Sunday is Mother’s Day. It should be daily.
Losing my mom I no longer had Earth’s best dearest closest heart that beat in sync with mine. Never could I love anyone more. Even when I married, her home was one block away. All I can do to stem the tears is print this annual tribute.
Homelife was simple. Mom divorced my dentist birth father because by the time I was 2 she didn’t like anything about him, including his teeth. He maintained zero interest in me — including support. He gave nothing. No attention, no money, no love, no need to see me. Nothing.
I was also nothing. Sickly, unpretty, not accomplished in any way. Once in my entire life did I actually meet him. Age 14, mom decided first time only, and never since, I should meet my father. We met. Not ever, not since, not one more time did he evince interest — or support. I never saw or heard from him again.
My single mother pawned things and worked as an executive secretary. Me, always sickly. But, no matter what — doctors, medicines, anemia, illnesses, an assortment of miseries — she was always there for me.
Generations usually improve following generations. My grandmother cleaned stoops and took in boarders. My grandfather, a tailor, made no money. My red-haired beautiful smart mother was determined her child would become something. I had drama lessons, piano lessons, schooling to walk and talk properly. She had my nose fixed, my skin cleared.
Help came from the insurance man she subsequently married who loved us both and raised me.
Mom was beautiful. Me, not. But after all my fix-ups she thought I was. Once she took me to a modeling agent and said, “My daughter is going to become somebody.” Totally underwhelmed they said, “Maybe — but not here.”
Caretaking
Years pass. Came time she lay unfocused and unspeaking in a hospital bed in the country home with caregivers I provided for her.
She no longer knew who I was. But I never forgot who she was. I knew inside that shell — as she lay unfocused, unspeaking — was that stunning, bright, vibrant, dynamic, fun-loving beauty who’d forever been everything, the core of my being.
I couldn’t easily hug her. Nor did she even know who I was. I remembered that gorgeous red-haired head when it was big, strong, knowledgeable, full of information. Now it seemed small. Hair white. Sparse. I placed against the bed’s cold steel bars a teddy bear, so those curled hands might touch something soft.
Phone home
Not for me to judge family matters or how life separates us from whom. Survival has difficulties for us all. In families exist wide gaps between many a parent and child. It is not for me to sit in judgment. I only know that in my case I’d give up anything for a gentle, slow-moving, hug today. To hold my mom. To say I love her. Thank her.
I can’t. I’m just saying — if it’s within your ability — call. Tell your mother you love her. I wish I could.
I can’t anymore.
