I woke up on Mother’s Day aching for Mom. I don’t know how it compared to the first Mother’s Day without Mom because last year was a blur, but it couldn’t have been much harder.
My friend Joy sent me an early morning email of encouragement which lifted me up. In fact, I was touched by how many of my friends reached out to me. Though I’m not as cool as my Syra’s Scribbles make me out to be, it was nice to hear that my friends find me inspirational. I managed to be cheerful for Justin who found me when he woke up to use my phone as a remote. He and I slipped off to the office to watch “Zoboomafoo.” Justin said his Mother’s Day gift to me was half an hour of cuddling on the couch in front of the television.
We held church in our living room attended by Mike and all the kids but Esther who streamed her church service from her room. I missed having the Mother’s Day blessing that would have come from going to church in person.
I scanned through Facebook and saw all the pictures of sweet handmade gifts and notes and breakfast in bed from Mother’s with little ones. I scrolled past all the pictures of my friends with their mothers. So many people couldn’t see their mothers in person because of the quarantine but they have pictures of their mothers behind screen doors or across the street waving at them. Some people posted pictures of their mothers in faded photographs with sentimental poems about angels and heaven. It all made me sad.
Esther spent the rest of the day with her boyfriend’s family who had all their Mother’s Day festivities early in the day. They waved and wished me, “Happy Mother’s Day” as they left. Sophia and Anthony spent the day together gallivanting. They stopped in to give me a rose and a chocolate bar. The rest of the kids gave me the gift of time to work on my manuscript. There are thirty chapters left in Syra’s Scribbles III which haven’t been shared with the class and only fifteen weeks before school starts up again in August. To choose the ones most in need of help, I reread the entire manuscript again. Then I focused on the next story in line for class. It was a hard story to read with memories of Mom both from my childhood and ten years ago. It was difficult for me to be sympathetic to my younger self who railed against Mom and brought up bad childhood memories.
I’m jealous of that younger self who had the confidence in Mom’s nearness and the safety of her unconditional love to blame her for childhood woes. I want to take back every wasted moment spent feeling frustrated with her. It kills me now seeing how little I appreciated all Mom did for me and the strong anchor she was to me when she was alive. I have to remind myself that living with Mom was what it was, both wonderful and difficult, a process of changing boundaries. Conflict and growth were the gifts that came with life.
In the chapter I wrote about family dinners, and that was hard to read too. Family dinners haven’t been regular for the past year. Mom was a huge motivator for family meals. Not only did she need to eat regularly because she was diabetic, she appreciated all my efforts. I feel like the worst mother ever this year. There is always plenty to eat around the house, but we don’t eat together as often as we used to. In my story I share how neglected I felt from the fend-for-yourself days of my childhood. The pattern has repeated, and I lament the feelings of abandonment my kids must have felt this past year. It all makes me feel so helpless.
It was with great bitterness of mind that I came to the table when Mike called me. For Mother’s Day he made a dinner of grilled ribeye steaks, sous vide carrots, bread, and ice cream Mocci for dessert. It was good to be the center of the Mother’s Day dinner surrounded by Mike and our six kids and the girls’ boyfriends. Looking around the table at everyone I love, I felt cherished.
After stuffing myself I again thought of Mom. Mike used to make steak and crab legs for our Mother’s Day dinners.
I said, “What’s missing is Nanama and the crab legs.”
Esther said, “That’s a great name for a band.”
The conversation got sillier from there. Joshua, Esther, Sophia, Mike, and I imagined Mom calling out “Hello Phoenix.” When the crowd roared, “Hey!” she would say, “I can’t hear you!” With her bad hearing, she really couldn’t hear them. There would be crab leg costumes and a giant crab body that would come down on the stage. We were being silly, but I could picture Mom banging away on a drum with bright, red crab legs. For one moment it was real to me, the joy in her face and that winning smile that everyone who has met her remembers. My laughter echoed around the table. That was the highlight of my Mother’s Day.
People tell me that I need to move on and start new traditions. I’ll wish my future self good luck with that. This year what made me happy was being grateful for my children and sharing good memories of Mom at the table.
My friend Joy sent me an early morning email of encouragement which lifted me up. In fact, I was touched by how many of my friends reached out to me. Though I’m not as cool as my Syra’s Scribbles make me out to be, it was nice to hear that my friends find me inspirational. I managed to be cheerful for Justin who found me when he woke up to use my phone as a remote. He and I slipped off to the office to watch “Zoboomafoo.” Justin said his Mother’s Day gift to me was half an hour of cuddling on the couch in front of the television.
We held church in our living room attended by Mike and all the kids but Esther who streamed her church service from her room. I missed having the Mother’s Day blessing that would have come from going to church in person.
I scanned through Facebook and saw all the pictures of sweet handmade gifts and notes and breakfast in bed from Mother’s with little ones. I scrolled past all the pictures of my friends with their mothers. So many people couldn’t see their mothers in person because of the quarantine but they have pictures of their mothers behind screen doors or across the street waving at them. Some people posted pictures of their mothers in faded photographs with sentimental poems about angels and heaven. It all made me sad.
Esther spent the rest of the day with her boyfriend’s family who had all their Mother’s Day festivities early in the day. They waved and wished me, “Happy Mother’s Day” as they left. Sophia and Anthony spent the day together gallivanting. They stopped in to give me a rose and a chocolate bar. The rest of the kids gave me the gift of time to work on my manuscript. There are thirty chapters left in Syra’s Scribbles III which haven’t been shared with the class and only fifteen weeks before school starts up again in August. To choose the ones most in need of help, I reread the entire manuscript again. Then I focused on the next story in line for class. It was a hard story to read with memories of Mom both from my childhood and ten years ago. It was difficult for me to be sympathetic to my younger self who railed against Mom and brought up bad childhood memories.
I’m jealous of that younger self who had the confidence in Mom’s nearness and the safety of her unconditional love to blame her for childhood woes. I want to take back every wasted moment spent feeling frustrated with her. It kills me now seeing how little I appreciated all Mom did for me and the strong anchor she was to me when she was alive. I have to remind myself that living with Mom was what it was, both wonderful and difficult, a process of changing boundaries. Conflict and growth were the gifts that came with life.
In the chapter I wrote about family dinners, and that was hard to read too. Family dinners haven’t been regular for the past year. Mom was a huge motivator for family meals. Not only did she need to eat regularly because she was diabetic, she appreciated all my efforts. I feel like the worst mother ever this year. There is always plenty to eat around the house, but we don’t eat together as often as we used to. In my story I share how neglected I felt from the fend-for-yourself days of my childhood. The pattern has repeated, and I lament the feelings of abandonment my kids must have felt this past year. It all makes me feel so helpless.
It was with great bitterness of mind that I came to the table when Mike called me. For Mother’s Day he made a dinner of grilled ribeye steaks, sous vide carrots, bread, and ice cream Mocci for dessert. It was good to be the center of the Mother’s Day dinner surrounded by Mike and our six kids and the girls’ boyfriends. Looking around the table at everyone I love, I felt cherished.
After stuffing myself I again thought of Mom. Mike used to make steak and crab legs for our Mother’s Day dinners.
I said, “What’s missing is Nanama and the crab legs.”
Esther said, “That’s a great name for a band.”
The conversation got sillier from there. Joshua, Esther, Sophia, Mike, and I imagined Mom calling out “Hello Phoenix.” When the crowd roared, “Hey!” she would say, “I can’t hear you!” With her bad hearing, she really couldn’t hear them. There would be crab leg costumes and a giant crab body that would come down on the stage. We were being silly, but I could picture Mom banging away on a drum with bright, red crab legs. For one moment it was real to me, the joy in her face and that winning smile that everyone who has met her remembers. My laughter echoed around the table. That was the highlight of my Mother’s Day.
People tell me that I need to move on and start new traditions. I’ll wish my future self good luck with that. This year what made me happy was being grateful for my children and sharing good memories of Mom at the table.