The Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past

Yesterday I visited my mom and, as I filed her nails and polished them a pretty pink color, I talked about the Thanksgivings we had shared in the past. I told her I was feeling nostalgic and missed some of those holidays from long ago.

Mom just nodded and smiled at me. I truly don’t think she has any memory of Thanksgiving – last year or ten years ago. Or fifty years ago, for that matter.  She just attempts to make us feel better when she nods her head in agreement.

I asked her to take her rings off so I could clean them and, while she slowly wrestled the engagement ring my dad gave her off her left hand and my grandmother’s ring off her right, I kept up a light patter. Mom gets nervous these days when no one is talking. And she certainly doesn’t start any conversations herself.

So I asked her about Nanna’s ring. It has my grandmother’s engagement stone in it, but it also has another diamond – that of her friend Frances McCartin who had bequeathed it to my grandmother. And then Nanna had had her setting changed to accommodate both diamonds.

I knew the story, but I asked mom about it hoping that she would remember. She just said that the name sounded familiar.

So I changed the subject because I felt sad that mom’s memories are so faded they are virtually nonexistent anymore.

Later on at home, as I was walking Maggie Minx, I began reminiscing about those holidays.

I remember when I was a kid, my grandparents would split their holidays between their daughters’ families. We were in Ohio and our aunt and uncle and cousins lived in Connecticut, so it was impossible for Nanna and Grandpa to see us all for both holidays. One year we’d see them at Thanksgiving and the next year they’d visit us at Christmas.

Sometimes, we’d travel to that state up north to visit our Michigan cousins for the holiday. The bonus was that around Thanksgiving was my cousin Dorothy’s birthday, so we’d always have that celebration added in.

My mom used to tell the story about how that year she had to pinch-hit for my Aunt Babbie who had to abandon her hosting duties to birth a baby.

When I was away at college, coming home for Thanksgiving meant I could visit my friends as much as it was about family.

Thanksgiving my junior year at Ohio State was a memorable one. That year, I hitched a ride with one of the secretaries in the Metallurgical Engineering department at Ohio State where I was a student office assistant. Cecily was driving close to Alliance to pick up her daughters from college and bring them back to Columbus, so she said she’d be glad to give me a ride.

My dad was to pick me up from a pre-determined spot. So I loaded up her van with all the essentials I’d need for the break, including an entire bag of shoes. I had comfy shoes. I had shoes for dancing. And I had basic black flats for everything else. Since there was a lot of snow on the ground, on my feet I wore big clunky snow boots.

This footwear turned out to be a blessing because what Cecily didn’t tell me was that her van did not have a working heater. My first clue as to what kind of a ride I was getting was when she picked me up from my campus apartment and there was a puffy sleeping bag on the passenger seat. Cecily told me to hop in and zip myself into the bag or else I’d freeze.

She wasn’t kidding. Within the first 10 minutes of our drive, I turned into a human popsicle. My teeth were chattering. My nose was running. And my hands and feet felt like frozen hamburger.

By the time we reached the hand-off spot where my dad was waiting in his beautiful heated car, I was near tears because I was so cold. Only I was afraid to let the tears fall as I knew they'd freeze on my face.

So we transferred my bags into my dad’s trunk, said a quick, shivering “ggggoood-bye!” to Cecily and took off. When we reached my parents’ house in Alliance and unloaded dad’s car, I realized I’d left the bag of shoes in Cecily’s trunk. And all I had to wear were those big clunky snow boots.

How was I going to go out dancing with Diana in big clunky snow boots??

My mom took pity on her poor, half-frozen daughter, gave her a little cash and sent her shopping for a pair of shoes that would get her through the break. And what sort of footwear did said daughter choose? Why, a pair of purple suede boots, of course.

Mom just rolled her eyes when I came home with those boots wearing a big goofy grin on my face. I loved those boots. And to this day, I still remember them. And it makes me smile.

There were some Thanksgivings I didn’t really want to come home. I was dating someone and wanted to stay in Columbus, or I had been invited to gatherings that friends were having. But my parents insisted that I come home.

I might have been a little put out at the time…but now I’m glad I went. Because those are the memories I cherish. Thanksgivings spent with my family.

One year, my cousins Brian and Joy and their two kids drove from their home near Pittsburgh to spend Thanksgiving with us, which was memorable as we rarely had extended family nearby and able to visit.

In later years, my parents started coming to Columbus to visit me – or we’d fly together to visit my sister and her family. But we were always together.

And then, a couple years ago, mom and dad were slated to spend Thanksgiving with us in Columbus. I was planning to drive to Alliance and pick them up. And then I’d take them back home after the weekend.

But dad called me the day before and cancelled. He didn’t really give me any explanation and I was pretty upset with him. I didn’t want them spending the day alone. I knew dad wouldn’t cook and mom, by this point, was pretty deep in her dementia and never ventured into the kitchen on her own. So I was worried about them

Plus, I’d bought food for the whole weekend, including the things mom and dad liked that neither Vince nor I ate or drank. So I was a little upset about that, too.

Later, I realized that dad had really wanted to come visit, but mom refused to leave her rocking chair. And that put dad in an awkward position. He couldn’t tell me the truth since he was sitting a foot away from mom.

Later still, I felt so badly about my attitude toward him. And I apologized, but dad – being the kind-hearted man he was – didn’t need my apology; he’d already forgiven me. Rather, he felt he owed me the apology.

And it makes me miss him all the more.

Yes, I’m feeling nostalgic about Thanksgivings spent with family when we were all healthy and whole. And, even though I’m grateful that I have Vince by my side to spend the day with, Thanksgivings will never be the same.

So I wish you a happy day. Whether you spend the day with parents, grandparents, cousins, children, grandchildren or friends – make it a good one. And cherish the memories. 

Who You Callin’ “Cute”?

A friend of mine just called my 92-year-old mother “cute.”  And it cracked me up. Why? Because no one – and I mean, NO ONE – would ever have called my mother “cute” back in the day.

She was a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners, in-charge kinda woman. And you didn’t mess with her. Especially if she had had it – up to here – with one or more of her four children who preferred building forts and riding bikes over making beds and doing chores.

My mother’s rules were not to be broken unless we wanted to suffer the consequences. We knew the term “suffer the consequences” at a really young age, too.

Truth be told, I was a little afraid of that 5’2” dynamo – even though I towered over her by the age of twelve.

Most of the time I was a good kid, probably because I didn’t like suffering consequences.

My mom was an RN who worked at various nursing homes back in Alliance in the 70s and 80s. I worked with her as an aide my senior year of high school – and I saw a completely different side of her at Bel Air Nursing home.

My mom was honest and ethical and cared deeply about doing the right thing. She never called off sick from work and if anyone on staff did, my mother would ask them specific questions about their illness until they either agreed to come in – or found someone to take their place that day. They probably figured it was simply easier to come in and work with the sniffles than to deal with my mother.

But I saw that the other employees treated her with the utmost respect. They listened to her and followed her orders. And they didn’t talk back.  Maybe – like her children – they grumbled a bit behind her back, but she was the sort of person you didn’t talk back to.

Now, this was back in the day when both nurses and aides had to wear white. White uniforms. White pantyhose. White shoes. And the only way to tell nurses and aides apart was that nurses wore those white nurse hats. Aides, on the other hand, didn’t. Thankfully.

I was mortified enough by the white pantyhose and shoes.  

So while I wore the uniform to work every day, I was also a teenager who wanted to express her individuality and creativity – so I wore brightly-colored jewelry to work. That was the year that silk flower jewelry was popular and I had made myself some necklaces and earrings. I can still remember them – they were bright pink and white flowers on a white cord. And cute little flower post earrings.

So I sashayed into work one day wearing my bright pink silk flower necklace and matching earrings and thought I was rockin’ my outfit. Even with the white pantyhose and shoes.

My mother took one look at me and gave me her patented “Anne Marie” stare and told me to take that jewelry off immediately!

But to her dismay, HER boss – Queenie Burroughs – was there. I can still picture Queenie to this day – she was a large, black woman who could either strike fear in your heart if you messed up – or envelope you in a bear hug if she was happy with you.

Queenie thought I was a “doll-baby” – and gave me lots of hugs.

And she overturned my mother’s command to take off that silk floral jewelry. Queenie told my mom that I was a little ray of sunshine and the residents just loved me – and they would surely love seeing that bright jewelry for a change.

Mentally, I was gleefully thrusting my fist in the air and shouting, “YESSS!” But, in reality, I was quietly taking in the exchange with absolutely no expression on my face. I didn’t want my mother to see the victory that surely would have been etched all over it.

And, truthfully, I was wondering if I was going to suffer any consequences later from my mother getting rebuked in front of me over something she thought I had done wrong.

But, interestingly, my mother never mentioned my jewelry again. But neither did she ever call me her little ray of sunshine. Well, maybe she did behind my back. And if she did, it was probably said sarcastically.

But probably not. My mother was the what-you-see-is-what-you-get sort of woman. She wasn’t sarcastic. And she rarely did or said things behind anyone’s back.

That was that ethical, honest thing about her.

Nevertheless, for the rest of the year I worked at Bel Air Nursing home, I proceeded to wear bright jewelry to work along with all the white. And the residents DID seem to like it – they smiled when they saw me and commented about it frequently.

I’m sure I didn’t come across as professional, but then I was a seventeen-year-old girl who had absolutely no intention of going into the medical field as a career.

I couldn’t see myself in white pantyhose and shoes for the rest of my life.

And at that point, I didn’t care about looking professional; I only cared about doing a good job in taking care of the residents at the nursing home.

So it was a learning experience for me. I matured a bit. I learned a lot. And I found a new respect for my mother who was more than just my mom – she was a professional woman in charge of a whole lot of people at that nursing home – residents and employees alike. (Well, except for Queenie.)

But never once would I EVER have thought of my mother as “cute”!

Time changes things. And now that she’s a 92-year-old in a memory care unit, maybe she IS cute. Hmmm. Wonder if mom would wear a silk flower necklace if I were to make her one?

Probably. She likes brightly colored jewelry these days. But I think I’ll let things be and she can continue wearing the more dignified sterling silver chain she never takes off.

And I’ll also refrain from calling her either “cute” or my “little ray of sunshine.”

You just never know – there could be consequences to suffer.

That Darn Grinch

I’ve been working on conjuring up some “Christmas spirit” this year, but it hasn’t been easy.

It’s not like I’m intentionally practicing my mean ol’ Mister Grinch impersonation or anything. Mostly because, well, let’s face it, green is not my color. And I’ve done the whole decorating and shopping and card-sending and baking thing in an effort to dispel any comparison to the Grinch, but sometimes it all feels a little hollow.

Cindy Lou Who, I’m not.

It’s hard to feel festive when we’re missing family members this year.  This will be the first Christmas without my dad and it’s amazing how big a hole that man left in my life. I miss him so much.

And, even though she’s not sure how long ago she lost him, my mom misses him even more. He was such a reassuring, loving and caring presence in her life – and without him, my mom is even more mired in her confusion. 

Vince and I brought mom over here the other afternoon for our Christmas celebration and, even though on the surface we had a wonderful time together – underneath it all, my mom was agitated and muddled. She wasn’t sure what was expected of her or what was to happen next. And, after dinner, when I told her we were getting ready to take her back home, she couldn’t remember where “home” was.

When we arrived back in her apartment at the memory care unit, she wasn’t sure what was expected of her and what was to happen next even then. Was she supposed to stay there? Was I staying there with her? When was I coming back?

Someone recently made a comment that resonated with Vince – and with me, too. She said, “Watching someone with dementia is like {experiencing} thousands of little deaths.”

And it’s true. One minute we have a positive experience or interaction, and the next minute, mom isn’t sure whose house she’s in or what day it is. So every day we try to learn how to make life easier for mom as she struggles with this ugly disease. We love the woman she is now and help her as best we can, but we mourn the woman we have loved and lost.

It has also been a sad year with other close losses as well. One of my dearest friends lost her husband only two short months ago. My mother-in-law lost her brother. And my brother-in-law lost his father. I know people who are dealing with life-threatening illnesses and others who are watching their elderly parents decline - and there is nothing they can do to make things better.

And just last week, my brother John lost his wife, Oneida. She had been in ill health for quite some time, but we assumed she would get better and continue on as they had been. But her heart stopped and she never regained consciousness – and she passed away in hospice on Thursday. So John is reeling with yet another major loss this year – and we don’t know what to do to help him.

So I’m just so darn sad right now. And tired of being sad.

I think I’m waiting for Cindy Lou Who and the people of Whoville to clasp my hands and sway around the gaily decorated tree and sing, “Welcome Christmas” so my heart can grow three sizes again.

For years, one of my favorite things to do to get in the holiday spirit (usually as I was facing the challenge of bringing all those heavy boxes of decorations down from the attic), was to listen to B.E. Taylor’s Christmas albums.

B.E. Taylor was from the Pittsburgh area and when I lived in Steubenville in the late 90s, I went to his concerts every Christmas season with my friends. He had such an amazing presence and spirit – and he put his own spin on many Christmas hymns and classics. 

We always left those concerts in a joyful and festive mood – and it has been my “go-to” album of choice at the beginning of every Christmas season ever since.

Except for this Christmas. Even playing B.E. Taylor’s music made me sad this year. Why? 

Because I really AM the Grinch?

No…it’s because B.E. Taylor himself passed away in August of this year. Another sad and – to me – an unexpected loss.

I think it’s just about time for the little black cloud that seems to be hovering overhead this year to mosey on along.

Ah well. Loss is just as much a part of life as is love and light and laughter.

And I’ll have to practice that whole “fake it 'til you make it” thing until I can truly find my smile again.

Fortunately, getting together with family and friends helps – and we’ve have several gatherings recently that lifted my spirits.

The place where mom lives sent me a card the other day. In it, they enclosed a photo of mom with Santa. That picture made me laugh out loud in delight.

And tonight I’m meeting another friend for happy hour, so I have something fun on the agenda.

So I’ll continue to function every day as if I have nothing more taxing than a hangnail to contend with. In that way, we’ll muddle along this Christmas season and trust that things will get better.  

Fake it – right?

Since I am pretty sure this will be the last blog I write before the 25th, I’d like to take this opportunity to wish you all a joyful holiday and a Happy New Year. If you have a house filled with family and friends to celebrate with count yourself extraordinarily blessed.

But I’ve also learned that even if there is only one other person you love – but you get to spend time with that person – then you should also consider yourself extraordinarily blessed. I know I have that – and that alone is enough to make my little ol’ heart grow three sizes.

See you in 2017!

PS. Sorry if used too many Grinch references! 

It’s About the Dementia – not about the Cranberry Relish

I’m sad today. I was supposed to have lunch with my mom at Parkside Village where they were having an early Thanksgiving buffet with turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing. Probably even cranberry relish. Not that I’m a big fan of cranberry relish – but it’s an “official” Thanksgiving meal if there is cranberry relish.

But I don’t have turkey. Or mashed potatoes. Or stuffing. Or especially cranberry relish.

Why? Because when I arrive to get mom for lunch, she doesn’t want to go.

My first clue that the day isn’t going to go as planned happens before I even reach the nurse’s station. I am met by an aide who tells me how glad she is to see me.

Uh oh.

Well, it’s not that people aren’t just stinkin’ delighted to see me all the time, but that particular aide has never said that to me before.

So that is my first inkling that there is trouble afoot. She then tells me that mom refuses to get out of bed, refuses to take a shower, refuses to eat breakfast, and refuses to get dressed.

That’s a lot of refusing from a 92-year-old and, frankly, it sounds rather like a temper tantrum a 2-year-old might have let alone someone 90 years her senior.

So then and there I realize we are probably not going to see any turkey or cranberry relish today.

I mean, it’s one thing if you pop over to a friend’s house to pick her up for lunch and she has inadvertently overslept. Unless she’s your most diva-ish friend who requires 2.3 hours of hair and makeup prep time, she could probably grab a quick shower and be ready to head out the door in a few minutes.

But a 92-year-old with dementia? “Quick” is a word that will not be uttered at any time. Ever.

Cursing myself for not having prepared a back-up lunch plan like slapping together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and throwing it in my bag before leaving home, I sigh as the aide and I head down the hall to mom’s apartment.

There, we find her sitting in her rocking chair all bundled up in her flannel nightgown and blue puffy robe that has seen better days. Heck, it has seen better decades, truth be told. But mom refuses to part with it.

The aide, finding mom at least upright and out of bed, heaves a sigh of relief and leaves the room.

So I sit down in the chair across from mom and ask her if she is interested in having lunch with me as I’d made reservations and everything. But she says no.

So, sighing a little myself, I hand her the daily newspaper to read while I start “fussing.”  This is Jane-speak for gathering up old newspapers, collecting dirty coffee cups, making her bed, setting clothes out for her to (hopefully) change into, and generally making myself busy because I know I have a couple hours ahead of me of sitting in a sweltering room trying to stave off hot flashes. Which is almost impossible to do when the thermostat in there is set on “sauna.”

After about a half hour of mom constantly asking what day and time it is, I gently tease her about how late it is and coax her into getting dressed for the day. It is now a little after twelve-thirty in the afternoon.

But the sad part is, I realize that mom no longer knows how to get herself dressed and ready for the day. She looks at the clothes on her bed and then looks at me and asks me what she should do. So I tell her I’ll help her.

But seeing her like that breaks my heart a little bit more.

What happened to that strong, intelligent woman I’d known my whole life? The one who raised four children and who almost single-handedly kept my dad’s defective heart beating in his chest almost 50 years after it had wanted to give out on him in his early 40s. The one who could stretch a dollar until it cried “uncle” and the one who could tell if one of her kids was fibbing just by the inflection in their voice when she asked them a question. And this was, mind you, when she wasn’t even in the same room as the fibber.

I then thought about mom in her later years – the woman who loved meeting new people and who couldn’t wait to pack a suitcase to go on their next adventure. Whether it was to some exotic location or an Elderhostel at a university to learn something new – or simply to head to one of their grown children’s homes for a visit – she was the first to suggest a road trip because she couldn’t stand sitting still for too long.

And now I couldn’t get her to walk down the hall with me simply to have some lunch.

After I help mom get dressed and I hang her ratty blue robe in the closet, we sit down again – mom in her rocking chair and me in the upright purple chair across from her. I look at this once proud and dignified woman who now can’t even get herself dressed and I try to keep the sadness from my face.  She looks up at me and raises her hands in supplication and says, “Now what?”

I smile at her gently – and this time we both sigh.

After a while, I start gathering my things and I tell mom I have to leave to run some errands. I hug and kiss her goodbye and tell her I love her.

She asks me when I am coming back and I tell her I’ll be back tomorrow. At 2 o’clock.

She can no longer tell that I’m fibbing.

Because, you see, I don’t know if I’ll be back tomorrow at 2 o’clock, but it appeases mom to have me say it. She won’t know the difference if I show up at 1 o’clock or at 3 o’clock. Or if I don’t show up at all until the following day.

But I blow her a kiss as I head out the door. And, because she can hold on to this thought for another fleeting moment, she quickly says, “I’ll see you tomorrow at 2 o’clock, dear.”

And when I shut the door, it’s all I can do not to start crying as I walk down that long hallway to the nurse’s station and then out to my car.

And, oh, how I wish the tears were because I didn’t get any cranberry relish today.

Pssst! Did you Know That Sunday is Mother’s Day?

Unless you’ve spent the last few weeks  climbing a really big mountain in some remote part of the world with no WiFi access whatsoever, you’re well aware that Sunday is Mother’s Day.

So let’s assume you’ve been on solid ground with plenty of media access. That means you’ve been bombarded lately with ads telling you that to be a good child, you have to shower Mom with all manner of gifts – flowers, chocolates, jewels. I even heard an ad today that a laser hair removal gift certificate would make a great gift for mom.

Huh? 

Yeahhhh, I’d love to see the perplexed expression on that mom’s face as she opened the card and said: “This is for…what?  Are you trying to tell me I have excessive facial hair, sonny?”

In my opinion, that would be an epic FAIL, but I suppose there are all sorts of people out there.  And perhaps there is some mother somewhere just itching to have her underarm hair permanently removed.  I don’t know…

Nevertheless, I would be willing to bet that mothers everywhere simply want their children to express their love and show a little gratitude on Mother’s Day. Maybe throw in a little breakfast in bed. This would be a great gift – as long as the kid makes sure to clean up the mess in the kitchen afterwards so mom doesn’t have to.

Motherhood is not an easy job. Yeah, and that’s the understatement of the year.

Just ask my mom.  Well, no…on second thought…don’t.  I don’t think I’d want her to share with you any stories about my bratty teenage years.  Not that I was a colossal brat – but, like most teenagers, I had my less-than-stellar moments.

Yet Mom never brings up any of my bad behaviors. Frankly, at this point, I don’t think she can remember my teenage years. And I’m okay with that.

Moms somehow have the uncanny ability to love their children unconditionally.  She may not always love the behavior, but she always loves the child.  No matter how old they are or how bad the behavior.

That ability is the very reason your mom deserves to be celebrated.

As for me, well, mostly I’m grateful that my mom is here with us and we can celebrate together. I don’t take a single moment of time with her for granted.

So Vince and I will drive to Alliance on Sunday. We’ll bring some food, a sweet treat for dessert and probably some flowers. We have a little gift for her. And, while she’ll be grateful for all of those things, I know that mostly she’ll appreciate that we took the time out of our weekend to come see her.

If I’ve learned anything through the years it is this: cherish your mom while she’s here. As I’ve heard from so many people whose mothers are no longer alive, they would give anything to have one more conversation with her; one more chance to hug her and tell her how much she is loved.

To those people who can no longer celebrate Mother's Day with their moms, my heart goes out to you. I hope you feel comforted with the knowledge that your mom knows how much you love and miss her.

And to those who still have their moms, please don’t squander those opportunities.  If you can celebrate in person with your mom, do it. If she’s too far away for a visit, call her. 

Just…well…just don’t buy her a gift certificate for laser hair removal. I still think it’s an epic FAIL.

We love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day!

Mother's Day 2011

I wanted to post a Mother’s Day blog on the day we actually celebrate mothers, but, well, I was a little busy spending time with my own mom (and dad). And that is as it should be, I suppose. Not that mom wouldn’t have appreciated an entire blog devoted to her, but I’m sure she preferred spending time with us. I imagine that watching the back of my head as I sit at the computer and compose a blog would be rather like watching paint dry.

Actually, part of that last statement is not true. No, not the part about watching paint dry – sadly, that part is true. But the part about mom appreciating a blog devoted to her. In truth, my mom is not one for excessive adulation and if she knew I was dedicating a blog to her, it would make her uncomfortable. That’s just the way she is.

Mom would tell you it’s the age in which she grew up. This was during the Depression, and people were just trying to survive. They didn’t waste much time patting themselves on the back (or expecting someone else to do it). You simply did what was expected of you without any thought to the “reward” you would get afterwards. Frequently, there wasn’t any – unless you consider personal satisfaction as a reward.

I kind of like that. It’s nice to be able to motivate yourself rather than expecting someone else to make the reward such that you grudgingly perform the task.

I can remember when I was a kid and, on the rare occasion we did our chores without being reminded, we’d run to mom and tell her about our accomplishment. Her response? “So what do you want – a medal?”

Clearly, that whole pat on the back thing wasn’t a big part of our household.

Not that mom wasn’t proud of us and our accomplishments. But she may have feared we’d get swelled heads if we were praised all the time for doing the right thing; things that we should do as a matter of course as honest, good, intelligent, hardworking people.

On Sunday, Vince asked my mom what some of her favorite memories of motherhood have been. I think he expected to hear the faint strains of violins in the background as mom recalled all the sappy, sentimental times – like when her babies were first placed in her arms, or perhaps when her children graduated from college or even when they walked down the aisle. And he was all prepared to be touched by her response.

And then mom said, “When my children left home.”

You could almost hear the violins screech to a stop mid-note. And the expression on Vince’s face was priceless.

But mom’s comment cracked me up. Sure, there was probably some element of relief whenever another one of her chicks flew the nest because – let’s face it – raising four kids who were within six years of age of each other couldn’t have been a piece of cake. Particularly having to endure us all as teenagers.

But having her children leave the home they grew up in meant that my parents had done their job and had raised children to stand on their own and make their own way. To my parents, that was one of their greatest accomplishments.

Now I’m sure my mom and dad had sappy, sentimental moments when their babies were first placed in their arms and had prideful moments when they watched their children graduate from college and flashed back to memories of their little boys and girls while watching their adult sons and daughters walk down the aisle. (In my case, I’m guessing there were feelings of relief that I finally decided to walk down the aisle. No, I kid. Sort of.)

In our family, I tend to be the sappy, sentimental one – so it’s probably a good thing Mom isn’t just like me. Too much sap and sentiment isn’t always a good thing. But I noticed that mom hugs me extra hard when she sees me these days.

As for me, I cherish every moment I’m able to spend with my parents – even if it’s merely standing in the kitchen together peeling carrots for dinner. And I look forward to our weekly phone calls.

As more and more of my contemporaries lose their parents and no longer have them around to wish them a Happy Mother’s (or Father’s) Day, I know that it’s truly a gift that my parents are still here with us.

{Sappy and Sentimental Alert!}

So, Mom, I just want to tell you that I love you very much. I know we don’t really say that a lot in our family, but I know you love me. And I just want you to know how I feel, too.

I thank you for all you’ve done for me throughout my life.

Thank you for being there whenever I’ve needed you – from the Band-Aids you applied to my skinned knees to the comfort you gave me at the loss of a job.

Thank you for listening to me when I wanted to tell you something funny or sad or interesting or outrageous. Thank you for laughing and commiserating and paying attention and being outraged (all at the appropriate times, too.).

Thank you for instilling in me the values that enabled me to grow into a (relatively) honest, good, intelligent, and hardworking person.

And thank you for embracing and welcoming my husband into our family.

Happy Mother’s Day. Let’s do this again next year. Okay?