This is a holiday for honoring mothers around the world. It will be a day of celebration, a day filled with happy memories for those of us whose mothers have passed on but filled, for some, a day with just a hint of loneliness. Our daughter is in Atlanta, and as she’s coming home in couple of weeks for her godson’s graduation from high school, so making the trip now didn’t make sense. But we’ll be communicating by phone throughout the day. Some families aren’t quite that lucky. It is also a painful one in our family. My wife’s sister passed in January, so this is our nephew’s first without . . . . It will be a day of coping. Celebrating with his wife and children but also a feeling a mix of emotions.
Her Ladyship and I were lucky. We both came from loving, albeit very different families, and were both close to our mothers. Coincidently, both mothers, (named Doris and Dorothy), were nurses, and both died at age 67 after struggling with bouts of cancer. Yes, we had our disagreements, our difficulties (in full disclosure, mine more than hers). My mother wanted me to be an accountant, and when I chose to be a music teacher, she questioned that decision. It was a matter of financial stability, really, and she came to see that I was pretty good at what I did. Her Ladyship’s mother was a wonderful lady, taken far too soon. The summer cottage was the gathering spot all summer long for the family. Herself and I would go over most weekends, sleeping on a pull-out couch in the living room, which opened onto the front porch. One of my now favorite recollections of Doris, who was usually the first to rise in the morning, was of her heating her coffee in the microwave, trying vainly to “shush” the beeping, and then she’d play cards on the porch, so we’d hear snapping and whooshing as she shuffled her cards. Those sounds, when I hear them, bring a smile and I think of Doris. In fact, she’d only retired from nursing a few years before, and they’d begun to enjoy their winter home in Florida along with their summer cottage, and their grandchildren. Both mothers filled the large Catholic church for their funeral masses, a real tribute to who they were. The Princess is named for Doris’s mother, Elizabeth, and her middle name is Doyle, my mother’s maiden name. And we see so much of the best of both of them in her.
Her Ladyship is a terrific mother with a deep and abiding bond with the Princess. She always has been, fostering a tremendous sense of respect, a love of learning, and a deeply affectionate daughter. I like to think I had a part in that too, so parenting was a team effort. But for a number of years, when I was off at rehearsals or working multiple jobs, she did the heavy lifting, parent-wise, all while working full time as a teacher and a principal. She did it with great skill and loving guidance, because that’s who she is. Even to this day, when we’re talking by phone and I’m building a valuable storehouse of advice, from my considerable experience, she’ll hold up a hand and I’ll know to stop. It’s a moment to listen, not speak, and she’s much better at that than I am.
My brother-in-law came over for dinner the other night, as has become a very pleasant custom. He brought with him his tablet, asking Herself if she’d ever ordered anything online. Which is rather like asking Pope Leo if he’s ever said Mass. Jack was having trouble ordering something from Amazon, and she walked him through it. Turns out, he’d never done it before, because Peg always did that, and I’m happy to report that Her Ladyship has opened up a whole new world to him. Like Columbus gazing at the New World or Henry Ford watching his first Model A “put-put” off the first assembly line.
Much of Mother’s Day, for us older folks, will be about remembering. Funny things that our mothers said and did. I remarked once to my in-laws that I like Brussels sprouts, and they’d appear magically at family dinners after that. My mother-in-law had difficulty with idiomatic expressions, and we remember a couple of them fondly, still using them. “Six of one, six of the other”, because she couldn’t quite get the “half dozen” part worked out. And my favorite, when a hearty meal was enjoyed in her home, we got good “traffic” out of it, rather than good “mileage”.
My mother was from an Irish Catholic family, attending a parochial school. It was a painful experience for her, but she remained a practicing Catholic. Home was about 10 miles from the church we attended. When my brother was old enough to drive, because my mother hated driving, he would, and mother settled on a routine of us saying the Rosary on the way. The timing was just about right. But we also knew that if we could get her talking long enough to reach a point about three miles down the road, there wouldn’t be time to fit in the rosary. As she realized what had happened, a reprimand would be issued – “Oh, you rotten kids. You did that deliberately, didn’t you?” How could we possibly? We were just innocent passengers, after all. Interestingly, she was not a traditionalist, and fully embraced the changes in the church and the spirit of Vatican II. On one occasion, terrifying at the time but amusing years later, it was, I believe either Palm Sunday or Easter – I don’t really remember which, but the curate, the associate as they were called at the time, gave his homily on the “one true church”. He went on and on about Martin Luther, the “heretic”, the Episcopalians were founded “in sin”, so on and so on in that vein. After Mass, just I’m sure as my grandfather, who was equally outspoken, would have done, mother bustled out into the sacristy and gave him a tongue-lashing the like of which, I’m guessing, he’d never had before, or probably since. “Father, that homily was a complete disgrace! In this new era of ecumenism, of understanding among the faiths, you need to change your perspective pretty fast.” I can remember that like it was yesterday, the word “disgrace” ringing off the walls. He stood there with his mouth open. I’m sure he was stunned.
As we remember mothers across the country and beyond today, either in person, on the phone, or in happy memory, we also remember those for whom motherhood wasn’t not quite so pleasant. Mothers that, for one reason or another chose to give their children a better, happier life than they felt they could provide. We honor adoptive mothers, foster mothers, proxy mothers, and those that have provided some form of role model. We honor those that have deeply touched young and older lives and are a beloved “Auntie”. We honor and remember any that are feeling loss or loneliness on this day, and may perhaps find a way to reach out to them. We keep them in our thoughts. There is currently a health care system that advertises “Your mother is the MVP in your life.” As a father, I take issue with that, but I understand the sentiment. For many of us, who had mothers that could rightly be considered MVP’s, and for countless others that can’t, we’ll have enough pleasant thoughts to share.
Happy Mother’s Day, gentle readers!
I'm Thinking...No! 