Mother’s Day Thoughts
Mother’s Day is approaching and this year the day will be difficult for me. I have an empty spot in my heart and life that wasn’t there last year or the years before. This day will be difficult for many, I’m sure of that. Like Christmas, Mother’s Day is a day of celebration for those who have a mother to celebrate it with or those anticipating motherhood. There are, however, those of us who have lost a mother or a child and others who have not been blessed with a child no matter how hard they pray or attempt to conceive. For these mothers, this day will be a painful reminder of what so many others are enjoying.
I am blessed to still have my own mother living here with my family. She no longer enjoys being on her feet and the days of going shopping together or just having a long chat over a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee have faded into yesterday along with black and white photos, Roy Rogers and gasoline that cost only $1.50 per gallon. In a strange way, we are, however, standing on common ground because many of the best parts of our lives are now nothing more than memories.
As I was growing up, I vowed to be totally different than the person I viewed my mother to be at the time. I wanted a June Clever kind of mother and instead, mine was more of cross between Lucille Ball and John Wayne. She had figured out what the really important things in life were to her and let me tell you, it was not cooking elaborate meals and constantly making home improvements that made her smile. Those things have been a part of my daily routine but she avoided them like the plague.
My mother was a stay at home mother, something nearly unheard of these days, and yet she did not care whether or not Mr. Clean lived in our bathroom and God only knows that when Swanson developed frozen dinners, my mother was one of their best customers. She loved them so much that my father came home after a long shift at the mines to find a 22 cubic foot upright freezer in our house that was filled from top to bottom with frozen dinners, frozen vegetables and ice cream. I am surprised this man who insisted on meat with every meal and plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables didn’t have a heart attack right then and there.
I guess you could call her a homemaker although she never mended the clothes, cooked big meals only when totally necessary and never had a license to drive. She did not worry over dirty windows or cobwebs on the front porch the way I do now, and instead of catching us when we started to fall, she preferred to keep us from running or riding our bicycles in the first place. What she did have that carried all of us through the worst of times was a child like sense of wonder and a sense of humor that she passed on to me.
She instilled in us a sense of adventure that I also passed on to my own children. Nothing was written in stone during the days of my youth, especially after my younger brother was born with a determination and energy level that was too much for my mother at the age of thirty-nine years. If the only way to get us to eat broccoli was to dip it in chocolate pudding first then you better believe there would be a big bowl of chocolate pudding on the table. If we thought the little silver pot pie tins from Swanson would make nice wall decorations, she didn’t mind at all hanging them up there with as much pride as someone else might have hung an original Picasso.
My mother taught me in her round about way exactly what mothers give to their children. They sacrifice their bodies, their sleep, their appearance, any remote idea of a social life and most of all, their own dreams. I learned on my own that sometimes, as a mother, you are forced to sacrifice your heart, your sanity and your very faith.
The child I lost was my nephew but I had brought him up here with my two birth children. I felt so blessed to share in his life and watch him grow into a fine young man. I felt so helpless the night he was in a car accident. I stood there and watched him lying lifelessly on a hospital table with no movement, no response, no way to communicate with him and knowing that nothing; not money, or power, or medical technology could keep him alive and my only instinct was to touch him and keep telling him that I was there and that it was okay for him to go home.
The years when I had my daughter, my son and my nephew here were the best ones of my life. My children gave me a purpose and helped me to focus on the simple pleasures of living. I learned what was most important to me just as my mother had learned what was important to her when her own children were young. I developed more patience than St. Teresa herself and like my mother; I learned to allow my inner child to roam freely so that I could explore the world through the eyes of my children.
This will be my first Mother’s Day since Kyle’s death. I will miss the three Hershey’s chocolate bars he gave me every year to mark the occasion. Last year my son asked Kyle why he didn’t give me a “real” gift instead of the chocolate. Kyle responded by saying, “Heck, the yard is full of flowers and she don’t need anything else to work with. I want to give her something she will really use and enjoy.” Most of all, I will miss his home made cards, his hugs, his giggles, and his precious smile.
This may also be the last year I am able to spend Mother’s Day with my son who will be leaving for college in the fall. He will be starting his own life as my daughter has already done. I will enjoy the day with him and maybe take my mother outside to sit in our swing and talk about the old days even if she doesn’t remember much about them. I’ll look at the lawn and instead of an empty yard; see a yard full of children eager to begin the summer by cleaning out the swimming pool that once took up a large part of the front lawn. I’ll see dogs running along behind little boys as they play “Tag” and maybe even see the teenage girls that used to sit out there for hours talking about boys, music and how to get the car keys so they could take an evening cruise through town. I see these images a lot when I’m outdoors walking around. They are the mental images that bring me comfort, warmth and a sense of accomplishment.
Until Mother’s Day, I will sit here and watch the endless commercials on television that keep reminding people to buy a gift to give on Mother’s Day and I’ll walk through the grocery store that has greeting cards for the occasion sitting in the middle of the main aisle, flowers and candles on tables and even cakes decorated in bright icing for the festivites. I will even buy some of these things for my mother, not because the commercials tell me to but because I know now more than ever what sacrifices she has made as a mother and she has earned so much more than I could ever possibly give to her.
On Mother’s Day this year I will visit the cemetery and thank Kyle for letting me share his life. I will come home and thank my son and my daughter for giving me the gift of motherhood. I have a feeling that my son will make sure I have chocolate and I will enjoy it as I always have. It is a simple indulgence but like so many other things in my life, it comes with a lot of memories. I may have given them birth, but together, the three of them gave me life.
©Dianna Doles Petry
May 7, 2008
