Mother's Day has always been a special day for me. It has historically been a day that I get to spend with both of my daughters, eat at a restaurant I like, or, maybe, if I could afford to, buy myself a new outfit or new shoes. It was a "me" day; one of selfish indulgence. The one day a year when I would promise myself I wouldn't do a load of laundry or wash the dishes.
My Mother's Day changed after my Mom, Arlene, died. She was 56 years old and much too young to leave this Earth and her family behind. She had a rare heart condition that had gone undetected by a lazy and unmotivated cardiologist she was treating with. He did not recognize the signs of her heart failing. She died in a sterile and spartan doctors office, alone, without her family near. Not until she was gone did I realize what Mother's Day really was all about. It wasn't about me. Not at all.
My Mom was an incredible woman. Unfortunately I didn't realize just how incredible she was until after she died.
My Mom was taken from her mother at a very young age. My Grandmother was mentally ill; the state stepped in and took her daughters from her. My Mom was raised in numerous foster homes. I would like to think that she was loved and cared for when she was young but that isn't what happened. Most of the foster parents she had were abusive, ugly people. She was locked in closets, fed ketchup sandwiches and sexually abused.
Mom was a smart girl. She got good grades despite the different schools she went to and the dysfunctional home lives she had. When she was high school aged my Grandmother came back into her life and moved her to the Southwest. She was able to get through high school and go to nursing school. She was an incredible nurse; she would have been a fabulous doctor had she had the chance, love and support of a functional family.
My Mom raised four kids. I am the oldest. What was most amazing about my Mom is that she was able to raise all of us with limited resources in foreign lands and strange places. My Dad was employed by the CIA. His job took us all over the world; my Mom and four kids in tow. In the most desolate of locations, my Mom was able to find us clothes, Christmas presents and ingredients for Birthday cakes. She kept us safe from rocket fire and disease. She found ways to make our lives healthy and happy even though most of our childhoods were spent without a TV and in the middle of a Southeast Asian jungle. To compensate for our obvious lack of American pop culture we had a record player and records. She made sure that we always had Sesame Street, Trini Lopez and Neil Diamond albums to sing along to.
She always loved us. Unconditionally.
She watched all four of us graduate from high school. She lent her support for those of us who went on to college. She was here for all of our weddings. She was in the delivery room holding my hand when I had each of my daughters.
My Mom was loved. By all of us. Unconditionally. Each Mother's Day that passes I miss her more. Time does not heal all wounds. And I don't think it should. I want to continue to feel her, to hear her voice, remember how her hair smelled when I hugged her. I want to remember what her hands and feet looked like. I want to remember the clothes she wore and the goofy Christmas ornaments she would buy us at the hospital's bizarre. I want to remember her house, filled with green plants, and her kitchen drawers stuffed with wax paper and tin foil. I want to remember the camera she took with her everywhere she went. "I need to get pictures" she would tell us. Her house was full of pictures. Pictures of us.
Now my house is full of pictures of my family. Pictures of my Mom. Pictures of her on her honeymoon with my Dad. Pictures of her with me when I was three. So many beautiful memories of a woman who left us much too early.
Mother's Day is not about me. Mother's Day is about Arlene, my Mom. It is about her struggles, her passion, her life and her love.
I miss you Mom. I love you so very much. Happy Mother's Day.
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