Mother's Day (of course...)
As I looked for a picture to post on my facebook page for Mother's Day, I felt very verklempt (look it up...it's a great word that sounds so much better in Yiddish than in English). Every picture I looked at was better than the last one. This one had twinkling eyes, that one had that elfen mouth, that one had her arms in perfect "I gotcha" position.
It got me to thinking when I took those pictures. So many the last few years. Every time she put on a "face", wore one of her many pairs of glasses, when we went on "field trips" to craft stores. Mom was a character for sure, wasn't she? If you didn't know her personally, I hope you know about her from seeing these pictures over the years, and reading about her.
Then I started thinking about a regular topic that hits my brain often these days. My kids are "cooked" mostly...occasionally they are medium rare, but never rare anymore. Once in a while they ask questions that I want to ask my Mom about. This list of things I want to ask her only gets longer as I think about the list. It never gets smaller. While I figure the answers out, by looking them up, using common sense, or asking others, I still want to hear from my Mom.
Questions like "Was retirement what you wanted at that time in your life?"; "What did you and Dad talk about those first few years with no kids around?"; "How did Dad end up doing all the cooking?"; "When we called you, were you annoyed by our calls, or happy to hear from us?"; "How did you deal with depression?"; "Did you really like golf, or just play cause Dad wanted to?"
Those are just a few of the questions that float in the bubble above my head on days when Mom is front and center in my thoughts. Some are kind of silly, others not so silly. My parents retired when in their mid-fifties, which I am already past. They were grandparents in their forties. Mom never paid a bill, but wrote all our birthday checks out. She knew all the dates, the ages, the years.
Then, of course, I think of all of us who have lost our mothers. Some quite young, some much older, some my age. My Dad, after all, had his Mom till right before he turned 70. Yet, I don't remember him ever talking about a serious conversation he had with her about life.
I asked my Mom lots of questions when I visited with her in Florida, then when she came north and sat on the beach with me and the kids all those years. We had the best conversations and laughs and shared those looks that only Mothers share with Daughters. But (of course there's a but) I want more. I want to have more time with her in her good days. Until she went to Bridgeport Hospital in 2014, she still had a few of those left, and we would chat as much as she could handle.
She still wore funky glasses and "disguises" - ask my kids someday about the mask with the Asian face (scared them EVERY time she wore it - she did this thing where she hid it under her shirt, then would turn around to put it on, turn back to the kids with that face and they would jump and yell at her - she LOVED it, and so did they after about 725 times). I think her Peter Pan attitude was helpful for her as her brain continued its movement into darkness. It gave her permission to be led, to be comforted, to relax at times.
I feel badly for my niece and nephew, who never knew Grammie as my kids did. She was too nervous by then to relax and play with them the way she did with my kids. She never wore a plastic spider on her shirt and lean in to kiss either of them the way she did my son (who to this day is terrified of spiders), or put a cicada skin on her collar and ask my girls if they liked her new pin, or put on wax lips and ask if they wanted a kiss.
This Mother's Day, I'll take a bit of Mom's ashes with me all day, and check my pocket to make sure she is with me often. I'll try to spend just a little time with my niece and nephew and share some Momisms with them. And maybe I'll cry a little as I look at old pictures of Mom in the old days.
If you've still got one, kiss that Mom. Skin is better than a picture anyday.
It got me to thinking when I took those pictures. So many the last few years. Every time she put on a "face", wore one of her many pairs of glasses, when we went on "field trips" to craft stores. Mom was a character for sure, wasn't she? If you didn't know her personally, I hope you know about her from seeing these pictures over the years, and reading about her.
Then I started thinking about a regular topic that hits my brain often these days. My kids are "cooked" mostly...occasionally they are medium rare, but never rare anymore. Once in a while they ask questions that I want to ask my Mom about. This list of things I want to ask her only gets longer as I think about the list. It never gets smaller. While I figure the answers out, by looking them up, using common sense, or asking others, I still want to hear from my Mom.
Questions like "Was retirement what you wanted at that time in your life?"; "What did you and Dad talk about those first few years with no kids around?"; "How did Dad end up doing all the cooking?"; "When we called you, were you annoyed by our calls, or happy to hear from us?"; "How did you deal with depression?"; "Did you really like golf, or just play cause Dad wanted to?"
Those are just a few of the questions that float in the bubble above my head on days when Mom is front and center in my thoughts. Some are kind of silly, others not so silly. My parents retired when in their mid-fifties, which I am already past. They were grandparents in their forties. Mom never paid a bill, but wrote all our birthday checks out. She knew all the dates, the ages, the years.
Then, of course, I think of all of us who have lost our mothers. Some quite young, some much older, some my age. My Dad, after all, had his Mom till right before he turned 70. Yet, I don't remember him ever talking about a serious conversation he had with her about life.
I asked my Mom lots of questions when I visited with her in Florida, then when she came north and sat on the beach with me and the kids all those years. We had the best conversations and laughs and shared those looks that only Mothers share with Daughters. But (of course there's a but) I want more. I want to have more time with her in her good days. Until she went to Bridgeport Hospital in 2014, she still had a few of those left, and we would chat as much as she could handle.
She still wore funky glasses and "disguises" - ask my kids someday about the mask with the Asian face (scared them EVERY time she wore it - she did this thing where she hid it under her shirt, then would turn around to put it on, turn back to the kids with that face and they would jump and yell at her - she LOVED it, and so did they after about 725 times). I think her Peter Pan attitude was helpful for her as her brain continued its movement into darkness. It gave her permission to be led, to be comforted, to relax at times.
I feel badly for my niece and nephew, who never knew Grammie as my kids did. She was too nervous by then to relax and play with them the way she did with my kids. She never wore a plastic spider on her shirt and lean in to kiss either of them the way she did my son (who to this day is terrified of spiders), or put a cicada skin on her collar and ask my girls if they liked her new pin, or put on wax lips and ask if they wanted a kiss.
This Mother's Day, I'll take a bit of Mom's ashes with me all day, and check my pocket to make sure she is with me often. I'll try to spend just a little time with my niece and nephew and share some Momisms with them. And maybe I'll cry a little as I look at old pictures of Mom in the old days.
If you've still got one, kiss that Mom. Skin is better than a picture anyday.
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