My Mom, Betty Evans, was a painter before macular degen­er­a­tion and alzheimers’ robbed her of her sight and her ability to trans­late her visions onto canvas. I miss her painting. Some­times I find her moving her hand purpose­fully through the air, imag­i­nary paint­brush in her hand. What, I wonder, is she painting? It would be amazing to know.

Most days what we do is eat together. Today, we’ll do that too. This will be a big day over at the home. It’s one of two or three days a year when everyone floods in to see their moms. Aller­gans run high as everyone totes in flowers.

My family never did a lot about holi­days. Most went by fairly unre­marked. There were presents at Christmas, but a fairly modest amount. Cards for birth­days, and that pretty much took care of it. And so today, I’ll be known as the daughter who doesn’t show up with flowers.

But I’ll show up. Twice. Once to feed her lunch and once to feed her dinner. Or is it dinner and supper? I still can’t remember. And she and I will smile and giggle. I’m incred­ibly lucky. Over at my house, every day is mother’s day. And I’d better take advan­tage. Because pretty soon in the not-​​to-​​distant future, no day will be.

So do some­thing today with your mom(s). Lots of women have moth­ered you through the years. Remember them and do some­thing fun with them. And don’t rule out doing some­thing fun with them at some other point. That’s all they want. Flowers are nice. Time? It’s price­less and limited.

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