Chiricahua National Monument
I finished rinsing off the last piece of silverware, hand-drying it with a dish-towel and putting it away in the drawer. It's Mother's Day. The day husbands and children are typically expected to attend to these duties along with any other "mother duties" so as to give mom a break from the never-ending tasks of caring for and raising a family.
"I hate Mother's Day..." I've muttered this under my breath a few times throughout my nearly forty years of mothering. The unrealistic social expectations, the ramped up feelings of inadequacy and even envy all brought to the fore because of a particular day marked on the calendar.
As a child I'd ask my mother "What do you want for Mother's Day?" "I don't want anything honey....just be good, that is all the gift I need". I was annoyed. No one talked about "love languages" back in the day, but if they had, gift giving would not have been hers. Recently, I googled how Mother's Day first became a thing. This is what I pulled up.
Anna Jarvis originated Mother's Day when, on May 12, 1907, she held a memorial service at her late mother's church in Grafton, West Virginia. Her mother had organized women's groups to promote friendship and health.
Hmmmm....so perhaps it wasn't started by gift-card and flower companies after all.
Dave and I attended church services today. When we woke up this morning he smiled at me and said, "You can stay home if you want to you know.....It's your day. You can go back to sleep and take the day off of church." I'm a churchy sort of gal though. I threw the blankets off and hustled to get ready. It was a beautiful service, full of children speaking and singing at the pulpit about their mothers. I did fine until a small handful of adults sang a medley of children's songs written several decades ago. Songs I sang as a child to my mother. Hot tears stung my eyes. And my heart just ached all over again, like it was just yesterday that she passed. Dave wrapped his arm around my shoulders a little tighter. He knows. Every now and then the missing/longing just strikes out of the clear blue. It's still intense, but it doesn't last for hours, even days anymore.
As a child, I could never understand why, when my grandmother would talk about her "dear mother", she would get so weepy. To me, my grandmother was old herself. How could she still miss her so much, when she had died so long ago when my grandma was quite young. I wish I could wrap my arms around her now, and tell her I understand.
For months after Mama passed, the physical grief would become so intense that I once typed in the google search bar, "why does it feel like I'm missing a part of my body after the death of a parent". Google isn't a therapist. Google just offered a rabbit-hole of articles on grief. It actually helped a bit. But truly the thing that helps most is time. Of course initially it's also the least helpful. There is no way to rush it. You just move through each day feeling as though a limb, or even a large piece of your brain or heart is missing.
The photo Daddy took through the nursery window and sent to family
Last week Dave and I traveled to my birth-place of Bisbee, Arizona. It's becoming sort of our tradition to go there in the Spring. A nice time to break away from the cold of Utah before the real heat of Arizona sets in. Bisbee is an old mining town. A ghost town of sorts. I think it's beautiful. We stayed a night at the Copper Queen Hotel, near the Copper Queen hospital where I was born. Rumors have swirled throughout the years of ghosts roaming the hotel. Yes, the floors creaked, but only as we were walking through the hallway to get to our room. The old wood-cased window didn't shut tightly and we could feel a slight breeze through the night. I didn't see or feel any ghosts, but I did feel the spirit of my parents. We turned out the lamp on the night-stand, and I closed my eyes. August 7th, 1965. I could feel their anticipation as they made the long drive in the wee morning hours from Chiricahua into Bisbee while my mother's labor pains intensified. Their name for me picked out from a "scandalous" show at the time, "Peyton Place". My middle name "Kay" the same as my mother's middle name.
I love Mama's handwriting on the back of the photo
We spent the next day in Chiricahua, hiking trails, and driving up to the "Islands in the Sky", in time to watch a glorious sunset. I imagined my mother thinking how lucky she was to be able to raise her babies surrounded by such incredible beauty. Being a mother was all she ever wanted.
A cool wind was picking up, but It was still quiet. Peaceful.
I thought because the girls and their families were spending the afternoon at their own homes basking in their own motherhood and families, and with no littles or babies to lure the boys here to the cabin today, Dave and I would be eating dinner alone. But to our pleasant surprise, the three youngest showed up. After a tight hug for each of them, I enlisted them in helping me prep dinner. They were hungry and motivated to get to work. Once everyone had their fill, I asked Dave to turn on "Nacho Libre' ". An all time fave of all ours. He started to help tidy up the table and kitchen. "No....please just go watch the movie with the boys. I'll do this." He doesn't like when I do this, but he knows I'll get what I'm asking for, so relented and went and sat down with the boys.
This is my love language. Cooking for my people. Doing the dishes and clean-up for me is a time of solitude and reflection. We have a dishwasher, but unless it's a large crowd of us, I rarely use it. I love to feel the warm sudsy water run over my hands, while I listen to the chatter and laughter coming from the other room. Their bellies are content. My heart is full. Even that space in my heart that feels so very empty sometimes.
My mind drifts back to my own mother standing at the sink on Sundays doing dishes. I'd help her for a little bit and then beg off to go lie down on the living room floor with the cartoons section of the newspaper. She'd smile at me, "Of course honey....I'll finish these up."
JILL KAY WOLLEY AYERS
Happy Mother's Day Mama.
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