March Break is over. Easter has come and gone. Victoria Day weekend will be upon us before we know it. (Time to stock the beer fridge!) Looks as if time marches on whether I like it or not.
I look forward to next weekend's pampering by my lovely daughters. Mother's Day. It is the one day of the year where I do not get out of bed to make my own cup of coffee. I try my hardest to stay under the covers while I listen to the clanging of the dishes in the kitchen. I sneak into the bathroom to powder my face in case there is a photo taken. I fluff the bedding just right and clear the side table so I have room for the orange juice and pancake syrup. Hopes are high that all will go well and nobody cuts or burns themselves in the excitement.
Mother's Day has meant different things to me over the years. As a child, it was the day to honor my mom. She endured soggy cereal, crisp pancakes and instant coffee every year. I labored over haiku poems and school pottery. I remember making ash trays one year! We used it as a candy dish...taking our chances on tooth decay instead of lung cancer. As I grew older, it meant a trip home from the city with some flowers or a pretty scarf. Mom always was gracious in her acceptance of our tokens of love. She still is...
May 1995 was my first Mother's Day. Brad bought me flowers and we went to a restaurant for brunch. Emily was three months old and I remember her big dark eyes smiling at me from the comfort of her car carrier. Along came Rachel and Colleen and Mother's Day became more interesting every year. I have a box filled with cards and pictures from my girls. I have earrings and necklaces and pretty sweaters that scream mother. Every year, Brad and the girls embark on their quest to make me happy for one full day. Sometimes they succeed and then there are the times things don't quite work. But, I choose to focus on the successes. Strangely enough, the Mother's Day I will remember most focused more on my dad.
May 10, 2009 was Mother's Day. My mom, my sisters and their husbands, my brother and his wife and Brad and I all made our way to Dad's bedside in the hospital to celebrate Mother's Day. We brought Mom gifts and read our cards so Dad could hear. We looked at the trees and flowers budding outside Dad's window. We held his hand and shared childhood stories. I asked Dad which farm our dog went to live on when we were young...Dad did not answer but I think he chuckled. Dad's voice was barely a whisper on this day. But his eyes and his smile could still speak volumes to me. There was a lot of love in that room. I hope Dad felt it.
Dad passed away the next day.
In my head, I can hear Dad singing a gospel song. I see him sneaking a hug and kiss from Mom when he was in a particularly good mood. I hear him joking every Mother's Day when I asked him what he got for Mom, "She's not my mother!". When Mom visited me in Ottawa shortly after Emily was born, I remember the tears in Dad's eyes when he saw her again after a whole week without her. I remember Dad getting us out of bed by 9am Saturday mornings to do chores so Mom could sleep in. I remember him slipping me twenty dollars at Christmas time to buy stocking stuffers for Mom. I remember his arm wrapped around Mom's shoulder while Emily played "Let Me Call You Sweetheart' on her violin. These happy moments continue to play on repeat in my mind.
So as all you mothers enjoy your day of indulgence next Sunday, I will be holding a place in my heart for my Dad. Together, he and Mom made a wonderful team. Happy Mother's Day!
