My mother’s birthday and Mother’s Day sometimes fell on the same day. So, Mother’s Day was always a big celebration of her. And in my opinion, she deserved all the love and accolades and gifts we showered upon her each Mother’s Day. She was a loving, attentive, hardworking and supportive mother who was far better as a single parent than as the wife of my violent, unpredictable alcoholic father. In truth, I loved them both, but I only trusted her.
My mother was born on May 13, 1936. She passed away on an exceptionally beautiful spring day, April 11, 1994, just one month before her 58th birthday. I was providing hospice care at my home, and it was difficult watching her lose her appetite, her strength, her smile, and eventually her battle with breast cancer. She was not ready or willing to die, which was evident in her desire to keep living. In fact, the day she passed, she asked me to take her to Pier One Imports. However, she clearly lacked the strength for a shopping trip, so instead she settled for a wheelchair ride through the neighborhood to enjoy the many beautiful flowers in bloom. We share a love for plants and a green thumb. Soon after the walk, and as predicted at her final doctor’s visit, the cancer reached her heart. The cause of death listed on her death certificate is cardiopulmonary arrest due to metastatic breast cancer. She had been in so much pain that I was hesitant to call the ambulance when she stopped breathing, but I knew she wanted to continue to fight despite the pain. So, I called 911. When they arrived and began working on her, I wondered if she would be angry with me for denying her the relief she was finally given. They revived her and her carried her away in the ambulance. She passed away in route to the hospital. I know this because the ambulance attendee felt compelled to call me that evening to recount how he watched her “decide” to go.
In death as in life, I have enjoyed an exceptional and very close relationship with my mother. Days after she passed, she literally guided me to the unusual hiding place of her Last Will and Testament after I spent hours searching my files for it. In a brief moment of rest, I clearly heard her voice say to me that her Will was upstairs in my master bathroom in the second drawer of my vanity. That seemed both impossible and ridiculous, but her voice was too clear to ignore. So, I trudged up the stairs, went into my bathroom and decided to be methodical and start with the top drawer and work my way down. As soon as my hand touched the top drawer, her voice said to me in her familiar reprimanding tone, “I didn’t say that drawer.” I stopped immediately and obeyed. I opened the second drawer, and stuck to the side of the drawer was her Will.
For several years following her death, I frequently met my mother in dreams so vivid that I became somewhat confused as to whether she was really dead. I felt as though I was living in two alternate universes. The nightly dreams were beginning to mess with my daytime thought processes, and then they suddenly ceased. Now, I am able to welcome the occasional meeting with my mother in my dreams. I miss her physical presence, but I believe her spirit is alive and well and that she is a part of that cloud of witnesses. I talk to her about the important things. I point out the wonderful things. I mention some of my concerns. I don’t know whether or not she can hear me, but I choose to believe she can. I find comfort in that.
In many ways, I carry on my mother’s legacy of nurturing others. We are both highly empathic with generous spirits and so people tend to gravitate to our warm energy. My mother was an extrovert, but I am an introvert, so our expression of care is different. My mother approaches people, but people tend to approach me. Just yesterday, a lady leaving the grocery store stopped and commented to me that my smile brightened up her day. I wasn’t even aware that I was smiling. When I look in the mirror, I often see my mother’s warm smile starring back at me. She named me after herself, so each time someone calls my name, I am reminded of her, and I like it.
So, this past Mother’s Day, like every Mother’s Day since her passing, I spent a good portion of the day remembering her. I recall her humanity, her many accomplishments, wisdom, love, and encouragement as well as her flaws, fears and missteps. She was my biggest cheerleader, and I feel that she continues to be. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You are loved and your physical presence is missed, but your spirit is always welcome to be with me.