I have mixed feelings on this day of days. I am reminded that I am a motherless child and that there are so many things I would ask my mom if she were here. I can still hear her voice on the phone, “Hi, Doll.” And I can see the young mother with 2 daughters making grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the tomato soup that came out of the red and white can. I think of the woman who witnessed this daughter’s journey for independence and to find her own way. The woman who didn’t understand the choices her daughter made and had her own struggle to accept them. The woman who loved her granddaughters unconditionally.
I remember my mother in her ICU bed, telling me that I had taught her a lot about being a mother, and thanking me. I remember one of her gifts to me when I didn’t know where to be—at her bedside or at home with my husband and daughters. She said, “I love you. Go home. With my blessing.” I came home on February 15th to my husband playing outside with our daughters. There was a sign on the door. Happy Valentine’s Day. They had moved the day on the calendar so we could celebrate it together.
On this day, as I walked with the dogs, I thought of the sweetnesses that I have experienced in these woods, of #1 daughter being a pony or a unicorn, galloping through the woods, hair flying as her spirit soared. Of #2 daughter stopping at each Jack-in-the-Pulpit to make sure Jack was home. “Hello, Jack,” she said each and every time. Of my mother-in-law, reminding me that I am her other daughter, her love-in-law.
Happy Mothers’ Day to us all. Those of us who are one, who made one, and who have or had one. Take a moment to cherish those you love.
*********
Thanks to these fine women, among many others, who have shared their thoughts on this day:
#1 daughter is a college student in New York City. She had researched her options for coming home for the Thanksgiving holiday, and had discovered that she could take a bus from NYC to State College, PA for $35.00, and a 4 hour drive. State College, PA is about 4 hours from here, as well. So it seemed like a good idea. Until Tuesday morning when the snows started to fly. A major storm was heading our way and was predicted to extend quite a distance to the East.
The drive to State College is a pretty one, through beautiful mountainous country. In good weather. During daylight. So instead of leaving for the 4 hour drive at 6:30pm, Steve left at 12:30pm. he stopped at a tourist information center, and asked the woman at the desk about the weather. She showed him the map on her computer, complete with pink and white swirls. She said that the weather was indeed a problem, but that another big issue was that it is bear season, and that bears run across the highways all the time. (Unfortunately with visibility near zero,it would be hard to see a bear.) He arrived in State College at about 5:30 pm, and went directly to the motel where he and #1 daughter would be spending the night, waiting out the storm. The bus arrived after midnight.
The next morning, the storm had passed, and they began the drive home. I had already checked with the airlines and found a flight that would get her back to NYC; the only seat left was in business class—the day before she had planned on returning—at a premium rate.
So this afternoon, I drove with my wonderful daughter to the airport. When we got there, I helped her remove her suitcase from the car, and I asked her if this was when we hugged and cried. It was.
As I drove away from the airport, back to our studio, I was so grateful for what we share. And the greatest of these is love.
I have mixed feelings on this day of days. I am reminded that I am a motherless child and that there are so many things I would ask my mom if she were here. I can still hear her voice on the phone, “Hi, Doll.” And I can see the young mother with 2 daughters making grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the tomato soup that came out of the red and white can. I think of the woman who witnessed this daughter’s journey for independence and to find her own way. The woman who didn’t understand the choices her daughter made and had her own struggle to accept them. The woman who loved her granddaughters unconditionally.
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