Look Ma, no ---ma. Mother’s Day and no Mom. It feels weird to type the words and quite unnatural to hear them coming from my mouth. Being among those who exist on this planet without their mother is a club to which I never thought I would belong. Not to be confused with the childish behavior I currently exhibit, but I, for a long time into adulthood, was naïve enough to never consider that someday I would be here without my mom. Mom’s passing is still fresh enough that stories surface from people who I have not seen since she died but who want to share something they remember about her. It’s funny what the mind conjures up. I can picture, on Mother’s Day, the scene from the commercial “I want to teach the world to sing…” We won’t be singing about COKE, but we will be arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder singing and telling of our moms. I heard a member of our church whose family had been dealt a nasty hand by Alzheimer’s say, “We said goodbye to Mom twice.” I echo those words. I watched as the keen, sharp mind forgot, as the bright eyes faded into stare and the cleverly concealed wit and humor went cold. I’ll never forget the day that the harshness of reality settled in to stay and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that even though she looked at me, my mother did not know who I was. Whether the memory was made in childhood or on the day before she left this earth, each one is precious and immensely valuable. The phone rang in the wee hours of the morning August 16th. Somehow I knew. The voice on the other end did not say “Steve?”, or “It’s Dad.” I said “Hello,” and he said, “She’s gone.” Instant club membership. Mom tolerated her children but LOVED her grandbabies. I would like to think that a part of her remains through those that remain. That the lessons learned, the bad words shushed, the ‘not so clean’ jokes nipped off as she entered the room and the love in her smile, her hug, her simple pat on the arm that said “It’s ok” will carry on.
There is someone special in our lives now. Maybe it’s a mom, maybe it’s a mom-type someone. That person that you want to be proud of you – regardless of your age. That person you don’t want to hear what you say when you smash your finger in a drawer. That person whose smile makes your day better. That person who’s hug takes you back and makes you feel loved and secure. When you see that someone next > tell them.
Steve Matthews
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