For a change–and some might say for the better, I’m speechless.
Mother’s Day does this to me. If you’re among the scant few who have been regularly devouring these musings, you already know that. My own mother is gone a couple of weeks short of 35 years, her heart literally suddenly exploding mere hours after she was telling jokes to nurses who were treating an ear infection because they said she reminded them of the comedienne Totie Fields. Since I no longer can find a picture of her, I supply this AI rendering and Ms. Fields for reference.
Totie at least made a pretty decent career out of poking fun at her size and shortcomings. My mom never did. She also never lived to see any of her children’s weddings, the birth of her grandchildren and about a year from now she’s gonna miss her granddaughter’s wedding. She could have least entertained those crowds if not Ed Sullivan’s audience. Alas, not to be.
You’ve probably picked up more than a drop of bitterness and lament on my part about all that. Actually, it’s more like a firehose. It’s not like people didn’t try to get through to her. I’ve mused about that as well. And days like this only reinforce those lamentations and degree of bitterness all the more.
I’m at an age now where a majority of my peers and the handful I can still actually call friends have lost their own moms–in some cases, the mother of their own children. I don’t dismiss what they are going through–especially those with somewhat less separation of years between now and when they were last able to tell them “I love you”. I didn’t do that all that much to my mom, especially once I escaped to Los Angeles. Historically, I treated her a lot worse. I’d like to believe I sufficiently apologized to her while she was alive. I’m honestly not sure, and obviously I never will be.
So since I can’t express any feelings directly to her I choose instead to offer that love and respect to anyone and everyone who qualifies as a mother, or even a maternal presence. That includes my bestie’s mom and grandmother who I’ve yet to meet but I cherish if for no other reason that they helped produce her and she adores them, no many how many flaws they may have to the outside world. And to her stepmom that I met all too briefly who loves her as well.
And that of course includes my sister, whose maternal skills I revere. I left her a message to tell her that. She’s clear across the country, and her now adult “kids” and their significant others have a big day planned for her. I hope I hear back sometime soon, but I’m not holding my breath. As I consistenly remind anyone within earshot, in-person relationships matter most, and she’s got a house full of them today. So I’m clearly not a priority.
That leaves me time to send similar thoughts to every other mother out there I know, whether it’s to humans or even just pets. Several special people in my life (bestie included) are exclusively pet moms, and honestly I’ll pit their maternal instincts right up with any I’ve directly experienced. I can at least somewhat relate to them, being a former cat dad myself. Somewhere on the Rainbow Bridge perhaps two or three of those I actually got a chance to love for more than a minute might be at least warmly smiling. But it’s not like any of them are going to wrap around my neck and purr like they once did on somewhat less lonely Mother’s Days.
In fact, the only pet I’ve spent any quality time with that I know is still breathing is the Yorkie who walked me when I was transforming my life and my body after my world came crashing down in ways that dwarfed the pandemic itself. I was rarely happier in recent years than when I was doing my ex-roomie a favor by taking that chickbait out into 120 degree summer weather–not that anyone else was close enough to notice or care. Again, I’d like to believe at least the Yorkie was appreciative. I never did hear from his mom if indeed she was. On days like today that pereptual silence stings most of all.
Which I why I’ll sign off for now and do my best to get through this day as well as possible. I’m really sorry, Mom. Maybe next year I’ll at least be able to share your picture with the world–or AI matures enough to do a better rendering.
Until next time…