
My mother has been gone for twenty years now; I lost her when I was fairly young. I've been without a mother most of my adult life and feel that loss acutely at times.
My mother never saw me become a mother and I longed for her presence when I came home from the hospital with an infant in my arms, feeling joyous and overwhelmed and a bit unsteady. I wish she'd been there to celebrate my children and tell me "Don't you worry, you'll do just fine."
She would have comforted my colicky son, fed me and my husband, and oohed and aahed over my daughter's rosebud mouth. She could have told me how she navigated through the scary and exhausting moments and shared stories of her own experiences with me and my siblings.
We never got to have those conversations.
I never got to take her out for a Mother's Day dinner or plan a weekend trip with her. Once in a while, someone I know will complain about "having to do something about Mother's Day" and I will think to myself, "I would love to have the opportunity to send my mother flowers or surprise her with a visit or buy a mushy card or visit a botanical garden with her."
Now that I'm older, I wish I had her guidance and inspiration for handling middle age and marriage and teenagers and menopause. What would she have told me? Maybe nothing more elaborate than "You'll do fine!" but I suspect she had more to say than that.
My mother adored my husband and would have been delighted and impressed by his gardens--all the flowers and the waterfalls, pond, and patio he built. I would have loved to have brought her a cup of tea as she sat on the patio next to the pond. It makes me sad that my mother never saw any of the homes my husband and I have created together.
I miss her warmth, her faith, her laughter, and the way she loved to put dinner on the table and feed a crowd. I almost always visualize her in the kitchen or sitting in a chair at the end of a long day, dozing off with her latest crochet project resting in her lap. Her hands never rested, even when she sat.
It wasn't until I met people who had mothers who were self-absorbed or emotionally unstable or unavailable that I realized what a treasure my mother's no-frills devotion to her family was. She was always there for me--when I got up in the morning, when I came home from school, when I stepped through the door after a date, when I moved away and needed someone to call. At the time, I didn't fully appreciate how lucky I was to have the constancy of her presence. Being there for someone, simply being present, is such a gift.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you still.