Belated Mother's Day

This was a strange Mother's Day for me. Off and on all day my thoughts wandered to my mother. For 28 years I have not spent a lot of time dwelling on her absence. The first few years were tough, but life intrudes and life moves on. Holidays and birthdays, my family growing, my kids needing my time and attention, career and jobs, relocations, life moves on. It did instill in me a deep resentment towards the catch-all illness called "cancer." But as time has slipped by her memory fades a bit, the everyday ache is gone.

Pictures that were pulled out would remind me of her influence in my life. Her auburn hair, her ability to make all of us feel special. She was not a terribly complicated woman, very little formal education, high school and some vocational school, no college. But she had a deep interest in things spiritual. The memories I do retain from my childhood all seem to center around the dinner table. We had full breakfasts every day of the week; eggs, bacon, biscuits. Then on Saturday she would add pancakes to the above. It was with some consternation that I realized that my new bride was not going to provide this same breakfast menu every morning. What I realized much later was that my mom would get up an hour or so before all the rest of us and pray for her family, by name and circumstance. This was how she started her day. All these years later I find myself doing the same.

I also don't remember many weekend lunches or dinners where we did not have "extras." My buddies were all raised under her watchful eye, my brothers and sister would all have friends over and mom would gather them in as hers and love on them, lecture them, whatever seemed to be needed. She raised us all. The dinner table was, at once a place to eat, a place to tease, to argue, to fuss, to laugh. It was her pulpit, her domain, and she welcomed all to it. Perhaps this is where I have developed such a distaste for dining alone. I love the noise and confusion, side-bars, spills and chills. It makes me feel at home..regardless of where I am.

So this past Sunday a few realizations resulted. My son is the same age I was when my mom passed away. I wanted to tell him to appreciate his mom. I want to tell all of you who still are fortunate enough to have your mom's around to appreciate them. They are the glue that holds the family together. I wonder what circumstances would be different had she survived. Who knows? It doesn't do much good to speculate, because she didn't survive. But I do miss her simple wisdom. I miss her making me feel special (she is the only one who would make banana pudding and make me my own helping that was sans bananas; its an entire different story) I miss her willingness to mix it up with anyone on spiritual matters. She would corner the pulpit guys at the church where we attended and discuss her take on their sermons (I wonder where I get it?) And she was usually right. But at her funeral these preachers were just as devastated as the rest of us. She was certainly one of a kind.

This next year I will be her age when she died. Have I made the same impact in the world as she did? I still have women come up to me and tell me how much influence my mom had on their lives because of the young women's class she taught all those years at church. It makes me feel proud and it makes me feel that I am under-utilizing the time I have been given. The newer models just don't have the same amount of steel than the older models did.

I dreamed about her Sunday night. That hasn't happened in years. She hugged me close and said, "I worry about you the most." Great, I'm still a problem.

Godspeed to all out there who have lost your moms, life goes on, but the lessons are eternal. To those who still have them, hug them and let them know they hold a very special and singular place.
Don