Giving Birth

It seems appropriate to 'birth' this blog on Mother's Day, since ostensibly the ability to bring newness into the world is what we celebrate today. For myself, the imperative to write has been strong and has been nurtured all along, but hasn't been outed for the world to see...until today.

Mother's Day is such an odd holiday. Once you are a parent, you're a parent every day - actively or not. There is a mixed bag of emotions associated with this day that doesn't quite have the same range as those on Father's Day I think. Guilt, gratitude, duty, regret, sadness, love and empathy are among them.

On this particular 'celebration' of Mother's Day, I am thinking especially about several friends of mine who lost their moms in the past year. There are probably more of them than I am remembering here, but I can think of 8 people who are experiencing another day in that 'year of firsts' after someone passes. I know from my own life that such a year is fraught with grief, emptiness, smiling through tears at memories, and the understanding that this day will never be the same for you again.

I spent several years celebrating Mother's Day with a mother who had lost her grip on reality. She was sinking into Alzheimer's and my children and I knew it - but not everyone did. I don't think we kept quiet about it for any other reason than my mother's lifetime desire for privacy. Before she got sick, she was often shocked at the information I shared with my friends and vice-versa. She very seldom shared intimate details of her life with anyone outside my dad. I know some things, but there are still parts of her inner workings that are a mystery to me. I'm pretty sure that most of that has to do with her growing up in a very small town (Martinsville, IN 46151) and also with what was deemed proper conversation during her lifetime. I also know that if I hadn't been able to share things with my friends over the years I would have exploded, and little fragments of me would now be orbiting along with the atmospheric studies satellites that float over our heads every day.

The first Mother's Day that her illness was very apparent is now family legend. My kids and I had spent some time picking out small gifts for mom that we knew she would like, but that would be practical as well (this tends to be my nature - pragmatism rules!). She received our gifts very graciously, and then toddled off to bring me my gift from her. Now I must preface this by saying that over my lifetime my mother was EXTREMELY generous and amazingly thoughtful as a gift giver. She found me beautiful little antique jewelry pieces, books, and things that I continue to treasure. She gave me gifts on every occasion, (including St. Margaret's Day), and always had a little something for me on Mother's Day as well. So out she came with a gift bag, smiling like the cat who ate the canary, proudly placing this bag in front of me on the sofa. My kids were there, and we had a visitor (Jake Drake Bully Buster) at the house as well. I opened the bag to find...a multitude of old used orthotics for mom's shoes. Her feet hurt her all the time. I was - er - a little confused to say the least. BUT WAIT - that wasn't the gift after all. Under the orthotics (which she couldn't explain) there was something wrapped up in brown paper - done up the way they wrap your candles at the candle store. BUT WAIT - it wasn't a candle after all. It was a gigantic can of whole peaches. Yep. That's what it was. Now, I am a peach lover, but I can't ever recall a time when a can of peaches was the gift of choice as a holiday remembrance. This was one of our first sallies into dementia-land...and it was out there for all to see. I thanked her, hugged her, and tried to keep myself from bursting out laughing and lapsing into hysterical tears all at once. They were delicious, by the way.

Now cans of peaches are 'normal' gifts in our family. They are a coping strategy. They are a sweet memory of a mom trying to hang onto a holiday for the sake of her daughter. We laugh when we think about it - at least on the outside.

As time goes on you learn that your real family can be anyone. I know that Mary Dunten was my 'other mother' growing up, and Gloria Ligocki is my 'mom' now that I'm an orphan. A loving heart can nurture a child, (or a former child) at any time. So God Bless all the mamas (whether you delivered your children or not) on this and every other day of the year.

And just like my kids, maybe this little spot to write on will grow.