Thursday, April 18, 2013

Mother's Day is 3 Weeks Away

Subject lines in my email inbox right now:

Shower Your Love for Mother's Day
Save big! Just in time for Mother's Day!
Celebrate Mom. Enjoy 10% off gifts.
Mother's Day Gift only $25!
 
Mass marketing isn't very sensitive. Of course businesses want to cash in on a gift-giving holiday. But seeing the proper noun Mom, even in a bulk-email from strangers, makes me flinch.

I'm not shopping for monogrammed pendants or photo books or personalized stationery. I'm holding on by a thread, wondering if Mom will live for three more weeks.




I remember last Mother's Day, when she had been in the nursing home for only seven months.

 
 


Two years ago, we celebrated with my Grandma in Seattle.



Mother's Day 2009, Mom and I went on a springtime outing.

 


I even blogged about our 2008 family get together over Mother's Day weekend.



So much has changed in five years.

What hasn't changed is that every Mother's Day will be a celebration in my life. I am privileged to be the daughter of an incredibly special woman who loves flower gardens and spring buds and the color purple. No 10% discount can touch that.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Waves

Sometimes grief is beautiful. After my counseling session last week, the process felt holy. I'd spent an hour talking about how much Mom means to me and how much I value our relationship. Afterward, I stood a bit taller, confident in how blessed I am and overwhelmed with gratitude. My heart felt crushed, but it was crushed by love.

Loss is such a sickly sweet sensation: something cherished is disappearing. But that makes the value increase. Exponentially.

The sad, empty, pit-of-the-stomach grief comes in waves: unpredictable and irregular instead of synchronized. They're not gentle waves, lapping methodically against sand. They're sea-swells, with undertow.

When I was 10 years old or so, I heard from a family friend that our local dentist had taken a vacation and broke his nose while learning to surf. The idea was absurd. Picturing my dentist (a tall, soft spoken gentleman) on a surf board was a total mismatch in my imagination. I couldn't picture swim trunks on someone I had only ever seen in a lab coat. It was hard to visualize a broken nose on a face covered by a surgical mask (when he smiled, his eyes squinted merrily below bushy eyebrows). What a powerful wave it took to level him. What a sandy, salty, somersault that must have been.

Heartache sneaks up on me in the same way. One moment I'm basking in the sun and sea spray; the next I'm spitting seaweed and blood.