In my lifetime, I've had the "joys" of two mothers. The one who birthed me and the one who raised me. Both were in my life, both taught me about the world in their own ways, both were my mom. I was adopted when I was 14 on May 14, 1992. Not many kids can say that they signed for an consented to their own adoption! Granted, I was adopted by my maternal grandparents so it wasn't much of a stretch. I won't get into all the details here because, someday, I'll want you to buy the book. LOL
Anyway - tomorrow is Mother's Day and there's always a moment of sadness in my heart as my "Mom" is an angel now. You don't realize in times of anger that someday the woman you are fighting with, yelling at, who is grounding you, telling you not to wear that lipstick, advising you not to shave your head, screaming at you to not date that guy, who is snooping through your room, reading your notes, demanding to know who you are with and where you are at all times, who refuses to buy you mini skirts and hooker heels.... you just don't see that someday, somewhere down the road - she will be a ghost and a gravestone. And you will bargain, in your mind or with her or with God, for one more fight, one more argument, one more second. You'll want those times back with every fiber of your being. So if you still have your "Smother" - hug her tightly, call her, remind her that you love her because sometimes you are a complete asshole and she will be the only one that still loves you anyway. This is my 10th Mother's Day since she has been gone. Only now - as I'm raising 4 kids - am I seeing the value of her lessons.
Once, my cousin, Chris, my friend Kristye, and I were sentenced to an afternoon of cleaning for the millionth time. Now, my "mom" collected antique furniture and had it in every room of the house. This was around 84 or 85, so if it was antique then, you can imagine what it would be now. (Some of it still resides in my home to this day) Well, she had this Berkey & Gay bedroom suite consisting of a mirrored chest of drawers, some storage thing that sat at the end of her four poster queen sized bed, in walnut. Remembering it now - it was gorgeous. "Was" is the key word here. Words don't do these pieces justice. This particular summer day we were doing time in the bowels of Tidying HELL. Of course, we wanted to be thorough. We were given the task of straightening the upstairs bedrooms while she took care of the downstairs.
Once we completed picking up toys, dirty clothes and various floor clutter we moved on to her room. We found her supply of cleansing agents including, but not limited to, Ajax powder, Brillo pads, a scrub brush, and what's cleaning if you don't use the toothbrushes of everyone in the household? You know, for fine details. We all three entered her room and went straight to work. We scrubbed and scoured for probably an hour or so. Chris, liberally spreading Ajax from one end of the room to the other. (Hey, it turned a pretty blue when it was wet! It was a fascinating substance to our young minds.) Kristye was armed with a scrub brush. In my hot little hand, I possessed a Brillo pad in all of it's steel wool glory. We took to that bedroom suite like a well oiled cleaning machine. We felt so grown up and important. I distinctly remember saying how proud she was going to be when she sees how clean we got her furniture. So you can imagine our confusion when she entered the room to put away the linens and started screaming. There was a frenzy of sobbing, screaming, flailing arms, painful swats to our behinds, furious words of anger and groundings until the end of time. Kristye was banished to her home. Chris and I were sent to opposite ends of the house. And when I say "sent" I mean she dragged us, beating our asses with every step. Suddenly, this 60 year old woman grew 5 more arms and Herculean strength. It was like she was the Incredible Hulk himself.
We weren't permitted out of our respective rooms for the rest of the night - an eternity when you're young. We couldn't understand why we were being punished for cleaning. After all, we were just doing what we were told! Chris and I whispered under the cracks of our closed doors attempting to determine our fatal error. The next day, through giant tears, she explained what we did wrong. She told us that she still loved us. She proceeded to make us a tray of cut fruits and her famous fruit dip. I didn't think those ups and downs would vanish. In the coming years I'd grow to hate her and love her again, despise her and cherish her and miss her in overwhelming ways. She'd smother me, ask too many questions, make too many suggestions, give me unsolicited advice that I'd just rebel against, and love me unconditionally and forever.
In 2001, she was granted her wings on a hot August day in her bed. From there on out our family changed. She was our glue and for a long while we fell apart without her. But the fortitude she instilled in us came alive again and, for the most part, brought us all back together. (Once, I picked up the phone, dialed her number as I had something really important to tell her. I got so far as the disconnected number chime and recording before I remembered she was gone.) I get signs from her and am comforted with them. She comes to me in vivid dreams where she has a healthy & nourished look to her, though she rarely says a word. Most recently she gave me an indisputable sign that would make me sound like a lunatic if I explained it. She finds ways to "mother" me from her new home in Heaven. Only now have I begun to savor those signs rather than mourn them. Going on 11 years since her passing and I'm starting to find peace with it. She's still with me each and every single day. Sometimes, my daughter will look up at me and flash me a face and I could swear it was "mom". I treasure that and while part of my heart aches that she isn't sitting at this table with me, smoking like a chimney, criticizing some choice I've made, I know she lives on.
