Mother’s Day
Mom announced she would be in Palm Springs for the month of May. I hadn’t spent Mother’s Day with her in many years. Since I lived on the West Coast, she in the Midwest, a telephone call and card usually sufficed.
Full disclosure: she welcomed a phone call from me at any time.
But now I’d need to get a gift. I realized I’d also be on hand to witness her reaction, too. Quite frankly, I didn’t know her likes all that well. Nor her dislikes.
Her marriage to my father ended his widower status just before I started kindergarten. It set off confusion in my emotional life, loyalty to the mother who had given me birth versus curiosity about the mother who would raise me. “The mother” sounds detached here, but back then it helped distance me from the loss, for I could not yet see the gain.
Memories began to surface.
While still very young, I started sketching at every opportunity. My new stepmother located a neighborhood art school and persuaded the teacher to accept me even though I was a year younger than the other students. I attended that art school for the next seven years, plus I got my first job there as a part-time assistant. I went on to win awards and eventually moved on to high school level classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Another time, a bout of flu when I was nine kept me home from school nearly a week. Seeing my boredom moved her to give me a book she had cherished as a girl called The Little Colonel. Its sheer heft challenged me, yet I had my first experience of total absorption, meaning, I couldn’t put the book down. Also, it was something personal of hers that she shared with me. Although we did not become instantly closer following this period, the distance between us seemed to lessen for Mom passed onto me her love of education and the arts which became my two lifelong pursuits.
These childhood memories sparked an idea.
I knew Mother liked jewelry. I couldn’t possibly afford good jewelry like the kind she usually wore. However, one of my bracelets gave me pleasure each time I looked at it. The essence of simplicity: colored glass ovals strung together by a gold chain—to me, it was beautiful. I went to the store and purchased one in black and white, colors Mom often wore.
On Mother’s Day after Mass, I nervously presented my carefully wrapped gift to her. I watched her undo the ribbon with mounting trepidation. Would my gift be enough? Would it seem too simple? Would she even like something I liked?
When she opened the box, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Sheila, how beautiful!” she exclaimed. She immediately put it on—a sure sign of sincerity.
“I love you, Mom,” I said and we hugged.
Among the gifts I’ve given it stands out as an enduring success. For, having moved back to the Midwest, I’ve discovered that Mother wears the bracelet constantly. They say it’s the thought that counts. Oh, it’s so much more. It’s letting go and letting in love.
"Mother and daughter" by Carlos Ebert is marked with CC BY 2.0.
