When I was a very small kid my favorite person in the world was my Mom. She always had time for a hug. If my face was dirty she licked a kleenex and wiped my face; she brushed my clothes off; she told me everything I was supposed to do. She wrangled me and my four siblings like a pro.
I could always have Mom’s attention if I asked for it. But she was busy doing things to look after the family, doing household chores, so I learned about what being hard at work means from her. Mom didn’t have a lot to give us as kids, but she gave us everything she could, especially her watchful care and attention.
Mom lived a full life and now that life finally caught up with her and she has been gone for six months, I still don’t know how to say goodbye. I’m sorry that things got so hard in the last year she was alive. That invisible cancer shut her body down pretty quickly. I know she hurt a lot in the last few weeks. I can’t imagine the aches and pains Mom covered with a brave face as she struggled along with her cane.
I'm glad that in October 2016, when Mom had less than two months left, we were able to go and play some music for Mom and Dad at Palermo Village.
I feel the loss the most when I think of how much Mom loved to see what Olivia, Ian, and Elinor were accomplishing. Mom's approval and happiness was always the sweetest part of having her around. So it was a sad time when Ian graduated from Mohawk College and Mom wasn’t there. She didn’t hear the beautiful music Ian invented and performed, but she was all around us in the moment just the same. She was in every note he played, and she still is. I was sad in the same way when Elinor won her wrestling gold medal at OFSSA and Mom wasn’t there to hear about it. And then Elinor graduated from high school and she wasn’t there to see how beautiful and happy that day was for us all. But she was all around us just the same.
I feel the loss when I think about how much Dad misses not having all of these Moments to share with Mom too.
Now that Mom’s ashes are buried in Oakville, we can go and visit the spot and it will help us remember. A couple of weeks ago when we gathered as a family and put Mom’s ashes in the ground, there was a certain numbness. Not yet. Mom is still with us in so many ways. We feel her presence in our thoughts and in our hopes and dreams. So I need to say it and try to explain it. Mom is and always will be the beauty in the sound of every chirping bird and setting sun, and when those are gone, I’ll continue to see her in each friendly smile and good deed I see.
Mom will always be the woman who in a Moment of joy sings a happy tune and turns to one of her children and encourages them to sing along. A popsicle, a cookie, a swim somewhere – anywhere – a vacation to a faraway place as a whole family! Those special treats and family times meant so much extra work for her, but they were the very very best she could give us, and we are a well-glued family because of it.
She was the constant companion to her husband and five children who couldn’t possibly be luckier to have her. She was able to enjoy the accomplishments of her many grandchildren in hundreds of ways. They were an incredible source of joy to her! She will be missed very much when the great-grandchildren begin to arrive. She would be smack-down proud. I feel sad thinking about how Mom will not be able to see them. But her love is all around them, forever.
Mom is a kitchen, morning, noon and especially late at night. She is there when you wake with pancakes, or cereal, toast and a muffin with jam, and plans for the day. She is the call on the garage intercom reminding you to come in for the snack you didn’t know you needed. She is homemade raisin and sugar cookies. She is a cup of tea with friends.
Mom is the friendly face who visits in the hospital, and welcomed the stranger to our holiday table.
Mom will always be the breath of hope and constant, quiet approval. I will always find her on family camping trips through the mountains and prairies with picnic stops along the way. She’ll be there getting out the sandwiches and cold drinks served in that funny cooler with the squishy ball on top. She’ll say, “These darn flies” as she bats and shoos them away from our food.
She’ll be at the kitchen centre, that big white box with the detachable legs, which when removed from the tongue of the tent trailer and set up in its efficient glory would become a countertop with all the space and accoutrements of home. From there she will cook the bacon and eggs on the Coleman stove, grill the pancakes, make the toast, and heat the water for the dishwashing. She’ll stop only for a few moments to relax. She might take up a magazine for a moment, but mostly she’ll just be keeping an eye out for what everyone is doing, and then shoo us away to "go and play" so we wouldn't be in her way while she tidied up.
But most of all, Mom is Mom and there will never be another like her. As much as many things remind me of her, there is nothing that compares, not fully, so I’ll keep looking to find her because without her the Christmas lights aren’t bright enough, the sun isn’t warm enough and no amount of personal friendship is quite as meaningful without her approving smile upon it.
Oh, you constant sunshine, you mirror of what is right in the world, you quiet source of contentment and service, my wonderful and devoted mother, I hope you know how very much we love you and how painful it is to miss having you around.
