My mother atop a lifeguard's perch. Probably about 1950, at Lake Winnebago.
Even after so much time, this Hallmark-tinged holiday still stings. You're gone forever, so I've no mother to call and gush at. My stepmother is marvelous. At the moment, she and my father are enjoying Paris together. My quasi-mother-in-law is a wonder as well. So incredibly good to the kids and I. They just aren't you. I have little doubt that you and I would have had our share of disagreements, these last 26 years. That's alright. I'd welcome them, knowing what I do now. About being a mother, a woman, and your daughter.
Your sister Barbara died about a month ago. Lots of sad memories went with her. She was not there for me or my children/your grandchildren. Not ever. It began as soon as you died. She felt the need to let me know that I could have been a better daughter to you. This from a woman who never raised a child. Of course I could have been better to you. And you to me. That's one of the bittersweet things about families. Perfection is not an option. We all do our best.
You would adore your three grandchildren. I can see and hear you in all of them, and am thankful for that.The young one is doing her part to make sure I remember what it was like, being 15 and frustrated. I do remember. You didn't know quite what to make of me, after the cuteness wore off and I began the journey into adulthood. In fact, I have now realized that you basically shut down at that point, and perhaps you regretted motherhood to some degree. Children were fun for you when they were children, and still pliable. Free will scared you.
Not me. I am in it for the duration. My children know this about their mother- even when they say and do things that make me question my decision to be a parent back in in 1981. The same year you died. Had you lived, I think you would have appreciated my parenting. In fact, maybe the reason I've devoted most of my adult life to being a good parent stems from the fact that you dropped the ball. You gave up, and then left this world, with volumes unsaid. But it's o.k., mama.
I still love you, even after twenty-six Mother's Days without you here.
