This is the first Mothers Day of my seventy-five years when I have no way to visit with or even call my Mother. Just two days before her stroke she posed with the first bloom on these hibiscuses I had planted in her front yard. Mother turned 98 in February before her stroke on July 21, 2021 and her death on August 1 last year. I visited with her in person or by phone at least five times a week her last few years. We could all see that she was weaker, She had survived several cancers, tri-geminal neuralgia (a horrible illness, and other health problems. Just a couple of weeks before her stroke I had had to talk with her about the need for her to either move to one of her children's homes or to an assisted living facility or to accept live-in help. She said she would "when it is time to, but not yet". Given all that you'd think that I'd be prepared for her death. And I supposed intellectually I was.
Many of my friends have lost their mothers -- almost all at much younger ages. It seems almost selfish at seventy-five to mourn her so.
But how I miss my Mother.
She would light up when I walked in.
My parents were not perfect, of course, but their love for me and my siblings was unconditional and sure and lit their faces. Daddy's been gone for 35 years. I still miss him. And how I miss my mother.
