Twenty years ago today was the last time I ever saw our Mother alive. A curious set of coincidences occurred on this very bittersweet day: Not only is May 12 my favorite day of the year -- admittedly, I'm a little odd -- but twenty years ago, May 12 was Mother's Day. Somehow, although it's not what I would have chosen, it's fitting that the last day I saw our Mother alive was Mother's Day.
Less than a month later, Mom died.
It's hard to believe that twenty years have passed. I miss her more today than I did when she died. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her, whether it be a memory we shared or her presence to discuss a problem or just to be able to share a story about my day or hear one about hers. Had she lived she'd be eighty-four years old, with her eighty-fifth birthday being this November 25.
Our Mom was my best friend, the woman who taught me to love music and literature, how to throw a baseball and how to bake. There are those who would disbelieve the latter, but I can recall many hours in the kitchen learning little tricks about how to make pie crusts, how to bake certain cookies and what substitutes to use for certain ingredients. Our sessions in the kitchen were what they were meant to be: Mother-son bonding over food. Mom always told us to be jacks of all trades. Consequently, I can not only cook but I can wash the dishes, too.
Mom was a gentle soul. I rarely remember he raising her voice in anger, although there were times when I'd transgressed somehow that caused Mom to use every one of the three names she gave me and the one I added at confirmation to get my attention. When I learned that she'd named me after a priest friend of hers, I only half-jokingly told her I knew why I had so much trouble with women: I'd been named after a priest. Thankfully, Mom had a good sense of humor.
As I got older and grew taller, I could tease Mom about her very normal but quite short for me height of 5'4". Although she would fuss every time I called her by the title I'd bestowed on her, I think secretly she enjoyed being called Your Shortness. At least it sounded regal.
When I graduated law school, I gave her my diploma. I still don't have it. That's fine. Without her guidance and encouragement, law school would never have moved past dreaming.
I met a woman right around the time Mom's cancer returned. Four months later we learned she was terminal. Six months after that she died. I married the woman and later got divorced, something I never thought I would do. Had Mom been in better health, I'm sure her wise counsel would have helped me prevent entering into that doomed relationship and spared me a lot of time and hurt.
Sadder still for me is that Mom never got to meet and know Karen. Sure, she's smiling down on us and is quite happy for me, but I was deprived the benefit of seeing that joy. I'm sure she would have disagreed with certain aspects of our relationship, but being my Mother, she would have overlooked them and reveled in our happiness. I'm equally sure that together, she and Karen would have bedeviled my life in the most delicious and fun ways.
Mom's life was cut short by lung cancer. I always abhorred cigarettes growing up; I positively detest them now. It's one of the few subjects about which I get preachy. Had Mom's life been easier, perhaps she could have given up the cancer sticks sooner.
Mother's Day, for me, is now a bittersweet day. I remember my Mom, but I also remember seeing her alive for the last time on this day. I try to celebrate the day for Karen as much as I can, despite the fact that we don't have children together. But Mom would have wanted it that way. Mom was as selfless and thoughtful a person as there ever was. She rather I celebrate Karen's motherhood than dwell in the absence of my own Mother.
The sharp pain caused by Mom's death is now a dull ache. If I think about Mom for too long I get teary. Yes, a fifty-five-year-old man can still cry about his mother. I was robbed of a relationship -- the only pure relationship I ever had before I met Karen -- and the hole that's been left by her departure never goes away. I try to reason that Mom's been in a better place for two decades, that she's no longer in pain, etc. But I'm selfish in this regard: I miss our Mom.
Two decades. It seems like only yesterday that she was here. I know I'll see her again someday, but that won't be until I die, and who knows how long that will take?
Life can be cruel. Life can be unintentionally cruel as well. But it can also be mysteriously magical.
Life allowed me to see our Mother alive for the last time on my favorite day of the year, which also happened to be Mother's Day.
What a fitting way to close that chapter on my life....
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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