So this Sunday is once again Mother’s Day. At my job, many floral arrangements and packages arrived, and many visitors came to see their mom. Everyone around me is asking each other what they plan to do for their mom this weekend. I stay silent. My mom is gone. I just want this weekend to be over. I don’t want to think about Mother’s Day.
A friend of mine sent me an email, saying to write my mom a letter, even though she isn’t around to read it. So here goes…
Even after 4 years and 4 months, I still miss you so much it hurts. You were my sounding board and I miss your advice, the sound of your voice. I know life goes on, and I’m a grown woman, but sometimes I feel lost without you.
Mom, I wish I had spent more time with you. Yes, we spoke on the phone every morning on my way to work, but sometimes I didn’t really LISTEN. And why didn’t I write down your recipe for Applesauce Raison cake? I haven’t been able to duplicate it.
Mom, we always talked about going to lunch, just us girls, but we never did. I was always busy – running here and there, always busy, always thinking I had plenty of time. And then one day it was too late. You didn’t feel like going out because you were sick. Lunch is such a small thing, but I didn’t stop and pick you up. I’m so sorry.
Life is too darn short.
Recently, I asked Dad for some of your old pots and pans, beat up from many years of use. I look at those baking pans and remember the corn bread, strawberry shortcake, cinnamon rolls, etc. that you used to bake for us. To some people, they might look beat up and ready for the dumpster to some people, but for me they are full of sights and sounds, tastes and smells.
Music also brings back memories. For the longest time, I couldn’t listen to music. It made me cry. Remember how we used to parade through the house doing the baby elephant walk? You turned up the volume and my brother and I followed you through the house, all three of us bent over, swinging our “trunks”. I will never hear that song without remembering our laughter and silliness.
Sometimes when I see a butterfly or a cardinal, I think of you. Whenever I hear a cardinal’s song, I remember how you used to say, “I’m sorry Mr. Cardinal. I can’t go fishing with you today.”
And yes, the ocean is still there.
You always believed in me, even when I didn’t. Whatever I doubted something about myself, you would tell me I could do it, “Because you’re my daughter, that’s why!”
Mom, I wish we could chat for one more time. We’d listen to your favorite music and I’d get those favorite recipes from you. I’d inhale your perfume, because it doesn’t smell the same on me as it did on you. I’d kiss your cheek and give you a giant hug. I’d buy you that taco, or take you to Ireland, or run away with you to Albuquerque.
Or just sit on the back porch with you and eat some ice cream.
So many things in life remind me of you. But then, you gave me life. You taught me how to love music, that family was important. You showed me how to appreciate the stillness and power of nature, and to reach for the stars. Thank you, Mom. Thank you for all you’ve given me. Happy Mother’s Day. I love you and miss you.