Mothers' Day

I had initially planned to share a poem I had written for my mother's funeral in 2002. Well, scrap that idea. I put it away in a place so safe that I can't find it. It will show up when I am looking for who knows what. So, I will write from scratch while trying to stay awake after a wonderful dinner with family and friends.

My Mommy

My mom had many talents and abilities. It wasn't until my husband, three kids, and I would visit Mom and Dad that I realized what a good cook she really was.  Growing up with three siblings in a one income home, meant... Well it meant nothing because none of us knew anything else. We had three meals a day although none of them really stand out in my mind. Food was food, meatloaf was meatloaf, a lettuce wedge with thousand island dressing over it was just that-a--lettuce wedge with thousand island dressing over it. And oh, the canned peas and spinach!  They made me gag. Jello was a staple, and spice raisin cookies were a treat. Mom fixed the food, we ate it without comment or complaint, but then complained about doing dishes. 

Years had passed and I had a family of my own before I truly realized the work it had taken for Mom to prepare three well balanced meals a day on a limited budget. She did it, and she did it well. She even created a menu that made Sunday nights special. Every week Mom would fix scrambled eggs for Sunday supper as well as date bars from a boxed mix. Then the magical happened. Instead of sitting in the dining room, we all gathered in the living room, and Dad would set up his new TV trays. Then, and only then, would Mom bring out the food. Television had come to our little town. Those were the days of The Ed Sullivan Show, Lawrence Welk, and the invention of Dad's TV trays. So, while we watched Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan on the only channel available, we savored every morsel of our TV tray meal while laughing at the comedy acts or singing with the Lennon Sisters. The black and white programming that streamed into our home was unbelievable, but not nearly as unbelievable as eating anywhere but the dining room table. And the date bars? They were better than everything else except the nights Elvis Presley appeared with Ed..

Mom, thank you  for making Sunday nights such a special memory.

Other abilities and traits Mom possessed are too numerous to count, so here are just a few:

• She had a green thumb. Every year she made our home a place of beauty by growing colorful petunias, zinnias, portulaca, pinks, and nasturtiums wherever she could. From the earliest times I can remember until the year she died, she loved her plants and her yard.
• She was competitive. From playing softball as a teenager in Las Vegas in the 1930s to challenging college mates to a game of table tennis, from throwing lawn darts to hitting croquette balls, from playing pinochle to pegging out in cribbage, Mom loved to win. 
• Mom was creative. She sewed our clothes when we were growing up. She made doll clothes for my dolls, my sister's dolls, and the granddaughters' dolls. She sewed quilts and knit afghans for everyone she could. Doll house furniture emerged from sheets of balsa wood as she used her small saws and drills. She also painted lovely landscapes. She did all this with arthritic hands. 
• She loved to dance as well as have fun. Music was always part of my life growing up. Mom taught us four to sing, "Marsey Doats & Dosey Doats", "Ham and Eggs", as well as "Down in A Meadow in An Itty Bitty Pool." She and Dad played for dances on weekends to make a little extra money. Mom tickled the ivories of an old piano and Dad played a hot trombone. I loved listening to them practice in our living room. I also loved watching them dance. Could they cut the rug! Mom and Dad enjoyed every minute of dancing until her back and leg pain got too bad. She was 80 years old. (Dad is still dancing at 93) 
• Mom loved her grand kids. Summer visits were always a highlight for her. Whether we went to their place, or they came to ours, she could hardly wait to meet with family.

Mom, thank you for all the wonderful memories: memories of fun family times, memories of home cooked meals and beautiful flowers, memories of summer visits and family vacations, memories of music and games.Thank you for the memories, but Mom, who were you? What were your hopes and dreams? What were your fears or regrets? What did you love? What made you laugh and cry? What angers did you hide? How deep was your faith? I have no clue. 

Moments of sharing have gone. I wasted all those years we had together, 60 to be exact, because I was so busy with my own life that my only conversations with her were about either what she and Dad were doing or what my family and I were doing, She never really got to know my heart and I didn't really get to know hers. 

Yearning  for a second chance will not change anything. I never took the opportunity to talk to Mom about teenage cares and concerns. I never asked her questions about being female or rearing children. I never talked to my mom because I always kept to myself, observing the world around me, and struggling through and figuring things out for myself. I regret it. I don't want my kids to have similar regrets. 

When I started writing this evening, I had hoped to find some additional words I could use to describe my relationship with my mother besides "superficial". I didn't. But I did do some rediscovering as well as just plain discovering. I rediscover many good times and memories that had faded away. In that process, I found something hidden behind a locked door. I found a part of me that is missing her.

I love you, Mom. 

Jan