Its
Mother’s Day and I am sad.
Firstly, because I think that it’s an arbitrary day to celebrate the women in our lives who so vastly influenced and it seems silly to even try to cram all our admiration into one arbitrary day.
And secondly, because I can’t celebrate with my
own mother.
My mom was and still is one of the most amazingly
accomplished women I have ever known. She was a cool, chic, avant- guard
personality before any of those things were cool, chic, or avant- guard.
Imagine Auntie Mame and Marmee Marsh in one. She led an interesting exciting
life before having children and then she instilled in each of us the tools to
create our own lives. She loved us unconditionally and supported us in all our
paths and always made sure we knew we would have a home if and when we needed
or wanted one.
My mother can walk into a room full of strangers and come away
with more details of people’s lives than their best friends know. She is the
person at the supermarket or doctors office of food court who starts a
conversation and is more interesting than the book you have been carrying
around waiting to read. She is fascinated by people and she is
fascinating.
She also doesn’t often remember that. In fact she often doesn’t remember a lot of things.
My mother, who studied Talmud in junior high school, traveled extensively, dated a son of a future king, appeared in plays with future Oscar and Tony winners, made lifelong friends, raised three children, crocheted blankets, owned her own antique store, ran a multimillion dollar nonprofit organization, appeared in a full length feature film and survived a broken back has always been a positive role model for me, and my family and friends.
But you won't hear that from her. It is painful to know that as often as we forget who she was, she forgets even more.
One of the hardest parts of senility is that as your memory diminishes, it seems like others' memories of you diminish as well.
Conversations with her are sometimes difficult. Often she doesn’t recall even broad topics we have discussed and certainly details need to be repeated.
And
so Mothers Day is sad for me. My mother is often absent and talking to her is
not the same as talking with her. O course, it’s not all bad; interspersed, there
are wonderful lucid moments where my mother shines and the woman she was pushes
through. It happens in the third time she asks the same question and then stops
herself and completely and correctly summarizes the last two times I answered.
It happens when she forgets to call on my anniversary but a card that she
remembered to buy and send comes perfectly timed in the mail. And it happens
when she recognizes my voice on the phone and I hear that smile of joy she has
always had whenever I or any of her kids or grandkids approach her.
Happy Mother's day to all the women who are and were our mothers.
