*Disclaimer...I'm not writing this post to make you feel sad or guilty if you don't talk to your mother (even though you should). :) I'm just writing it to help me remember. Hope you enjoy.*
Before she died, my mom told me that I should remember her. At the time I thought "As if you could forget your mother after living with her, fighting with her, laughing with her and crying with her for 22 looooong years. Right, Mom." (I was a sassy thing back then.)
But I'm learning that you can forget. You can forget what you watched on television last night, major world events, and even people. People that you never imagined in 100 years that you could forget are just dismissed from your memory...until you see them on Facebook. Seriously, though, forgetting is not always a bad thing. Your painful memories get slightly less painful. You're able to forgive more easily. You can live your life without quite so much baggage.
But memory is a fickle thing. Often, what you want to remember you can't. For instance, I can recall the name of every Doris Day movie...but not the day of my dentist appointment. I can quote line after line of Gilmore Girls episodes...but only about five Bible verses.
Anyway, I think my mother knew all this about memory, and she wanted me to be sure she was someone I made sure to remember. Again, memory is fickle, but it will allow itself to be courted. Looking at pictures, smelling certain scents, writing--it helps bring it all back. Well, maybe it doesn't all come back, but I'll take what I can get.
So, here's what I remember...
I remember that my mother had beautiful hands--very thin fingers and always long, well-manicured nails. Can you see the ring she's wearing on her middle finger? I can just squeeze it onto my fat pinky. I wish I had inherited her hands.
I remember that she had lots and lots of friends. But when I was growing up, these ladies were probably her two closest friends. They were second mothers to me and very dear to her. And I hate that one of them also only lives in our memories.
I remember that she was beyond excited when my nephew and niece were born. She painted her nails bright red to catch their attention, and she wore soft shirts, so those tiny things would want to cuddle up next to her. Even though she only had a few years of practice, she was a wonderful grandmother.
I remember that she was very different from her mother, and I am very different from mine. But we were all happy about my decision to go to the University of Alabama. Also, despite our differences, I'm thankful for the mother I had and the grandmother I still have. And I wish my thighs still looked like that.
So, Mom, if you're reading, I remember.
And to all you moms out there, Happy Mother's Day on Sunday! You rock!