It happens when you least expect it. Today it was in the produce section of the grocery store when I was about to buy some "on the vine" tomatoes. They were .40/pound cheaper than the beefsteak. But as I reached to put some in the bag, my arm froze, the tears rolled and I bought the more expensive ones. I just couldn't do it. My mom loved tomatoes - she would eat one a day, raw, like an apple. And she would take a very long time to examine each and every tomato on the vine before she would allow me to put them in the bag we would take back to her assisted living place. I'd give my right arm to have those impatient moments back or an exhausting weekend of "Mom duty" (which I eventually changed to "The Tour de Mom.")
The other night the moment came when I was leaving the Autoport - after a great night at Tides and some social time and fabulous music with fellow Tides facilitators. As I got in my car, the thought crossed my mind, "I think I'll give Mom a call" as I so often did when I was traveling home from whatever my adventures in the evening. The car didn't need windshield wipers that night but my eyeballs surely did.
I was in a play in March - a fun little thing with lots of "girlfriend" humor. It was one night before one of the performances that I realized that this was the first show I was in that Mom didn't know about. That I had never gotten to discuss with her. I had been in other shows that she was not able to attend due to distance, schedule, or illness. But I usually showed her videos, pictures or talked a lot about what was going on onstage and off. She would have loved this show. And the one just a few weekends later. She would have enjoyed the stories of some of the antics. But I couldn't share any of it with her and that realization left a bit of an empty hole.
There was an afternoon recently, somewhere between winter and spring, that I was feeling like the world was a really heavy and dark place. Something was inexplicably out of kilter. I entered my dining area, plopped down my keys and "stuff" and sat looking out the Dutch doors at the leafless trees and squirrels running busily through them. I recalled how my mom loved watching the squirrels and birds in my back yard. And the thought suddenly occurred to me that the world felt so out of sync because the glue in my universe was missing. When the world seemed depressing and scary, Mom would try to find something positive to focus on (oh it didn't always work and sometimes angered me that she wouldn't take life more seriously or take more interest in what was going on in the world). I could always count on her to be interested in what was going on with me and my kids, whether it was work, recreation, grades, finances - anything. Sometimes her attention to beautiful skies, flower gardens or babies or one of her wisecracks was just what I needed to divert my attention away from struggles and sorrows and find a little joy. She was there, in the wings, unbeknownst to me, holding my universe together.
As Mother's Day approaches, I am very melancholy. I believe I spent 6 out of the last 7 Mother's Days in Pittsburgh with her. In fact, there was very little nod to my own motherhood because my focus was on making her day the celebration. Last year, I spent the day in the emergency room with her because it was one of many falls onto her face that she took last spring. We had planned to go out to a wonderful buffet - she was excited to wear her new outfit. (she never got to wear it). But we ended the day bringing some dinner in and setting up a little room in the facility to try to make it special. My heart was breaking that day. Even as I tried to put a positive spin on the day I instinctively knew it was our last Mother's Day with her and I longed to make it so much better than we were able.
I have wonderful people in my life: Joe, my kids, my dog (yes, she IS a people) and some good friends. And I am deeply grateful for all of them and the love they bring. But I am finding that my Mom had a very significant way of holding me together that I never realized and probably never fully showed my appreciation for.
I hope I provide at least some of that to my children and their families. I hope they know I always believe in them and love them unconditionally and am always interested in what is going on with them. I hope I can be even half the glue that my Mom was to me.
And if you still have your mom with you, I hope you will take the opportunity every chance you get to let her know what she means to you, your family, your universe.
