Today my Mom and I celebrate Mothers’ Day. I know what you’re thinking…Mothers’ Day was last Sunday. Well, for the rest of the world, it was. For me and my Mom, it is today.
My Mom’s mom, my grandmother, passed away on the Tuesday after Mothers’ Day in 1996, just two weeks before my wedding. We knew she was ill, and we knew she probably wouldn’t be able to make it to Louisiana for my wedding. As Mom and I sat at the computer working up some idea for flowers, tulle, or some other “weddin’ nonsense,” my Aunt Linda called. I heard Mom’s voice crack as she asked, “Oh, no, Linda, is she gone?” The rest of her conversation is a blur to me, but I vividly remember that when she hung up the phone, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “This is Mother’s Day.”
It was May 14.
And so, not to be all sad and creepy or anything, Mom and I celebrate Mothers’ Day on the 14th of May each year. If it’s a weekday, I take off work so we can spend it together. We usually go shopping or hang out and drink hot tea and watch some chic-flick she has DVR’d. We have only missed one day in 15 years – that was the day of a horrible flooding rain in Shreveport. I called Mom that morning, upset at the thought of breaking our tradition because I had three inches of water in my garden room, and with even more rain coming down there was no end in sight. I remember squalling, “I took off work to be with you and I can’t even get to you!!!” We spent the day on the phone, between my bouts with the wet-vac and more towels than I cared to count. 😉
Unfortunately, today will be the second time in these fifteen years that we will not spend May 14th together. I teach the 2nd grade First Communion class at my church, and 29 of those precious children are making their First Reconciliation this morning in preparation for First Communion tomorrow. Essentially, duty calls, and luckily my Mom is incredibly understanding. We have plans to hang out together later this week to make up for today. We will shop and dream and chat…and enjoy the Cardinals that flit across our path.
I love you bunches, Mom.