…it’s beginning to look a lot like fall. But it still feels like summer. I am starting to see splashes of color on the trees and a few leaves scattered here and there in the grass and driveway. When I look outside, I see the branches of the trees being pushed and pulled and twisted around by the wind. If I close my eyes, I can picture myself walking down the old dirt road where we lived when I was a teen in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. I pull the sweater a little tighter, trying to shield myself from the chilly fall air. I would deliberately walk on the crunchiest leaves I could find. At the end of the road, I would turn around and walk briskly back to the old stone house. When I open my eyes I find I am looking at the thermometer on the patio. It’s nearly 80 degrees. “Oh, well,” I sigh. Time to start running my errands. I slip into my flip flops, grab my purse and head out the door.
My mom passed away in October, 2010 and I have been thinking of her all day. We used to send her a card every year and flowers or some other little gift. But the best part of Mother’s Day and every Sunday was chatting on the phone. We could talk for over an hour–sometimes we pushed 2 hours on the phone. We lived over a thousand miles apart and only saw each other once or twice a year.
We chatted about everything and anything. We might talk about any upcoming trips that Bob and I were planning, our kids and the shock we both felt that her grand kids were inching up on 30, my siblings and their kids, my dad, her health, my dad’s health, gardening, or the current class I was working on in school. Or maybe she told me about her latest volunteer project or that she was able to adopt out a rescued cat or dog from the no kill animal shelter that she founded.
She would chat about when she was a child and growing up in the Connecticut/New York area and how much she loved it there and how much she missed it. We would reminisce about our family and all the crazy stuff our family did, the trips we took and the fun we had. There were eight of us kids, six boys and two girls. Between the eight of us, there were 20 grandchildren, so my mom always had news about someone’s kids.
The topics we talked about didn’t matter–it just mattered that we chatted every week.
I miss our weekly chats, and although she’s been gone since 2010, just the other day I was wishing I could pick up the phone and tell her all about a sundress I just finished making for my little granddaughter. I knew she would love it. My mom loved to sew and she would have loved to make dresses for her little great-granddaughter.
I am so grateful for all the wonderful conversations I had with my mom. All the Sunday evening chats. I will cherish the memories forever.
Happy Mother’s Day!