R.I.P. – This Was Hard For Me To Write

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Mom had one these, though she beat the shit outta hers

Mom had one of these, though she beat the shit outta hers

A few months ago my mom passed away. Attending her funeral in Estonia was one of the saddest experiences of my life.

I miss her so much and cherish my memories of her…her laugh, her smile, her warm embrace.

I even miss the crazy times…

You see, before Mom found AA and got sober, she struggled for decades with alcoholism and addiction.

I remember when my brother, John, and I were young—like not even ten years old yet—she’d pick us up from friends’ houses in her ’65 Chevy Bel Air completely hammered on alcohol and pain killers. On the way home she’d plow into trashcans and parked cars while John and I laughed our little asses off.

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Mom’s driving

It was like being in a demolition derby.

We’d grab the wheel and try to help her steer, but she’d snap at us and say she was fine.

Now, even though she had her struggles, she was a very loving mother who did her best to raise my brother and I and give us everything we needed.

When she went to AA and got sober, she made sure that John and I went to Alateen, a program of recovery for teens with alcoholic family members, so we could heal with her.

Mom’s life was all about healing.

In fact, she was a professional healer—an ICU (Intensive Care Unit), CCU ( Coronary Care Unit), SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit) nurse her entire adult life as well as director of nursing at a large hospital. Healing was in her blood and she took the well-being of her patients personal and gave ’em her all.

Mom was also smart—a brilliant woman who held two masters degrees and was more intelligent than most of the doctors she worked with.

And…

She was supportive of my growing…

If you’ve read the story Eljay wrote about my life then you know that 32 years ago I killed my first crop.

Screen Shot 2015-05-18 at 1.00.03 PMFortunately my second crop pulled through. I harvested it a bit early so the bud wasn’t as strong or as heavy as it could’ve been, but at least it survived.

After hacking it down I needed somewhere to dry it. Now, I knew my mom had an extra room at her place. So I toted my freshly harvested goods over to her place and asked her if it was cool if I dried it there.

“That’s fine,” she said, “just be careful with all this growing stuff, Michael. I don’t wanna see you get into any trouble.”

Back in those days, if you grew weed, you weren’t much different from a cocaine trafficker in the eyes of the law—sentences were STIFF.

“Thanks Mom,” I said. “You’re the best! And don’t worry, I won’t get into trouble.”

I moved the bed and furniture out of the spare room, threw some plastic down and hung the plants up.

rhjdweflYears later when I was on the run from the DEA and U.S. Marshals—after I HAD gotten into trouble—I’d call my mom from thousands of miles away on payphones using a very complex code system to avoid detection. Only her and my brother had a copy of the key code I’d made to decipher the code.

From California, I placed coded personal ads in the Chicago Tribune with instructions for ‘em and they ran all over town to take my calls, often jumping from one payphone to the next just to make sure the DEA wasn’t onto us.

I get more into this in the book I’m writing—Marijuana Don.

After fleeing the United States and moving to Canada I started growing in my new house and selling cuttings for five bucks a pop.

Screen Shot 2015-05-18 at 12.57.49 PMMy mom came up from the States to visit me. Now, my grow room in that house wasn’t anything major, just a little ten light operation. This was before I was running 1,500 lights at a time.

One day while she was sitting on my couch watching soap operas I told her I had to head out to take care of a few things. “Mom, if anybody comes to the door while I’m gone, whatever you do, don’t answer it.”

Well, wouldn’t you know it, not an hour later someone comes pounding on the door.

ejdbnwehfbwMom peeked out the window and saw a fire truck and a few electric company trucks out front. Since the house didn’t seem to be on fire, she didn’t answer the door. She just turned the volume down on the television and went right back to watching her soaps.

They kept pounding on the door and she kept ignoring ’em.

Turned out, my grow room had blown up the transformer outside. The thing got FRIED. It was one of those ground transformers and apparently I’d turned it into melting, smoldering goo. The electric company fixed it and they all went away.

Damn I miss my mom. As I’m writing this, so many memories…so many stories…come to mind.

She supported me, accepted me, and loved me unconditionally.

If your mom is still alive, it would mean a lot to me if you called her today and reminded her of just how much you love her. I’ll never get a chance to say, “I love you,” to my mom again.

I do, however, get to cherish my memories of her every single day.

Live strong and grow strong.

Talk soon,
Big Mike

(R.I.P. Mom)

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