Farewell to the Head Witch in Charge

As we get older, death is supposed to be easier to understand, being a by-product of life itself.  Death is supposed to be less of a surprise as we age, but yet, it still is.  Death still surprises us.  I find myself writing a lot more obituaries lately or maybe the more modern term, Celebration of Life Missives.  More surprising still, each one I write gets harder.

I’ve written an obituary for my father, mother, brother, sister, two friends, Adi’s grandparents and now…Adi’s mom, Sheri Lynn Davis.  She passed away Sunday, August 27, 2023 at 11:28 pm after being ill for the better part of six months.  Adi and I were with her when she passed peacefully.  No one thought she would die; everyone assumed a miracle would occur, she would get well, and this would be a footnote in her life that we would talk about 20 years in the future when we reminisced about how she overcame a serious illness in the summer of ’23 and thrived for years to follow—but that didn’t happen.

I called her Morticia, after the matriarch of the Addam’s Family.  And before anyone reading this gets offended, you have to understand, Adi’s mom was spooky, and she liked it that way.  Her mantra was, “You call me a witch like it’s a bad thing.”  She liked being called Morticia, and she liked that I called her husband, Gomez.  Morticia and Gomez had a very special love affair, one to be admired.

I remember when Adi and I had our first date in Paris, we were walking through Luxembourg Gardens, spring was in the air, and we were just getting to know one another.  For some reason, we began talking about marriage (I know, terrible first date topic) and I said, “I don’t know any happily married people” (Coming off a divorce, I was still pretty cynical at the time).  Adi quickly responded, “I do.  My parents.  They have a love affair they make movies about.”

I was surprised by this—until I met Morticia and Gomez.  They truly had a beautiful love affair.  They understood each other.  They allowed each other to “just be them” and they never tried to change or alter the way either of them chose to express themselves.  Morticia’s dream was to be a witch, or a mermaid, or some magical creature that might be found in a Harry Potter novel, depending on the day.  Gomez liked to hunt at the lease, take his annual ski trip and do “man things” on the land.  However, when they were together, that was when the true magic occurred.  It was love.

Morticia was larger than life (picture Hello, Dolly!) and was more like a sister to me than a mother-in-law (Adi and I have a sizable age gap of 18 years).  She was the age of my older siblings and so I always felt like I knew and understood her.  I grew up with women like her so when we met for the first time, it felt comfortable. I felt like I understood her experience, and she always treated me like an equal.  I truly loved Morticia.

We shared one thing in common: sarcasm.  She would take a jab at me, and I’d duck and jab her back.  This tête-à-tête would go on until some perceived crisis would arrive and then she’d always say, “Welcome to the Shit Show.”  I’d show her my imaginary ticket to the show, she’d tear it and allow me to enter her world where we would watch the “Shit Show” unfold before our very eyes, shaking our heads in awe of the destruction that followed.

During 2020 when the world shut down, Adi and I moved to Galveston and lived in the carriage house which was next door to the “Big House.”  The “Big House” was Morticia’s dream home.  It was big, it was Victorian, it always needing something fixed (which was Gomez’s job) and it was always under the threat of a hurricane storming through the Gulf of Mexico on any given August or September day, threatening to destroy Morticia’s idyllic dream world.  Morticia would cast her spells on the incoming storm while Gomez would board up the windows hoping for the best.

Read “As The Hurricane Churns”

That summer, three hurricanes threatened to wreak havoc on the Big House and each time, Adi and I ran for our lives and left the island while Morticia and Gomez hunkered down and waited them out.  We were mocked mercilessly for our cowardice by Morticia, “Are two afraid of a little water?  I’m the one who’s supposed to be the witch,” she would say to us.  I happily accepted the ribbing, at a hotel, 150 miles away.

Read “Down Goes the Pier”

Adi and I spent that summer and fall living next door to Morticia and Gomez, never really knowing that it would be the last summer we would ever spend there while Morticia was alive.  It was a truly magical time when I really got to know them far better than I had in years past.  The highlight was Morticia’s annual Halloween Party where the witchiest of witchy of Galveston came to cast their spells and revel at a time when the world was shut down.  This didn’t stop Morticia from throwing one of her classic soirees.

Morticia had her huge Victorian home decorated from top to bottom in Halloween accoutrements that would make a haunted house envious.  Gomez was by her side every step of the way—decorating—cooking—bartending—and then, the inevitable clean up the next day.  Gomez would do anything to see her witchy dreams come true.  It was the party of the year in Galveston, and Adi and I spent a grand total of 15 minutes at the festivities before retiring to bed at 8:30…pm.

Read about “The Big House”

“I hope we didn’t keep you up past your bedtime last night,” Morticia said to me the next morning, knowing we cut out early.  “Next year, I’ll make sure the photographer is here by 7.”

Yes, she hired a photographer for her parties and true to form, she did so on what would turn out to be her very last Halloween party of her life in 2021.  Adi and I were captured in the group shot dressed in 19^th century garb that was cobbled together at the last minute from Halloween costumes past—the photo forever memorialized Morticia’s Halloween spirit and her love of Halloween.  She truly loved Halloween which meant Gomez loved Halloween and together they hosted one of the biggest parties of the year on Galveston Island.  And everyone who was spooky, a wall flower, an odd duck, a witch, a warlock, an undertaker or just didn’t fit into normal society—they were all invited and Morticia and Gomez greeted them at the door upon their arrival and welcomed them as family.

I got to see their love affair up close.  I saw how real it was and I thought back to that time in Paris when I told Adi that I didn’t know any happily married people.  I got to witness what that looked like.  I learned people can be happy and be in relationship with all its messes and imperfections.  Love can endure in the face of almost anything when you find that special someone.  Morticia and Gomez had found each other, and once they did, nothing else mattered.

Was their relationship perfect?  Probably not, but it was an example that sometimes imperfect can be happy.  It can be human.  It can be divine.

When Morticia got sick, one person stood by her side the whole way.  It was Gomez.  He cared for her.  He nursed her in the final days, feeding her, making sure she was comfortable, and even guiding her to the restroom while she hung on in those final few days.  He loved her when it would have been really easy to turn and run away.  He stayed by her side, never considering an alternative, or an escape plan for that matter. When she became frustrated and took things out on him, he would say, “She’s an angel.  The only thing I see is an angel.”  Gomez showed me what being a man looks like.  He showed me what it meant to truly love the one you’re with.  He loved her all the way to her very last breath and most assuredly, to his as well.  He was her hero.  She was his witch.

Morticia was generous to her final day, always thinking of her girls and doing everything she could to ensure that they would be okay.  She would always say privately to me, “Take care of Adi for me.  I know how much you love her, and it makes me feel better knowing that you are with her.”  So, to my sister from another mister—I will always take of your baby girl.  I will always love her the way Gomez loved you.

But most importantly, I will miss you, Witchy Woman.  I’ll miss the way you never stopped talking no matter how much it wasn’t your turn to talk.  I’ll miss your love of old Hollywood films, and your endless political rants; I’ll miss your love of history and your lust for everything old and tattered; I’ll miss your absolute inability to throw something away no matter how tarnished and hopeless it might be.  “I might use that some day,” you would always say.  “I’m going to refinish that and put that in the Big House.”  Now we know, that day will be no more.

There will never be another like you, Morticia.  I love you.  Rest in peace with the Angels of Light and never be afraid to throw a little witchiness into the mix.  Your broom awaits…

To hear David narrate this blog on Spotify click the link below: