I love my mom.
That’s actually a song. “I love my mom”. Funny song. True song.
Today I write for the celebrations of Mother’s Day. Happy
Mother’s Day.
I also write
today a long letter of deep condolences to all of my friends who have lost
their mothers perhaps recently, perhaps many years ago. (I suggest the tissues
be near)
When I was a little girl, I would to pray to God that he not
take my mother until I was able to care for myself. I thank God every day that he knows I cannot yet take care
of myself still at 44. (And, just
so God can be clear, it looks like I will need her for at least the next 50!!!)
She is and always has been a terrific mother. Although I am not the type to call
multiple times per day or even everyday, I need her in my life for sheer
survival. Somedays I feel I need
her more now than I ever did when I was a little girl. On the days I cannot
breathe, the days that life is so overwhelming, she is my oxygen tank. I have
always known this to be true and, through my life’s endeavors, she has yet to let
me down. After seeing the movie, “The Titanic”, with a boyfriend I remember
him asking me a hypothetical question.
“Titanic’s going down, lifeboat only has room for one. Your mom or
me?” Ha ha! Without hesitation…-my
mother. Because you just can’t ever get another one of those.
Mother’s Day also happens to be my alarm clock: time to make
mammogram appointment. I schedule
the appointment usually around Mother’s Day, which is a bit symbolic. I usually try to take the day off of work. It’s an emotional day. The mammogram itself is not painful
(although extremely uncomfortable). The worst, of course, is the wait.
“See you next year.” Sweet words.
After hearing them, though, I sob. I sob because I know.
I know that some woman perhaps on that very same day and perhaps in that
very same radiology building will hear different words, words that will change
everything she knows about her life as she knows it now. She will be someone’s daughter,
someone’s aunt, someone’s sister, someone’s wife, someone’s mother,
someone’s grandmother. My own
grandmother, Rose, a woman I never had the chance to meet, met her match in her
late 30’s: breast cancer. She was
buried before her 40th birthday. She left her three young children
behind. Motherless children…… I
guess we all get there just at different times.
So to you, my
friends who have lost their mothers, (their cheerleaders, babysitters,
advisers, best friends, care takers, life lines), I am so, so, so, so, deeply
sorry.
My favorite author, Anna Quindlen often writes about the
impact of losing her mother at a young age. I remember once she wrote about how being motherless is
somehow defining; like it’s one of those pertinent pieces of information that
another person must know about you before going any further. As if the greeting would look something
like this. “Hello, my name is Anna and my mother died…. when I was 19.” It tells a story. A sad story. It tells who you are and what you’ve lived through. This
makes sense to me.
When I hear for the first time that
someone I know is motherless, a physiological reaction rumbles through me. And of course my eyes swell. I cannot control my deep sadness. Sometimes, this can happen with a
complete stranger. Sometimes, it’s
when I hear from someone I know but I guess didn’t really know. “You lost your mom?” ….”How old were you?”
”How do you do it?” “How the hell do you do it?”
Two stories.
Both about mothers. Both featuring Italians (Gotta give it to the
Italians, no holding back on the emotions.) Meet Mike and Anna. Read their parts with heavy Italian
accents and you will achieve the full effect.
Mike is my good friend’s Uncle. He is from Italy.
I had seen him a few years back at a family party my friend was having.
Me, “Mike, it’s been a long time. How are you?”
Mike responds with head down seemingly in mourning, “I ya
ok. Ya know…. My mother passed.”
Me, “Yes Mike, I know. I am so sorry for your loss”
Mike’s mother passed about 9 years earlier. Apparently he’s not planning on letting
go anytime soon. No judgement here.
In fact, perfectly understandable.
Then there’s Anna, a woman who lived next to my
grandmother. My mother ran into
Anna somewhat recently.
My mother, “Anna, how are you?”
Anna, “I ama sad, Leenda. I amma no good.
Ya know, Leenda, I wassa robbed you know, ROBBED!”
The “robbed” Anna is referring to is her mother’s death. She
is having a hard time. Anna is
well into her 60’s. Her mother
passed in her 80’s. While Anna was married and had children, even grandchildren
of her own, and lived most of her life with her mother, she still feels that
her mother was taken from her too soon.
She was robbed……. at 65. Why
of course she was.
Well said Anna.
With the exception of Mike and Anna, I am amazed at how the
motherless do not seem to be angry with God, and the universe, and whomever
they may think is in charge. They seem
to move on gracefully and have thankfully come to terms or made peace or whatever
people say. But I want them to
know, that they have every right to be angry and that they have been wronged,
and one day when they get to heaven, they really should give whoever the powers
that be a good piece of their mind, because that was wrong…. Very, very wrong.
To my friends who were robbed at 58, at 40, at 36, at 34, at
29, at 26, at 18, at 9, at 3, I am so truly sorry.
Happy Mother’s Day ….. to your mothers wherever their souls
may be. Which I hope is somewhere inside of you.
And to my friends, Sabena Rhee Jones and Carrie Ashford,
young mothers who never made 40, whose young children were robbed as young as 8
months old, I will kick your asses someday for leaving too soon.
Thank you also for reminding me how lucky I am to still have
my mother, and an extraordinary one at that. I may
roll my eyes, or get agitated, or lose my patience, but because of you, I promise I will never take for
granted how lucky I am. I love my mom.
 |
| Mother's Day 2013 |
 |
| My mom's pride-It is truly joyous to watch her as a grandma. Her only two grandchildren ADORE her! |
