A Different Meaning to Mother's Day

"Linnie" with Maelin in October, 2007. Maelin is 6 months old here and my mom is thrilled to be spending some time with us.

Mother's Day is quickly approaching and this year it's hitting me that it's going to be about ME. Maelin and I. Not my mom. In the past, I've always, always, made sure I had gotten my siblings together to order her flowers, take her to dinner, buy a gift, and make sure we did something special for her. I happened to stumble upon a gift we had given her about 10 years ago in her desk: a "Mother's Ring"; it has all four of our birthstones in it. I remember how excited I was to give it to her for Mother's Day as this was one of the holidays we didn't celebrate growing up. It felt so nice to be able to take a day and really make sure she knew how much we loved her, we were proud of her, and we were so grateful to have her in our lives.

Mother's Day doesn't mean that to me anymore now that she's gone. I've been spending the last few days trying to decide what kind of traditions I want to create for Maelin and myself now that it's just us. Some friends have given me great suggestions: from taking her to paint pottery, to planting flowers, to dinner with my sister, to a drive up to the mountains, to visiting my mom at the cemetery. I even tossed around the idea of spending Mother's Day with my Aunt Laura and her girls like we did for Easter. It'd be kind-of like creating my own substitute for a Mom.

But I don't need a Mom-Sub. I have a mom. She's gone now, but I see her in Maelin's smile. I hear her when Maelin asks me for the thousandth time when are we going to Disneyland again? I hear her voice at the store telling me how to pick the perfect watermelon. I feel her when I see pictures or stories of her two cats who are being lovingly looked after in different homes.

I knew she was watching, smiling, and super proud of me when I booked my trip to Rome this summer. I felt her strength when I made the decision that the trip was going to make me a happier, calmer, and less grief-stricken person, therefore making me a better mom for Maelin. I felt her pride last weekend when I was playing the piano for a group of over 100 people: a piece I had only 45 minutes to learn. When I stood up at the end to the applause, I could hear her whispering to me how proud she was of my musical abilities and how glad it made her that she scrimped and saved in order to get me to piano lessons. She drove me to every one. Paid for every one by herself. Called her friends on the phone so I could play for them. Came to every concert. Bought flowers on those nights with little notes telling me how magical my music was and how happy it made her.

I feel her watching us every night when I read to Maelin. Maelin has inherited her love of books and is constantly asking me to "Read just one more, Mommy!" I hear her laughing at me when it's 10:30pm at night and Maelin is still up and awake: a happy little night-owl just like she was. I feel her pride when Maelin turns down an ice-cream in favor for something salty: the child has been known to lick salt right off of her hands. My mom always had salt packets in her purse for a "salt-emergency"...you never knew when you'd be stuck with a popcorn that needed it and you didn't have any.

Most of all: I feel her love for my brother, sisters, and I. Now that I'm a mom, it's so overwhelming to have this little person in my world and I can finally appreciate how my mom must have felt about us. How happy she was at our conferences when we got good grades (which we all did...at least, most of the time.) How worried she must have been when we were late. How she probably stayed up late crying when I slammed the door during an argument. How she wondered and agonized over how she was going to get food on the table for four kids. How fulfilled she must have been to be able to take us all to Disneyland as many times as she did. Her joy at our weddings, and her sorrow when we called her crying when we thought those marriages weren't going to make it after all. Her love for our friends and how she became their "Linnie" as well.

I feel all of that now. That's why Mother's Day has such a different meaning to me now. I'm trying to find a way to honor all of this for my mom while creating new memories and traditions for Maelin. I don't think we'll go to the cemetery this year. That's not what my mom would want. Maelin knows her Nana is "in the ground" and I don't think that's what my new Mother's Day should be about. I think we'll sleep in late. We'll have a fun breakfast. I'll let Maelin pour the pancakes or heat the waffles. We'll go to the flower shop and I'll let Maelin pick some flowers for me and her Nana. We'll take them home and I'll let her get as messy as she wants planting them for us. I'll tell her stories. Maybe we'll take a nap. I'll be sure she knows how much I love her. We'll meet my sister and her kiddos for dinner and Maelin will go to bed as secure in my love for her as I did every single night of my life.

Because that's my new meaning to Mother's Day. Not to be sad or grief-stricken. But to be grateful and happy for everything I had. And still have.

Love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.