I’m not a mother and ever since I lost my own mother ten years ago, Mother’s Day has been emotionally complicated for
Funny thing is, I was never big on Mother’s Day. It was too commercial, too contrived.
And maybe because I lived far away from my mother, I never waited for that one day to let her know how much she meant to me. I made sure that I did something special for Mama each time we saw each other, and told her how important she was to me every time we talked.
You see, my mother was my best friend, my confidante, my role model and teacher. I wanted to be just like her – to be as creative, as intelligent, as caring and as supportive as she was.
Mama wrote poetry, created music and baked elaborate cakes from scratch. She made our clothes so expertly, so neatly they could have been worn inside out – I rarely wore store bought clothes.
Watching her, I learned how to sew but she also taught me how to crochet, embroider and play the flute.
I got my love of crossword puzzles and mysteries from her.
And though she tried to teach me math, I was never as good as she was. As the unofficial bookkeeper for my grandfather’s business, I watched her do the payroll every Friday with just receipts, a notebook and a pencil.
Because of everything I learned from Mama, I wanted to be a mother just so I could pass her gifts on to my daughter — yes, I knew I’d have a daughter.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
So on Mother’s Day, especially, I feel her loss acutely and I think about what might have been.
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