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| Kids walking to the bus in the snow |
I sat there speechless, the cordless phone in my hand,
watching the 6 AM news. The weather
guesser was predicting 15 degrees with a -3 wind chill. Was it possible that my mom actually thought
that, after my 17 years as a mother, I wouldn’t know to put a coat on my kids
when it was cold?
“OK mom,” I said after a few beats. “We will.”
******
At the time (nine years ago) I was so angry with her. How in the ever loving hell could she think
that we wouldn’t put a damned coat on our kids when it was cold? Did she think that we were so irresponsible
and uncaring that we’d let our boys freeze to death walking to the bus? Jon and I both stomped around angry at my mom
all day long, just so hopelessly offended by her words.
Now, almost four years after her death, I can look back at
that and know she just wanted to be an active part of our lives. Giving motherly advice was what she had to
offer that particular morning. Granted,
it was completely asinine advice that anyone could guess, but…
I miss my mom. My
husband misses my mom. Our kids miss my
mom.
My mom was the glue that held
our family together and I feel like, without her, we’re all adrift in our own
oceans, wrapped up in our individual lives.
We only come together now for Christmas.
And I don’t necessarily mean extended family, either. I don’t see my brother, his wife or kids
aside from posts on Facebook. My Grandma
and I talk occasionally (more frequently than when my mom was around) and my
Aunt and I email. We’re not a very close
family and we’re even further apart now that there’s no one making plans for
us.
******
I remember my mom’s last Mother’s Day.
She was living in Castle Rock so we all went down and met at
a park since no one’s house would hold us all.
Mom was so sick (metastatic breast cancer) at that point that she wasn’t
able to walk from the van to the covered picnic area without pain. Her sister Sherry, who had come to town from
Oregon to see her, pushed her in a wheelchair.
We all brought photo albums and food to share. Grandma and Grandpa were there, Sherry, mom,
Jon and I and our three kids, my brother and his wife and their then four
kids. As much as I wanted to sit down
and have quiet time looking through albums with my mom, I spent most of my time
running after small children, pushing swings, eating on the fly, telling people
to “COME BACK HERE!” and apologizing to non-family members.
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| Not my kids on a playground |
I’d been staying with her overnights to help her with her
pain meds and to make sure that she wasn’t alone and I hadn’t seen her in a
couple of days since Sherry had come to relieve me. I had been able to go back to the comfort of
my home, my family. In the couple days
since I’d seen her, she seemed to have shrunken. Again.
I could see the pain in her face, even though she did a really good job
of trying to cover it for the sake of the kids.
Her smile was bright.
She loved every minute of being with her family that day. Ten days later she was gone.
******
I miss my mom. There
has been so much that she’s missed. So
many changes in all of our lives.
Accomplishments that we wear with pride and family frustrations and
worries that we can no longer share with her.
In the last four years Jon and I have quit smoking and taken
up cycling (to the detriment of Jon’s broken thumb most recently) and we’ll be
celebrating our twentieth anniversary this October. Matt’s (25) living successfully on his own
with good roommates and has had his job for a few years now. Toby’s (18) going to graduate next month and
go to community college and was really successful in marching band all four
years of high school. Jake’s (13)
getting into music, becoming a world traveler and making As and Bs. My brother
and his wife had another baby and all five of their kids are growing like
weeds. My Brother’s taken up Brazilian
Jujitsu. I worry about Grandma’s health
as she gets older and Aunt Sherry got a new job that she loves.
And mom’s not physically here to see any of it. She’s not here to give congratulatory hugs,
come to concerts, football games, races or competitions or make the chili that
we ate every year on Christmas Eve.
I see a lot of my mom in me though, even though some days I
don’t want to admit it. The teenager in
me tells me its bad to be like your mom, but I still am. I work hard and put others before myself even
though I shouldn’t as often as I do. I
keep a mostly clean house. I try to be
strict with money, but I’m not very good about saying no. I’ve even found myself giving asinine advice
to the boys, reminding them that it’s my prerogative as a mother. Click here to read about more ways I'm like my mom.
I’ll always want to be an active part in their lives like my
mom was in ours, but I hope to never remind them to put coats on their
children.
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| The great professional picture my mom had taken for us before her health started its serious decline so that we'd have something to display at her memorial You can see her church in the reflection. |
Want more for Mother's Day?
Saving our children from Mothers’ Day (Danielle Rose)
The Real Emancipated Woman (by Tamara Rokicki)
Make sure the kids wear coats: A Mother’s Day Blog (by Charla Dury)
The Goddess Connection: Mothers and Maeve (by Tara Ann Lesko) POSTS 5/7/15
In a Nutshell: On Mothers (by Danielle Rose) POSTS 5/8/15
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