<Welcome to Sandwich Season, adventures in middle age, sandwiched between aging parents and growing children ... and other duties as assigned.>
Hi friends—
This week was destined to be emotionally charged. My mom’s birthday and Mother’s Day are arriving two days apart, two without-her firsts hitting one right after the other. (If you’re new here, my mom passed in August 2023.)
I will be honest. The weeks leading up to Mom’s double celebration have always been a bit challenging for me. Why? The struggle to find the right greeting card.
The stakes always seemed high. How to honor the woman who gave me life? (She’d love for you to know that I was born two weeks overdue, 9 pounds 6 ounces and breach. Sorry, Mom.)
How to celebrate the woman who introduced me to spring crocus and hyacinth, nuthatches and chickadee-dee-dees, who removed my first tick and who laid the groundwork for everything from the colors and foods I pair to the words I use to the ways I approach my friendships?
All this, but our relationship was too complex for flowery “I-can’t-imagine-a-better-mom-than-you” sentiments.
My mom drove me crazy, and I know the feeling was mutual. She was a neatnik—I tend toward chaos. She was tailored—growing up, I loved ruffles. She liked few things more than curling up with a good book—I tend to be on the move. She wondered aloud why I couldn’t just be.
She was incredibly supportive but also had a way of throwing me off course, plunging me into self-doubt with one sharply worded phrase or question.
Over the years I learned to hold back, to build little walls and to poke at her in my own ways: by not taking an interest in her family history project, by not ooh-ing and aah-ing over her award-winning garden.
By not sending her gushy greeting cards.
It sounds so small, doesn’t it? She’s gone now, and with her went so many stories, so much wisdom, so much love.
But the truth is, I feel very little regret.
With my own flawed little heart, I loved her as well as I could. I bought her gifts she enjoyed and lots of cards—cards with very few words. But each one was honest and honoring. I stand behind them.
Now I recognize that her toughness prepared me for battles I’ve needed to wage. She strengthened me, so I’d have the confidence to walk away from relationships and other commitments that were unhealthy. She tempered me, helping me also to build the endurance to stay, to build a life and to advocate for the people who have needed me.
Along the way, she and I did have lots of fun, laughed until the tears came and made lots of memories. I showed her and her best friend around Japan. I fell in love with her and Dad’s desert neighborhood in Arizona and learned the names of the plants with her. I visited regularly when we lived far away and moved back to my hometown for the last few years of her life.
As dementia set in and she faded, I sat with her in my parents’ retirement community apartment, sharing stories and memories. I brought her yellow-blooming forsythia branches from her garden. Last May, we thought she might not make it to her birthday, and when she did, we invited friends over to celebrate. A couple of months later, near the end of her life, I napped with her and fed her bits of salmon, strawberries and spinach from what became our shared favorite salad.
As I witnessed her physical decline, I grew in understanding of the beautiful, caring woman my mom was and realized two important things: All was forgiven, and all was love.
A few weeks ago on a grocery run, I walked past a Mother’s Day display and stopped, briefly forgetting that my mom was gone. A card caught my eye. I picked it up, read the sentiment and smiled.
Finally—finally!—I had found the perfect card. I bought it and set it on the mantel in our living room, where it stands in tribute to my mom.
I hope one day my son will see past my quirks and shortcomings, and choose a similar card for me.
With love,
Sarah
Yes to all that- the cards were always hard. I tended to make my own (think you might've too)
I love this! I struggled with Father's Day cards for years and have often felt a sense of relief around Father's Day that I no longer need to find a card that honors both him and my internal angst. Best Father in the World cards: nope. Maybe I will wander to the Father's Day card section this year to see if there are any that speak to the ache that is smaller than in the past, yet still there nonetheless.