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.