Hanging on to my mother's every word...
“…I shall not pass this way again.” (Attributed to Quaker missionary, Stephen Grellet: 1773 – 1855)
"And I''ll never have that recipe again, oh, no!" (“MacArthur Park” - 1968, by Richard Harris)
As I prepare to address an envelope in readiness to mail a card from my mother to my sister who lives across the miles, it dawns on me as it always does when I’m scribing—my days of receiving greeting cards from my mother have long been relegated to the past.
Since it strikes me as absurd for her to select a card for me at the pharmacy in my company, and then mail it from her place of residence to mine, I’ve nipped the tradition in the bud.
My saving grace is that I’ve saved every card she chose for me during her more independent streak when she could drive hither, thither, and yon. I will treasure them always. At the top of the stash, preserved inside a Ziploc bag, rests a card with words expressing her heartfelt sentiment—“My beautiful daughter...the joy of my heart, the light of my life.”
While Hallmark affirmation of a mother’s love may not be forthcoming, I am blessed by her presence on earth, and the words each of us exchange at the end of every phone call during the course of a day—“I love you!”
One of our many traditions which remains intact is celebrating Mother’s Day together by dining at The Old Gristmill Tavern. I take solace and comfort in the timeworn expression, “The more things change, the more they are the same.” It’s my saving grace for never having a recipe again.
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While I, for the most part, abandoned commercial expressions on cards for personal notes and letters many, many years ago, my mother was a steadfast card sender all her life up until recently. She also wrote personal notes on the cards to a very wide social and family network.
While mini strokes in 2011 have given her aphasia and arthritis have given her both mobility and hand problems, she can still painfully write notes, looking forward to carpal tunnel surgery.
She, more than I , looks forward to her weekly call to me that she has, only in the last few years, ended with, "I love you." She always has, even unspoken.
Ron
Scott