created a website to take passive aggressive pot shots to hurt all of us. I spent five weeks in Cincinnati and he never contacted me once. Neither did his son and one person or another informed him about our mother’s decline. He informed my aunt that “he moved on from us.”

We’ve been nothing but supportive during his disastrous life choices and he turned on all of us. He wasn’t even there for our mother’s death. This will haunt him until his dying day. I have a clear conscience. 

My extended family have been nothing but supportive. Giving me a place to stay during this process, feeding me, providing emotional support. I can’t thank them enough. We are all better people because of this.

My mom suffered during her final days. My work isn’t complete until I help hold her facility tasked with her care accountable. So many other poor souls with no family like ours to visit them and I want to make someone aware they deserve an advocate like my mother did and I will do something. I’m not sure what but they all deserve to be protected from incompetence and neglect.

I wanted to share my final story and close this chapter on a difficult time in our lives. I’ll probably need to talk to someone eventually to process all that has happened. I’ve learned a lot about myself. Some good, some not so good. Who knows what 2026 has in store but I hope it will be better than 2025.

Here are some pictures of our shrine and my mom’s interment.