As most of the world, your grandbabies included, celebrate their mamas - with flowers and coffee, handmade cards, thoughtful presents... Sadie, Joel, Abby and I, we simply celebrate the memory of you.
Thirty-one Mother's Days you had here on earth. Now, a mother of three myself, I wish for anything to sit and hear you recount those handmade cards, our attempts at breakfast in bed, the day in the year where we (hopefully) were on our best behavior. I would love to see you smile as you remembered the messes we made, but how you knew our hearts were in the right place. Sure, I could rummage through the garage, devouring boxes of your earthly possessions, to find those handmade treasures you kept - but it wouldn't be the same, not without you here to share it with. So this weekend, I celebrate the legacy of you.
I'll forever cherish the years you snuck my kids into the dining room with your craft boxes, so they could secretly make treasures of their own, for me. Your face lit up, as did theirs. Joy and contentment, knowing the power of a handmade card. Even during your last Mother's Day, in the throws of cancer treatment, you gifted me with that, allowed the kids to then gift me with their own masterpieces. Because of that and many other reasons, I celebrate the joy in you.
Our last Mother's Day together, you felt well enough to come over, in fact we even ventured to the plant nursery. I thought during that day, how I hoped we would have many more holidays to celebrate together, but somewhere inside I think I knew. So, I watched you, entranced. My eyes followed your fingers, as they grazed each flower, telling me its origin, how to best care for it, when to plant. I still can't keep a thing alive but my children, but I'll never forget the lessons you taught me. This Mother's Day I celebrate your love of gardening.
That first year was awful, mom. Navigating 365 new days without you. I know you knew it would be so, I know it ached within you, the knowledge of all you were leaving behind. Today as I sit here writing, I have to shake my head wildly to even still, fully understand your being gone. Daily there are hundreds of things I want to tell you, to ask you. But, time heals in a strange way, it doesn't make it okay, it doesn't make your loss any less great - but it hurts less, in a different way. I put one foot in front of the other, look to the Heavens, and hope that if you can see, you'd be proud. Today I celebrate the survival of life after you.
I pray that I can be half the mother you were, that my children will grow with the knowledge of my vast, un-ending, passionate love for them - as I did, you. I hope even at the end of my own life, that I can leave not only a legacy, but a warmth, a joy, a love for others so strong, it's tangible. You did that, mama. I celebrate all the Mother's Days I shared with you, I celebrate all the Mother's Days I'll have without you. I celebrate the mother I am, because of the mother you were.
Love you forever,