I've wanted to write this so many times..but then I'd doubt myself. I don't know how to begin.
I'm writing it anyway.
I'll have to skip a lot. It will come later.
For years, right before mother's day, I'd go thru the cards to find one I could send. None of them fit. Too mushy, a total lie, too distant. I kept saying to myself that I loved her, but I didn't like her or respect her. Now I know that I was a self-absorbed idiot. Well, I knew it back before she died...but I was at the ripe age of 45 when I finally "got it".
What I've come to learn, thru experience, is that I don't know what I'd do if I was in her shoes..back then. Back then, she was pretty much fucked as far as mental health offerings, or decent medications. She really did the very best she could. I know for sure, that she loved me. I know she tried incredibly hard to show it...even if it wasn't in the way I wanted it shown. She took us to pick fresh veggies, she built an ice-skating rink in the back yard, she took us to many picnics and camping trips...she always seemed invincible. She wasn't.
She loved my kids. One time, we were down visiting when she was knocking down walls and drilling into the ceiling. My son, Mike, was about 4 and Jer was 6 mos. old. The sound of the drill scared them and they began to cry. Mike said to his gramma, "why can't you just bake cookies like other grammas?" She changed her clothes, cleaned the kitchen of remodeling dust, and made him cookies from scratch. He was very, very happy.
I used to dread calling my mom too...the obligatory phone call on mother's day. Wish I could make the call now, and send that card.
Happy Mother's Day....
[testing..testing. is this thing on?]