Thirteen

April 22 is my Mom's birthday and it always makes me feel homesick.

I want to pick up the phone and call.

I want to drop by with a bouquet of flowers.

None of these have been an earthly possiblity for 13 years.

Instead I try to honour her memory by reminiscing: 

Mom was the oldest of ten children.  Their family lived close to the Dionne quintuplets, who were the first quints known to survive their infancy.  They had the same Dr. (Dafoe).

Mom had jet black hair. As far as I know, she never coloured it.  My memories are only of a salt and pepper look - which gave way to the most beautiful silver gray.

Mom was a very practical woman  - this aspect of her personality filtered down in all sorts of ways.  She would save envelopes and write notes on the back of them.  She always used up her leftovers.  She had a routine for housework and followed it. 

Mom was a woman of great propriety.  She insisted on good manners.  She took it very seriously.  But every once in a while she would give us a glimpse of a more light-hearted lady and we would look at each other with raised eyebrows wondering if that was really our mom talking. 

Mom wrote a lot of letters.  She had beautiful handwriting.  But she also typed a lot of letters.  Those were the days before "delete, delete, delete" and she didn't make a whole lot of mistakes.  Every once in a while, I pull out the file of her letters and let myself wallow in bittersweet memories -

Mom liked her tea and coffee.  She would make a cup of coffee in the morning (before microwaves) and then go downstairs to start the laundry.  My cat C.C. liked coffee too, and more than once, Mom came up to the mud room to find the cat licking her chops after helping herself to Mom's cup.

I find myself saying (and writing) things and clarifying them with "As my mom used to say".. One of my Mom's favourite sayings was "Too soon old, too late schmart".  Another was "Don't get old; there's no future in it".  She also would quote Scripture - "Great peace have they which love thy law, and nothing shall offend them" (Psalm 119: 165); "Oh that I had wings of a dove; then would I fly away and be at rest" (Psalm 55: 6).

When we were married a year or so, Mom and Dad came to stay with us  for a few months. During that time, my Dad went back east on a trip and Mom stayed by herself.  We rented "The God's Must Be Crazy" (the days of renting a VCR and the video - which was a big deal) and she sat and watched it with us.  It was one of the few times I saw her laughing so hard that tears ran down her face. 

Mom went swimming at the YWCA with a friend of hers once or twice a week during my high school years. She rode a bicycle down there. This was the same one I wrecked when I was riding home from tennis lessons and got hit by a car because I was too nervous to follow the rules of the road and turn left from the middle of the lane. I don't know if she ever replaced it.

When I arrived home, three weeks before she died, I couldn't go and see her right away, because the medical professionals were interviewing her.  I have often thought of her comment on that visit.  "I wish they would talk to each other". I work in the Health Care field, and a common complaint is how many times clients have to answer the same questions by health professionals who haven't consulted with each other.

Mom was health-conscious, but she loved butter.  This was a problem when she was told that her cholesterol levels were up and would have to cut back.  It especially irked her that my Dad was told that he had the heart of a 35-year old and could eat as much butter as he wanted.

Mom said didn't keep secrets from my Dad - until his 70th birthday - and this just about finished her off.  She was a very honest person, and found it hard to skirt around the subjects of clandestine phonecalls and plans being made behind his back.

One of my Mom's favorite places on earth was the cottage.

Mine too.