the better part of me

  To not speak of death is to not speak of life.  I do not write of these things in sadness, I write all in gladness for what is, what was, and what will be...

Mother's Day is a bittersweet day for me.  The bitterness stems from missing my Beau, who never let an opportunity pass to show me what being his mom meant to him.  Sometimes it was a card, sometimes artwork, sometimes a bunch of dandelions with a wee bit of violets mixed in.  I have an old coffee can filled with his gifts, dried and fragile- yet I can never dispose of them.  I remember our last trip together, taking the Amtrak from Springfield to Chicago for a day of touring before he entered the Marines.  I can still see him there, gazing out the window at the old farmsteads and silos blurring by, I could almost read those thoughts, though he was quiet- his sighs were long and thoughtful.  I wondered if he knew, I wonder still...how much I'd give to protect him from all harm and love him fully, no matter what.  Those moments are inscribed in my memory, and they are good and worth keeping.  Beau, the boy/man- is in my every thought still- and on Mother's Day I think of him with tears first, I know no other way to get past the dark than to let it all flow away so the light, the memories can surface.
  This is my first year away from Emma, Mathew and Lily.  I'll miss them too...I remember my favorite Mother's Day with all of them.  Breakfast in bed, smeared blackened toast with jelly accompanied by coffee and juice.  I remember how proud they were to serve it, though possibly sending in the smallest waitress as they wondered if I'd mind the burnt offerings.  She was all giggly and sly, looking back towards her accomplices hideaway.  The other three, just outside the door- giggling too, perhaps wondering if I'd kill the joy of the messenger.  I remember smiling, oh the sweetness of that moment lingers still,  miss Lils got a big hug and then they all surfaced from behind the door to join in the wrestling, hugging match.  Lunch was charred pork steaks, glossy black.  Oh my, the memories I keep- laughing at this moment in the remembrance.

I have to add that I am shameless...I called each child, still my babies, always my babies- on Monday to remind them that Sunday is Mother's Day.  "We KNOW!!!" they answered.  I hope they know, I hope I always convey- how wonderful, how good how utterly right it is to be their mom.  I feel like sending them cards- no greater joy have I known that makes up the better part of me, than of being a mom to my children.  To my Beau- I send prayers and on Sunday, as always- rain or shine...a kite will go up, as if I can still hold his hand by guiding the string.

May all your hearts be filled with memories worth keeping, burnt toast and the blessings only a mother can know- and should you miss someone, may the smiles return as the memories shift clear of the heartache and enter into a slideshow through your thoughts of the happiest, most joyful of moments forever etched upon your very soul.


Take care-