Happy Mother's Day

The home where I grew up sits empty now. The farm where I learned many of life's lessons still has animals, and crops still grow in my father's fields, but the house is now uninhabited. All sorts and conditions of life endure on that land except that of human beings.

Uninhabited but not abandoned.

The contents of the house vary little from my school years. My mother's kitchen table, older than I am, still sits under the lace-covered picture window where I would sit every morning waiting for the school bus. The two recliner chairs where my parents would sit watching TV movies and Hockey Night in Canada still sit in the livingroom covered by afghans my mother crocheted. My old bed is still covered by the comforter I chose out of the Sears catalogue when I was in Grade Seven. Sometimes, the only difference I feel there is that things seem smaller than they were back then. Guess I'm just bigger.

The boys and I still stay in that house when we go home to visit. It's a bit of an adventure, really. The boys love discovering new old bits of my youth every time they look around: yearbooks, letters, photographs, old school assignments. I love the rediscovery.

I find it difficult at night, though, once the three of them are asleep and I'm alone with my memories. My mother's spirit whispers to me then. Even after six years, I still feel her there.

My parents were married for over 50 years when my mother passed away. Their last seven or eight years together were especially trying, as Mom coped with a debilitating stroke, breast cancer, and diabetes. They were amazing together. Through it all, they still managed to savour every drop of enjoyment in life. They had amazing friends, they cherished their grandchildren, and they managed a hot holiday almost every winter.

Every time I go home to the farm, I bring back a piece of my childhood. This last visit, I carefully wrapped every piece of my mother's Christmas china and placed it delicately in a box to make the long trip back here. Right now I have no place special enough to store it, so it will have to remain in that plain cardboard box until the holidays approach. Then I will carefully unwrap each piece, revealing the memories held by each and every poinsettia. Christmas will seem more complete this year. It will feel like there's an extra person at our table.

Mom never got to meet #3. Even sadder to me, she never even knew he was on the way. As the saying goes, he was just a twinkle in my eye when she died. She would have adored him: his spirit, his sense of fun, his ability to work a room.

She would have been so proud of #1 and #2 too: their academic and musical accomplishments, their wit and conversation, and their polite manners (when they remember them:).

Mother's Day has been a mixed blessing for me for six years now. Main Man and the boys do it up right; gifts, a beautiful brunch, a day of surprises, and a delicious supper. How could anyone complain?! But deep inside, through all the joy and celebration, I still feel a piece missing. And I suppose I will forevermore.

Hug your mom today, everyone.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.