I don’t think it was grief, the rhythm of grief notwithstanding. It was more the riches of memory that brought tears to my eyes Mother’s Day.
This was only the second Mother’s Day when I did not pick up the phone to greet her, if I could not be present in person. Sometimes she had flowers from me, too, and she always made me feel like I had picked each one for her specially.
If one is at all conscious, the culture in which we live makes sure that we know about Mother’s Day. Clothing store ads feature moms and daughters (looking remarkably close in age to me these days) laughing over the deals they scored for the latest fashions. Major league baseball parks have special events for moms. Even the local sports section featured our local world champion surfer who said he owes all his success to his mom. (Reading the story, you see he’s got that right!)
A favorite comic strip featured the tale of a young man whose mom tells him how proud she is of him as he publishes his first book. The book turns out to be a smash hit, and the book tour crowds are large.
The young man publishes a second book. The critics pan it as a disappointment. Book signings are now lonely events for him. In the next to last panel, we see the young man’s mom telling him how proud she is of him, and the last panel underscores how moms are like that.
Lulu Garcia-Navarro hosts “Sunday Weekend Edition” on NPR. As the second hour of the show on Mother’s Day drew to a close, she featured comments by various people of some renown about advice they had received from their moms. Lulu’s bit recalled that her mom, who had little formal education, impressed on her kids the value of going to college. She said that education was something that “couldn’t be taken away from you.”
The comment that hit closest to home for me was by Scott Simon, host of the “Saturday Weekend Edition” program on NPR. He said his mom told him that it is always better to be a little over-dressed than to be under-dressed. Imagine, she would say, that you accidentally ran into the Duchess of Cambridge. You would want to be in a blazer and tie rather than in a sweatshirt.
Mom gave me two bits of advice on clothing. First, always wear clean underwear in case you get into an accident. (People of a Certain Age, your mom said that, too, right?) Second, how you dress is an unspoken sign of the respect you have for whom you are meeting or where you are going. This last nugget came in response to my complaining about having to put on a suit as a 9 year old to go to church. Mom did not mention any duchess.
Then to wrap up that section of “Sunday Weekend Edition,” the producer slipped in a recording of Lulu’s husband wishing her a Happy Mother’s Day and her daughter, around 6 years old, doing the same, then wishing all mothers listening a happy day. Lulu confessed to tears after that. Me, too.
I texted my sister “Happy Mother’s Day” before I checked my e-mail. In my mailbox was a message from her with a photograph of what she described in our family lingo as “nearly the whole Fam Damily;” Judy, Sandee’s daughter, Hope, and me in the back row (and I am wearing a blazer!), Sandee, Jody, Mom and Chad seated in front. It was taken at Mom’s church some years ago and lacks Susan, Annie, and Sarah, the Georgia Whites, and Dad. Mom and Chad are beaming, in the picture of good health, before either began to decline too much physically.
I don’t remember the exact circumstance of the photograph. I do remember the joy whenever Mom’s kids could be with her at the same time, the unspoken safety and love. Hope and Chad in the picture only amplify the feeling that love can be contagious.
A recent issue of The Christian Science Monitor features a story about how groups of mothers in Puerto Rico have taken charge of feeding people and providing aid and comfort in places and times when the official sources of support have been unable to provide all that is needed. Why are we seldom surprised that it is mothers who so often step to the forefront to address critical needs?
I think about Mom and Dad often, perhaps more so in retirement than when I was working because I have more time to think. Mother’s Day is an obvious trigger for memories of times like the family being on a blanket in the campground, ready to take the required post-prandial nap (how did she know my eyes were open when her back was to me?) or seeing her as a minor local celebrity hosting her show, “The House of Happiness,” and interviewing my favorite San Diego Padres player!
Snatches of our shared history slip into my mind’s eye without warning. Grief? No, probably not. But surely riches, enough to make clear once again that the cacophony of the political world or our allegedly fractured society pale in importance when compared to the memory of Mom.
Daniel E. White
May 14, 2018