A Mother's Day Letter

 Dear Mom,

    It is now 3 1/2 months since you died...yet whenever anything interesting happens, I still want to call and tell you all about it. (I've asked friends and cousins about this -- and they say that urge never goes away.) Although I knew you loved not only me, but the Brick and the girlies very much -- and said it often -- your illness made it hard for you this past year. You didn't like the hospital...or the rehab...or the care facility. But you loved getting to know the people there, and they became fond of you, too. After your death, they came to tell us so.

     You were The Mama that took good care of me as a baby, even when your own life was falling apart, with feelings of failure and inadequacy. (You struggled with those all your life.)

You were the person who fell in love with my Pa -- and he saved us both. 

You were the woman who not only took care of your own home, but made it a welcome place for many friends and cousins. Yet you rarely spent money on yourself, or what you wanted -- those dollars went to Brother and me. 

     You were the person who, along with Dad, insisted that we go to college -- even when you'd only completed a few years - one in nursing school, one at Moody. (Dad barely made it through the eighth grade -- loved to read, hated school.) You helped pay for that college -- including the Master's program. All I had to do was cover my living expenses, and help out with the rest, as much as I could. And you did it, at a sacrifice yourselves. (I did not know this until decades later, when Brother revealed it during an angry moment. I should have.)

     You were the one who couldn't understand why the Brick and I would move to Colorado in 1984. (After all, Michigan was "The Promised Land.") Yet when you found out that we were doing it via a motorcycle trip, to the coast and back, you and Dad suddenly decided to go west on vacation-- including part of the way with us, "just in case." (The Brick's parents suddenly decided to do the same thing. Now, after raising kids, I know why.)

     The first -- and only -- time you were ever on a bike.

     You and Dad then made the 19-hour trip to Colorado at least once a year...often more, when the girlies were little. You brought lots of goodies, helped take care of the house -- and Pa would do all sorts of upkeep and repair jobs with the Brick. You told us what you thought -- but you let us make our own financial decisions, even when you thought they were crazy. Including buying our first house in 1988 -- at an ridiculous price of $72,000...or so Dad said. (After all, they'd purchased their farm for an exorbitant $10,000 -- back in 1962.) And selling the last one in 2019.

 

     After Dad died, some 12+ years ago, you showed immense courage by just Keeping On. You stayed on the farm, and kept things repaired and shipshape. You bravely endured your own heart surgery, and health problems that got more serious as the years went by. 

You continued to love and show great care for your grandchildren -- including the ones who lived 1800 miles away from you. And you continued to make regular trips to see us. You showed that care, right up to a few days before you died, specifying cards and gifts for your great-grandchildren. 

     Can I forgive you for the occasional bout of odd words or temper, those last few years? You put up with me and my ill manners, especially in high school and college, when I was less than grateful. ("Clueless" might be the better word.) You forgave me for not playing cards as often as you would have liked, for 'sticking your nose in a book,' and the silly messes I got myself into. Can I be content  knowing that a good share of our time in 2021 went to hospital/rehab/care facilities, for your sake? 

                The card shark at work.

      Yes, I can -- because you would have done the same for me. 

      I may not be able to send cards or gifts -- but this is my love letter to you. Whom I miss greatly.

      Happy Mother's Day, Mama. I love you. See you soon.