Mother's Day

This will be the first Mother's Day since Mom's death. It's interesting how Thanksgiving and Christmas didn't bother me that much, but Easter and Mother's Day both seem harder. I was watching TV the other night and there was a Hall.mark commercial for Mother's Day cards. I found myself crying.

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I've been meaning to ask my sisters if it's hard for them, but I don't think I can even ask the question without crying. Once again, I'm surprised by this grief. I'm especially surprised because it is much more intense than any of the grief I've experienced since her death almost a year ago. Last spring we put her on hospice. I think I'm remembering those struggles, too. For much of the past year, the relief that it was over has been stronger than any grief I experienced.

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Of course, it's not just Mother's Day and the approach of the one year anniversary of her death. I am finalizing my own estate plans so Far Away Sister can release my share of Mom and Dad's estate. I have been amazed at the difference it makes to have a little extra money. I have two people who just entered nursing homes that are powerful reminders of Mom and Dad. I'm watching two families struggle with the issues that were so hard on us a year ago. Every conversation with them is a reminder.

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The other reality is that I've never really grieved Mom's death. I've managed to avoid it. Mom was far from perfect. She touched so many lives in so many ways. When she graduated from high school, she went to college to become a nurse. She was in a 5 year program and graduated not only with her RN but her BSN. She worked hard, and all other nursing programs fell short of the standard she set based on her own education. When she graduated, she moved back home with her parents. She had known Dad most of her life, as he was her brother's best friend. When he came home from Korea, he enrolled at the junior college in their home town and began pursuing Mom. Grandad told Mom that Dad would be a good provider, and eventually she agreed to marry him. He went off to the state university on the GI bill and she got a job as a public health nurse to support them. He graduated with a dual major: business and electrical engineering. They moved across country in response to the best job offer he received. They were just pregnant with me when they made that move.

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After a few months in an apartment, they bought a brand new home in the suburbs. It was the typical 1,000 square foot, 3 bedroom, 1 bath, full basement house that was being built in the 50's. They joined a new church that was still meeting in a school on Palm Sunday, and I was baptized on that day. Life centered around church and the neighbors. Mom didn't work, and we lived in a neighborhood full of young families just starting out. Some of those original residents still live in that neighborhood, and some of their children have now purchased (or inherited) homes in that neighborhood. I was 4 1/2 when Far Away Sister was born, and was delighted to be a big sister. Our school was across the street and down the block, and we walked to it daily. In the summer we played on the playground or attended the summer recreation arts and crafts program at the school. A neighbor had an above ground pool, and many summer afternoons were spent in it.

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I was 10 when Sister was born-- she was the "bonus baby from heaven," as Mom and Dad had given up after years of trying for another baby. Dad began finishing the basement. 15 months later, Brother was born. He was the "oops." Mom began work as a school nurse when Brother entered 1st grade. The following year I moved away to go to college.

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As the oldest, I was the "experimental child." I taught Mom some hard lessons, as her attempts to challenge me to improve were received by me as a message that I wasn't good enough. She was a perfectionist, and she pushed me to be perfect. When I brought home my report card, it seemed that the only thing she'd see was the lowest grade-- usually a B+. She was just as hard on herself, and I still struggle against perfectionist tendencies. Daughter has learned that she can accuse me of wanting her to be perfect and watch me back off all standards. It's hard for me to find the proper balance that challenges her without expecting too much of her.

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Mom was a woman of deep faith. She was always involved in the church, and in later years she became very concerned with pastoral care. She had a number of individuals she would visit on a regular basis. She grew frustrated by what she saw as her pastor's unwillingness to train members to do pastoral care. She also pushed her pastor to take communion to the shut-ins.

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My first church was in the inner city of a city notorious for poverty and crime. I regularly heard gunshots in the neighborhood surrounding my home. She was always supportive, and when Daughter came into my life, she would come stay with Daughter so I could go off to a conference. They'd come to Daughter to minimize the disruption in her routine. It wasn't until I'd moved that I found out how much she'd hated me being there, and how worried she'd been the whole time I was there. When she'd come to care for Daughter, she'd double check to make sure all the doors were locked (it took 3 keys to get in my front door). After she put Daughter to bed, she'd go to bed and lay there shaking as she listened for gunshots. Personally, the spotlight from the police helicopter against my bedroom windows was always a bigger concern for me. I probably shouldn't have told her about those nights.

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The first year I was here in Tiny Village, she had a great time buying Christmas decorations for my home. She and Dad helped me with the Christmas Open House for years. They loved this community, and were delighted that I was now in a safer community. She was excited when she heard I was going to begin to search for a new church closer to them. Of course, that hasn't happened yet, but I still hope that I will return to my home state to finish out my ministry.

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I lost Mom gradually to dementia. Yet even when she could talk, she could still communicate. I would harass her because she was always more excited to see Daughter than me. I accused her of loving her granddaughters more than her daughters. She'd just smile. One time I was wearing a new blouse with a scoop neck. She kept trying to pull it up. She obviously thought it was too low cut for her 50 year old preacher daughter. Another time she approved of the skirt I was wearing. She kept fingering it and nodding as she pointed to it. "Do you like it?" She beamed at me, and I thanked her. She still gave the most awesome hugs ever, and I miss those. Just showing up to visit her got me hugs. It's much harder to get hugs from Daughter.

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This Mother's Day, I find myself remembering all these things. I miss her. This Mother's Day, I am a grieving daughter.