Cathy Jayne Henessee

My mom was, in a lot of ways, a very down to earth woman and too funny for her own good. She’d give you the shirt off her back, if she could. So, as I sit down to write this as her youngest child… I can’t help but write her obituary with one specific story in mind, and not a long, rambling list of her achievements. Yes, she was a well-loved and accomplished nurse. And yes, she’ll be survived by her three kids. But, a person is more than their impact or accomplishments. We’re all here for a very, very short time and our experiences and memories can easily get lost if we don’t capture or retell them. The last vacation we had together was August of 2016. We went to Seaside spontaneously and spent the night before leaving the next day. The motel she booked online had really mixed reviews (that she didn’t bother to read) but, the rooms advertised had a honeymoon-suite-in-1960’s-Hawaii vibe so... I was at least excited for the kitch value of an old motel. But, when got there I was cranky from lack of sleep and purposefully sat in the car. Windows rolled up and  engine off. Sweat literally pouring down my face. Scowling in the humid, summer sun as I watched a man use the pool in his stained tighty-whities. Mom had went into the office to check in and had to wade through a cloud of cigar smoke, the owners lazing about and yelling at some poor twenty-something that the free wi-fi only worked on half of the tiny, 30 room properly. So, after Mom waded out of the smoke-filled reception room, where one of the owners was hotboxing a cigar, I carried out stuff into the room and her next plan of business was to nap, seeing as we had gotten there way too early to check in and spent the morning playing in an arcade. She loved that and… I loved it that she did. When I was really little I loved playing air  hockey and being in arcades in general, so it was… Even in that moment, it was really nice to bond with my mom in a way that more so involved my interests. But, Mom wanted a nap once we were finally permitted access to our bare bones (and surprisingly clean) room.The beds, however… I think the plastic mats they make prisoners and daycare kids sleep on are more comfortable. Not to mention, the door was so thin and ill-installed that it sounded like the kids playing in the pool were going to accidentally bust down our flimsy, plywood door. Needless to say…I didn’t want to nap with that thought in my mind. Mom did, however. Like a rock. We got up at dusk and tried to eat dinner and walk around but, it was gonna rain and we forgot the bug spray so... The greenheads probably had more fill than we did. After thinking we had lost the motel key in a panic, only to re-find it in a pocket, the two of us beat the rain and hunkered down for the night. As soon as the sun set… Stuff got weird. The flat screen TV was mounted in a way where you couldn’t see it from my bed so, the two of us were squeezed onto this tiny, brick-hard double, unable to pay attention to whatever it was we were watching. Our room sat on a corner, between a supply closet and the suite the owners slept in. Thumping, bumping, muffled talking, yelling, what truly sound like a fax machine, radio chatter (and morse code for all I know) could clearly be heard from either side of our room. The two of us were punch-drunk from being up all day running around, and couldn’t stop laughing about it. Like two middle school girls at a sleepover. Everytime a new, unique noise came through the wall we started giggling at the absurdity of it. Mom theorized one of the owners was a police informant, seeing as the cops did come later on to arrest the man who was swimming in his underwear. Probably not because he was in a public pool in his skivvies but… Who knows. Mom thought that maybe this guy and his family were squatting in the supply closet. Anyway, after the cops left, the owners kept banging around in a way that clearly was too erratic to be erotic, and I fell asleep on the edge of the bed after trying to watch TV... Only to be awaken a two or three measly hours later to my mother reporting in that the owners were still making a cacophony of thumping and tapping. My mother loved the ocean.The smell, the sound, and the scenery. The thought of truly being on the edge of the continent. And the weird people. I can think of countless times I’ve gone with her to the beaches in California or the shores of New Jersey. So, in writing this, I want people to remember her sense of humor, her playfulness and, one of the few things that calmed her- the ocean. And by proxy, beach vacations.   -Michelle “Hunter” Henessee