My mother, Donna, died unexpectedly earlier this month. A recent Tuesday morning, he got up, and even went to the living room. That night, she was in the hospital. Thirty -six hours later, she was gone. These have been among the most difficult weeks of my life.
I spent the first half of March at home near Chicago to cry with my family and I will probably visit throughout the year to continue the process. I have never liked the past time, afflicted, since that implies a conclusion of something that changes us, alters our course and continues to define us. There is no argue for a box that can be closed and compartmentalized comfortably, here is the memories of a loved one.
And yet, we survive, hopefully with something learned.
Upon returning to my residence adopted from Los Angeles, I did what I always do when I was down: I spent time with my cat, I heard records and then visited Disneyland, the best happiest place on earth. Pirates of the Caribbean was always my family's first stop, and when I went on the ride, I tried to remember family trips, my parents running to attraction and my brother trying to take photos without snapshots, letting the boat that swayed calmly took me to a previous and more edifying time. But mainly I spent the day trying to absorb the atmosphere. My mind needed happiness and joy, and environments that point to comfort.
Like many in the United States, I grew up with parents who dedicated most of their vacation time to Disney's theme parks. I have maintained the tradition: I write about thematic parks to live, but I also go to Disneyland often in my free time. So much that once later in life, my mother even questioned him, perplexed by my desire to replace the park in good or bad times. Labor promotion? Outside Disneyland. A break? Disneyland again. The recent devastating fires that hit our region? Disneyland was there for me.
The author at an early age with his mother, Donna, in the Walt Disney World Epcot in the 1980s.
(Martens family)
“I wonder what we made you make you go there so often,” my mother said a few years ago while I sat in the Loba del Grand Californian Hotel de Disney. I really didn't answer, I laughed, I probably sighed, but in retrospect, I would like to have been a little more talkative. I would have reminded my mother what he did, because in Disneyland I saw many of the lessons he tried to teach.
So today, mom, I will tell you what you did that makes me go to Disneyland so frequently. You instilled a belief in goodness. You inspired optimism, what I could and should do what I want and that I am able to achieve my goals. And somehow, despite everything worrying, and yes, my mother worried a lot, there was an idea that things would work at the end, no pinting dust was needed. She told me at the beginning of March that I expected to live long enough to read my first book, believing that my goal was inevitability. That book will be dedicated to it.
My mother inspired optimism. In spite of everything worrying, there was an idea that things would work at the end, no pinting dust was needed.
– Todd Martens
My mom never got tired of my crazy dreams. When I said I wanted to be in “Saturday Night Live”, it led me to weekly improvisation classes at Second City. And when I said that perhaps it was not fun enough to be in “Saturday Night Live”, we changed to the acting classes. And when I was tired of making mistakes in the little league, my mother encouraged me to think about something else. I was afraid to do it. My mother recognized my early tendency to avoid confrontation, and feared my father would get angry. But my mother sat me and explained carefully what to say and how to be honest and express what I wanted. My dad, of course, was not upset.
It was at times like these that this child who loves fairy tales saw my mother's hopes and imagination. For a long time I have believed that we are not going to the thematic parks to escape the world so much as to help make sense, because in Disneyland we see our narratives and cultural stories reflected for us. An attraction as Snow White's delighted desire is not simply a happy forever; At all times, we see hard work, perseverance and unexpected tragedies. In addition, its recently renewed final centers the blancanieve dependence in the community instead of her magical husband, and argues that true love comes only after we have dedicated time and effort.
Alicia in Wonderland takes the unpredictability of life and gives her a technical turn, making sure that our nightmares are really just dreams. Mr. Toad's wild trip throws us into our vices in a statement from our own agency. It is a small world, through its fantasy and its childish wonder, it makes it clear that we are not really so different, which makes divisions and hate in the world temporarily meaningless. The Pirates of the Caribbean show the ways in which greed and gluttony make us cartoons, while the haunted mansion finds frivolity in the hereafter, reminding us that we enjoy our time while we are here.
The author, Todd Martens, left, and his mother, Donna, at a recent wedding in Chicago. Donna died unexpectedly this month.
(Martens family)
Because in Disneyland, exaggerations are the norm, and if we let ourselves live in these abstract worlds, we can feel their high emotions. And what I most admired about my mother, who worked most of her life as a preschool teacher, was her ability to feel everything deep and find new ways of turning what was happening around her. When my friends and I broke a small vase hitting wiffle balls inside the house on a rainy day, she did not scold. She suggested that we change a dust cloth around the room. Thus Dust Ball was born.
One thing I will never forget is the way in which any global conflict when the pain was younger. I had a deeply entrenched fear that the war leads to an already my older brother would be called to the service. When I was a child, I did not know that she had previously lived such moments with my father, nor did I completely understood what a draft was. I just saw that my mother needed a hug.
As I grew up, I saw this moment for what it was. I saw him as a sign of someone who cares, deeply. Someone who feels immensely. Someone who fantasizes, brilliantly. I saw imagination. I saw concern. And I saw love. I also saw a way of looking at life: dream, fear, ask, wait, and when someone asks what is wrong, to tell them and accept that hug.
And so it was that I found in Disneyland only 48 hours after returning to Los Angeles, in part I wanted to see some family faces. I also wanted to enjoy the eternal power of fairy tales. The whole park has lessons to impart, even Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge, where the stories of good and evil are substitutes for those who have and those who have those who have, the cigars and close to nature, while the oppressors are obsessed with the image and the mechanical and technological artifice.
I just wanted to remind me of those parents' life lessons. Among the articles that I brought back to Los Angeles was one of my mother's adult coloring books, a gift from my father who put on my coffee table and will always appreciate. I did it leaves daily since I returned, smiling for his love for art and dedication to crafts to color, but also to remember that every day I will have my mother's guidance.
And that means hugging, worrying, asking and dreaming awake. Because that's how we never stop living. And my mother will not stop living with me.
