Ode to my Mother

Our lives are like a worn patchwork quilt with bright, cheerful, splotches of love and laughter stretched next to limp,defeated rags of heartache and anger. These are all bound by the threads of our family; gray and white and red, all twisted together in fragile but stiff cords, like floral wire, as if none of our emotions could blend or be neutral. No, they all clash and slam against each other, leaving us damaged and bewildered, tied yet straining to be apart, wondering what to do next.

Mother's day is a bittersweet day for me. I love spending time with my kids, reading their homemade cards while I blink back tears, and listening to them laugh at me. It's the best feeling in the world, knowing how much you are loved and appreciated. I think the older I get, the older my kids get, the more I appreciate it all. There have been battles and tears and silences and confusion and laughter and wonderment, as my kids morph into teens and try to become their own person. I feel so honored and privileged that they have been entrusted to me. And it is because of this joy of my own children that i also feel such sadness. A "constant mourning" is what my therapist calls it. And she is right. A constant mourning for my own mom who is not in my life.

I could have sent her a card. I could have called. But what would be the point? then what? There's nowhere else to go and constantly saying "no" and "goodbye" wears on my soul with its repetiveness.

My therapist suggested I send her a phantom card. What is a phantom card? It's pretending to send a card. I can write it out and pretend to put it in the mail to her. I laughed at my therapist. Um, that's crazy I say. What kind of lunatic writes out a pretend card and sends it in the mail? I imagine it would end up in the same post office as all the tooth fairy and Santa Clause letters. but in this instance, some cheery little elf with his pointy little ears, or even more realistically, a gray-haired grandma with a soft smile on her gently weathered face full of love and wisdom, is going to get a lot more than they signed up for when they opened my phantom card. Who needs that kind of pressure?
Instead, I have chosen to think of my mother and our life for the past three days. I have pondered. I have smiled. I have choked back sobs that came on suddenly and took me by surprise. But I wanted to think of my mom in a positive light. There are so many fantastic things about her and i feel that this rift, this deepening chasm, is drowning all of the quirkiness in her that I love with all my heart. I can't do that. It's not fair - to her or to me. So here it is, the ode to my mother. It is not a phantom, it is not a secret and even though she will probably never read this, I feel incredibly relieved and heartbroken that I am able to write it.

My mom is..............
Vivacious. A quality I envy if i can be completely truthful. Who else would actually think of changing their name to Carre' Star just because she felt like one?
Captivated. My mom is able to stop and enjoy the little things. A bird singing in a tree. A seashell on the shore. A perfect flower in her garden. The smell of the ocean. All of these things receive her undivided attention and scrutiny and joy. She always stops and takes the time to appreciate and enjoy them.

Funny. I don't know how else to say it. She's funny and fun to be around. She dances and sings and hugs you with abandon, not caring who is watching or what they think. She does things and buys things and creates things, because they make her happy. That's it. Her laughter can fill a room.

My mom instilled in me an appreciation for great music like Carole King, The Supremes,Bob Seger, and Fleetwood Mac. I dance around the living room and sing at the top of my lungs all the same songs she did. Way over Yonder, Love Child, and Stop Draggin' My Heart Around..... I see her, swaying with her eyes closed, hands clutched at her heart, while she faces up, the words coming out like an offering.

Thoughtful. I buy cards almost every time I go the store and have a basket collection of them so i can send them out whenever I want, to whomever I want, at a moments thought. Just like my mom. Except she has a drawer. i love getting a card or a magazine in the mail because it makes me feel special and loved. I jump up and down and rip it open like I'm five and expecting a $10 bill to fall out on my birthday. Just like my mom.

Fashion queen - she thinks. My mom rocks a style all her own. Cowboy boots with dressy shorts. A leather jacket with pearls. Anciently old OP shorts and a t-shirt. A pair of pink jeans with faded purple flowers on them. I think she finally got rid of those but she wore them often. And she looked good. Red lipstick. Always, always, lipstick. A jeweled clip for her hair even if she was in sweats. There is always something about her that says, feminine, all the time.

Fortitude. My mom worked three jobs at one time for a few years. I didn't see her much but she did it so we could live in a decent neighborhood and i could go to a good school. I'll never forget when she got her job at UPS. It was a seasonal position. Christmas. She walked in, no interview, but in my mom's true form, she acted surprised that her name was not on the interviewee list and they gave her one anyway. They asked if she could drive a truck and she lied and said yes and then proceeded to do it because that was part of the interview. She got the job.

My mom had balls. About so many things. My mom had gumption. In all things but one.....

I admired her. I catch myself sometimes, saying something exactly like she did or I'll get a glimpse in a store window and see her face glancing over at me. It's unsettling.

I read something that captured how I feel about my mom so perfectly that I have to put it here. It is not my words but I certainly felt as though someone opened the door to my heart and and scribbled down what they saw there. I read this today at lunch and I started crying in the break room........

"I was able to ache for her, for all that had been so impossible for her to bear, for the bad cards she had been dealt. Yet I could forgive her only about half the time. I was struggling to learn the little things she forgot to teach me - that I was beautiful, and of value, regardless of how well or poorly I was doing in the world - and was mad that she had given me a lousy owner's manual. I saw her as the foil, and believed that I had grown to be the woman I was simply because of how hard I had to work to defend myself against turning out like her." Grace (Eventually) - Anne Lamott pg. 88 (underlined in my book with a big squiggly line down the page just in case I missed my notes next to it.)

Ironic that touched me so much when I see so much of my mom inside me and in the things I do. I guess i obtained my objective though. I didn't want any of the bad stuff. None of the anger. None of the sickness or denial. None of the hatefulness.

It's hard because I know now that my mom is sick. It's hard to be mad at her when I want to hug her and help her and tell her it will be ok. If she'd just do what she's supposed too..... But that's the thing isn't it? Unconditional love is a bitch. It's so hard to love and reach out when you know a back-handed slap is coming your way. It sucks that I can't just pick up the phone to tell her I love her because I know the storm that comes after that is just not worth it.
I picture my mom, on mother's day, going about her day but listening with one ear, for the phone to ring. Going out to the mailbox to see if a card is there. I picture my mom feeling a slice of disappointment and then pain, knowing no one is going to call when the end of the day is near, as she gives a a small, tight, smile to her husband and looks out the window with tears that she won't shed. I picture this and it hurts me, it kills me inside. I want to protect her. Like a child. I want to hold her tight, whisper to her that no one is going to get her, and protect her from herself. But I can't. I can't protect her and me. I can't protect her and my family at the same time. I have to choose. She made her choice and I also made mine. But that doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't lessen how much i miss her. Because I do, I miss her so much.

I was asked how I would feel if she died. Would I feel like i had done everything I could? Would I be sad?

I know I have done everything I can except agree to be a part of the cycle. I can't agree to that. Ever. Would I be sad? I'm sad now. i mourn now. I cry now. I don't think death would make it any harder. This is worse. Knowing there should be an opportunity to make it better but there isn't.

I used to sing to Bre when she was small. You are my Sunshine. That is my song to her. I'd sing it when she was crying, hurt, sad, or sick. She has a pillow on her bed that has this saying stitched on it. She knows it is her song and hers alone. She doesn't share it with her brother or sister. It's especially for her.

It was also my song. I don't know if i ever told her that. Maybe. Maybe not. My mom used to sing it to me too.

You are my Sunshine.
My only Sunshine.
You make me happy,
when skies are gray.
you'll never know dear,
how much I love you.
Please don't take my Sunshine away.

I love too mom. More than you know.