Mother's Day Tribute

Have you hugged a mom today?

No matter who you are or where you are on your life journey, we all have a unique experience with our mothers. As Mother's Day approaches, no one is able to escape the Hallmarkable date of the first Sunday in May. You may not be a mom yourself but you are a son or daughter of a woman who gave birth to you and raised you the best she knew. Memories of our own moms can stir up a range of emotions, both the good and the bad.

Reflecting on Mother's Day, I realize that it has been two years and two months since my own mother has passed away. My mother and I had a tumultuous relationship throughout the 35 years of our lives together. There were years layered and sandwiched when we were the best of friends, and then other years when we were estranged, on non-speaking terms. Even with the challenging seasons of our relationship, I miss her terribly.

Those of you who have experienced a loss of your mother may understand my grieving process. Although we all grieve differently, you may be on a different grief track than I am on. My grief actually started before her death. I had to realize that she could not be the kind of mom that I had wanted or needed from her. She was limited in her own health and her own needs and nothing I could do could change that. As I matured into my 30s, I realized that I needed to let go of that ideal image of what a mother was in my own heart and mind and I needed to just love her as she was. Our relationship improved. It wasn't the kind of relationship I would have wished for, nor the type she wished for, but it was a mother daughter relationship that had grown to be strong and healthy, finally.

We talked on the phone often. She was a best friend to me in those last days. She would not only listen to all the details of my day, my job, my children, my garden, but she would actually want to know about all the details of my life. No other person has or probably will ever take that role in my life. This void in my heart reminds me of how much I miss her, all the goodness she brought to me.

I was especially reminded of her the other day. I was in Plymouth delivering fliers for some upcoming Tri Kappa events and I ran into some familiar friendly faces of some ladies having lunch at Sisters' Tea and Eatery. As I was walking by them with a smile and a friendly hello, they pulled a chair out for me and graciously invited me to sit with them for lunch. I sat down and listened to them talk about places they traveled to, their favorite places to eat, and shop. It was a short and savory lunch with some stylish and sassy ladies and as I drove home that day, I was tearfully reminded of my mom in that light and lively lunch conversation.

Since moving here to Culver shortly after my mom passed away, I never had the chance to tell her all about this new phase in my life. She hadn't heard about Phil's new job, Savana's new school, Sophia's new playgroup. Yet, there are so many moments in my day to day interactions that still make me feel close to my mom, like that impromptu lunch. I have another friend who last fall called me out of the blue to invite me to go antique shopping with her on a sunny afternoon in her convertible. That shopping day spurred on a new friendship and also rekindled happy memories of my own mom. I have been so blessed by so many new friends, all different ages, fitting different roles that my mom once fulfilled, either by being grandmotherly to my daughters, motherly to me, or just friendly and fun.

I bet these ladies don't even realize how valuable the time was that they shared with me. Likewise, I bet you may not realize what an impact you can have on others by reaching out, spending time, listening others around you. Spending time with others is an investment in not only your relationship with that special person, but also in our community, in our future.

Mother's Days come and go. Make this Mother's Day more momentous than just buying a card this year. Reach out to someone who has been motherly to you, or a younger person who may have lost his or her mom. Invest in that special place in someone's heart where the childhood needs and memories still live. Reach out and be a mom or hug a mom today.

My Mother's Day Pearls

Aren't pearls intriguing?

When you see a strand of pearls, the first thought that comes to my mind, and yours too perhaps is, "Are they real or really fake?"

Or, perhaps you may just go about your lives, never really thinking about pearls and their unique and distinctive existence.

I can remember one day after church three years ago. I was sitting in the passenger seat while we drove away from church. My mascara running down my face like the dark gloom of a loss. As I pulled the visor down to try to take a deep breath and wipe the teared streaks from my face, I saw my strand of pearls innocently hanging around my neck. I had put them on for a special occasion that day. After almost a year of overcoming a severe bout of depression, Fred and Sienna were taking me out for Mother's Day brunch. In the past, I had always planned special Mother's Day outings for our mothers but this year, I was finally learning to try to take care of myself and not worry about everyone else as much.

The spring-like buds tried to color the scenery but the winter's wear of salt-stained streets was still upon us. That day, I was feeling a little claustrophobic in the pews so I decided to get a breath of fresh air. Since my recent struggles with depression, I was still withdrawn and being in crowds only made me more self-aware of my loneliness. I had left church a little early while Fred and Sienna stayed until the service ended and met me in the car parked along the EL tracks. While I was waiting, I decided to phone my mother to wish her a Happy Mother's Day.

Although it was late morning, my mother was still in bed, as usual. She was such a glutton. I fought with my judgmental voices every moment I was around her. That day was no exception. Anyway, we made some small talk and then I told her that I wanted to call her to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. There was a pregnant pause. Then I asked her what she was going to do for the day. She replied, "Nothing. I don't go out on Mother's Day. Mother's Day is the worst day of the year for me."

Trying not to pick up the rope and play a nasty game of tug a war with her, I kindly said my farewell and hung up the phone. And then, that is when I turned on the mascara flood. I tried to take a deep breath and regain my composure as I heard the church bells ring and knew any minute my beloved husband would be walking hand in chubby hand with my curly haired Sienna.

As they got in the car and buckled up and I glanced at my string of pearls in the mirror. They were imperfect but they were real. All through college I wore them proudly. I would even tell my friends that they were my grandmother's. My mom gave them to me shortly after my grandmother passed away. They were one of the only things my mother had given me that wasn't from the Dollar Store or KMart. I think I remember my mom telling me that Grandma had selected the oysters herself on one of her vacations. As a child I thought that was amazing.

As a child, I thought my grandmother was amazing. She used to bring me a large stuffed animal, usually a monkey every time she'd come to visit. My mom would invite her to come and stay with me while my mom traveled the world with her boyfriends. By the time I was about nine though, I realized how abusive and awful my grandmother was. She was a mean drunk. When she would come to visit, my mom would hide and lock all of our liquor in a suitcase. It didn't matter that my mom would hide her own liquor though. Grandma Helen would just have me bring in the special sack from under the driver's seat, the one with the large bottles of vodka. And, if those bottles weren't enough to get her through one visit while she stayed with me, she'd drink all our cough medicine bottles dry.

Just as a young girl who idolized her grandmother because she used to spoil her with stuffed monkeys, I grew older and some would say more disrespectful. Although, I believe that I was just more disrespected the older I got. I can't remember why my grandmother would slap me on the face, usually later in the evenings. I just knew that her slaps hurt more and more the older I got.

And now, as a grown woman who knows the difference between authenticity and garbage, I realized that the strand of pearls although genuine, are still just garbage. Tempted to open the window and toss them out onto the side of the graveled street, I tried to not be over dramatic. I didn't want to cause a scene. I wanted to enjoy this morning with my husband and daughter. I wiped the tears away and tried to close the door to the painful memories as a child. As I started to put the visor up, I caught a glance of my own daughter, trying to catch my eye. I smiled warmly at her and realized that I am no longer the child of my mother but I am now my child's mother.