A year ago tomorrow Mom and I went out to brunch at Portage Bay cafe to celebrate Mother's Day. I was about to burst (with a Gareth still in my belly) and we enjoyed our most-wonderful french toast and trip to the toppings bar. It was something I imagined we would make a tradition for years to come. I remember how we laughed at the couple sitting next to us who didn't talk to each other the entire time (an older couple - he was reading, I believe). They didn't talk until their food arrived at which point the woman noticed how cold her husband's (?) oatmeal was. She insisted he send it back for a new bowl. He could have cared less - (in fact, I think he continued reading), but she summoned the waitress to get it returned for a hotter bowl of oatmeal. Mom and I then had fun watching the servers expedite the food from under the warming lights and we realized how inefficient they were and hoped our food wouldn't arrive cold as well. But, we still loved that place. It had become our family's go-to. Dad and Mom would go together, we'd all go, we went when friends/family were in town, we went for special occasions. Just one of many things we did. Just one of the many things that now seems impossible to do again without Mom.
Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Although I am a mother, my boys aren't at the age where days like this really mean much, and I don't expect them to. I've been trying to avoid the incessant attempts by retailers and advertisers to remind me to 'find the perfect gift for Mom so that she knows how much you love her'. In the past they might have piqued my interest - in particular, if it meant arranging a mother-daughter spa day, but now those messages feel like a punch in the gut. Instead, when my inbox started to be inundated with those ads, I used the opportunity to clean-house and unsubscribe from a slew of e-mail lists (as though I subscribed in the first place).
But I wonder what we would have done together tomorrow. Even when we learned that Mom had cancer, my mind raced ahead 2 - 3- 4 months and I thought about those special days and what we could do to celebrate, even if it would be the last time. Dad's birthday - Yuri's birthday - Mother's Day - Gareth's birthday - Mom's birthday. But, it all ended with Dad's birthday. I remember when one of the doctors had nearly guaranteed Mom that she'd be back out in her garden to get it looking good for the summer - and how mom just looked so relieved to know she'd have that chance again. Digging in the soil was therapy for her; it would have felt so healing for her to sink her hands in the dirt and get lost in the mechanics of digging and transplanting and weeding and imagining...
So tomorrow Dad and I will do our part to honor Mom by filling her planters with annuals - something both of us have been wanting to do, but neither of us strong enough to do alone. Today I picked up red geraniums - a staple of my parent's summer landscape for as long as I can remember.
I could write so much more. It's not for lack of thoughts or emotions about Mom that I haven't been writing more frequently, but quite the opposite. It has been hard to organize my thoughts and emotions these last weeks. Riding the wave, I guess.
