Mother’s Day

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day! The last time I got to say that to you in person was in 1998. You are still in my heart after all these years, and I know that you’re in a much better place than before you passed.  There was so much I wanted to say to you, but didn’t truly realize that time was short until it was obvious. You know me, I do sometimes need a psychological 2x4 thrown at me to get the message. I’m also not necessarily great with the spoken word. I can be eloquent on paper, but brain to lips directly tends to lose something along the way.

Thank you for being a great mom while you were here. You might think you weren’t great, but you were. You had your failings (not many), but so did I and you put up with them right up until the end. You taught me so many of life’s lessons and gave me the skills to survive, and I’m not talking just the household basics. You shared with me not just as my mother, but as my friend, and let’s face it, you were a cool mom and friend. You were there for me even when you weren’t at your best. As I got older, I tried my best to return that favor.  We didn’t always agree on things, but I think we did on the things that mattered.

If you had expectations of me that I didn’t live up to, I’m sorry.   I expected to be successful in some career, have a comfortable life with a not entirely ugly gentleman happily at my side. You know, the fairy tale.  We both know that didn’t happen.  My not meeting expectations, regardless of whose they were, was of my own doing.  I know that you supported me in whatever decision I made and really just wanted me to be happy.  It’s all you wanted for any of your kids, and ultimately, I think we’ve all found our share of that happiness.

I used to gather lily-of-the-valley and violets for you while you were alive.   I even did it for a while after you passed, but don’t anymore.  It isn’t because you’re not worthy of them, as if that could EVER be the case.  But, I think it became a ritual that gives no comfort. They smell wonderful, but only I get to enjoy their fragrance now.  It’s not as though I get to present them to you in expected fashion – “Here, Mommy, Happy Mother’s Day” when I was young and just “Happy Mother’s Day” as I got older – and you’d smile and say “thank you” and then we’d find a vase for them to be displayed best in.  I can still hold out the bouquet, but you’re in my heart, not in my home to receive them.

So, for this Mother’s Day, no white coral bells and purple petaled flowers shall be picked by me.  They’ll stay where they are out in the world, still enjoyed.
 

Instead, I’ll simply end this by saying

Thanks, Mom. You’re the best and I love you.

‘cause it says it so much better than flowers.
 
Love,
Lauren