Missing Mom

Missing Mom

This is the first year I don’t have a mom to remember with presents on Mother’s Day, an odd feeling. She is of course greatly on my mind. With the illnesses she suffered, I wouldn’t wish her back, and I am very grateful that, considering her physical state, she went as peacefully as she did. It doesn’t stop the many times I come across something on TV or in a store or just something going on in my life I wish I could tell her about. All normal reactions, I know, and the knowledge that I can’t talk to her face-to-face leaves a sad aftertaste, more bittersweet than mournful at this point.

My mom showed love in her extravagant giving of presents on birthdays and holidays and in meals she took great pride in preparing. Her homemade lasagna, apple pie, roasts and gravies—just a drop in the bucket of her repertoire—spoiled me for store-bought or restaurant representations. None taste as good as Mom’s.

Mom’s Quirks

She used to enjoy buying me clothes. Let’s just say we had vastly different tastes in styles, though I have to admit she got better at it as I got older. I rarely replace things that are still wearable. She teased me that she bought things for me that she liked because she knew she would be seeing them for a long time. She rarely got rid of anything either, which being the one who had to wade through it all when she sold her house and moved closer to her kids, I can attest to. Unfortunately she saw no reason why that tendency should stop her from buying more.

A local charity got three suitcases and five thirty-gallon bags full of clothes that no longer fit her before she moved. Should I feel bad that I had to sneak out most of it along with a truck full of household items she wouldn’t be able to fit into her new apartment? Considering we still filled a moving van with the stuff she couldn’t possibly give up, I’m voting no.

Mom’s Legacy

When it became clear that Mom was dying, so many people from the nursing home came to say goodbye. I managed to hold it together except when I saw the tears in their eyes. Their caring was not a perfunctory part of the job. They truly liked my mom and would miss her as a person. She had a way about her, a joy in simple pleasures—coloring, visiting with people, meals—plans for the future, mostly get-togethers with her family, and a stoic acceptance of her illnesses that kept her going for many years past the time most medical professionals would have given her. We began to call her the Ever Ready mama.

I’d like to be a fly on the wall in heaven to see if Mom directs the angels and other inhabitants on fashion and social get-togethers. She’d be good at it.