The second Sunday in May, Mother’s Day. A day to thank our mothers, honor them, remember them. For me, I have been loved by and loved two mothers. My mom and my first mother, my birth mother. Two women who together were responsible for the me I am, the mother I became.
My mom died last summer. A year ago we had our final Mother’s Day together. I left it up to her as to how she’d like to spend it. Trapped in her bed for close to a year, other than the occasional visit to the day room or if weather permitted, the patio, it was important for her to make that decision. To take a trip to a local restaurant or a simple drive was impossible. Maybe she knew this, maybe she didn’t. But this is something that I learned from her. Respect and dignity for others, no matter their circumstance. In her favorite blouse, accented jewelry and matching shade of lipstick and nailpolish, we spent the day in her room. Years prior we would have gone to brunch, maybe found a store to browse and yet, this was just as lovely, maybe more. Time seemed to linger, stories were crisper in her final year, more details, some never told. I loved my mom, still do. Our love was layered with a history of joy and loss and laughter and anger, forgiveness.
My birth mother, I’m certain, will spend today with the children she was able to raise, sharing their history of joy and loss and laughter and anger, forgiveness. And I will spend it with my son and daughter, who would like to take me out today, anywhere you’d like Mom, your decision. Happy Mother’s Day.