Mothers & Others

It's 12:02 A.M., officially Mother's Day.

Here's my praise for the Mothers & Others in my life [see, if I were Marcia Brady, I'd be thanking both her Mom and Alice, the housekeeper]. At the end of each section, a grace note: What I would put on the florist's card if I were sending a bouquet today--and I truly wish I were.

Mom
It's been a while now--29 years this May 20. I'm crying as I write this; the screen looks blurry. But then you already know that, right? Don't people in Heaven see and know everything we mere mortals do?

I can't lie, it's been hard without you. It seemed toughest at the big moments, like getting engaged, getting married and having a baby. Also, getting a dream job, losing a dream job and learning to hug the crazy curving road of life. Being tough enough to stand up to it all without you. I've asked you, on that special phone line from Earth to Heaven: "What do you think? What should I do? What would you do?"

But then there are times when I just start crying in the middle of something, like when I hear a song at church or see Figgy walk into her middle school graduation in a beautiful yellow dress. I just wish so much that you could see her. But of course, you have, all these 14 1/2 years. Not only is she named after you, but she really reminds me of what you must have been like as a young woman. Fun-loving, bubbly, witty, funny, smart. Blessed with joie de vivre and good friends. [In fact, I've even been in touch recently with your close school friend, Alice M.--she pretty much confirmed that you were like that as a girl.]

You or Granny once told me that the only complaint teachers had was that you looked out the window and daydreamed too much. Figgy does that, too--she admits that in algebra, she daydreams and doodles almost the whole time.

Anyway, I really don't know what else to say. Daddy is hanging in there. You would be proud of Sis--a calm, cool and collected scientist and very nice person. We are very close, and I'm so grateful for that. Will is a good man. Sadly, I can't tell you much about J. because none of us see him. I wish you could help us out there; you two were always close. I feel that if you were still here, he would be too.

Guess you and I would have to sit down for a really long time--maybe 1,000 cups of tea. [Wait, I like hot tea but you drank morning coffee, and Starbucks wasn't around before you died in 1981--so what would be your drink of choice for long chats?] I'd love to catch up on all the major and minor moments in my life that you missed--and because my mother was not there to witness them, they were inherently changed.

I've also felt really sad thinking about the pain you endured, dying of cancer--you were so stoic, so Irish, so strong. I wish we had cried together. I wish Daddy had been more accepting of your losing battle. He seemed so in denial of your death that it must have been extremely hard for you to go.

Grace note: Dear Mom, I still miss you and wish I could talk to you. And now that I'm older, I regret that I didn't have the chance to buy you nice Mother's Day gifts. Happy Mother's Day. Love always, Alice

Mrs. C.
Meet the mother of Moey, my best friend since we were young girls. [We were even in the same kindergarten class but don't remember each other--only our classmates, the play areas, and the teacher.] Mrs. C. has been there for me in more ways than I could ever count. When we were little, she took us out to the Patio in Dumont for sundaes. She went with us on weekend Girl Scout camping trips. She modeled how to be a compassionate person, someone who cared. She talked to her father every day and was with him the day he died, at age 100.

Mrs. C. [Muriel is her proper name] was 15 or more years younger than my mom, and she also taught me all about looking good. She had slingback shoes and rings from the Florence Shop. She was the kind of hip mom who bought Moey CoverGirl eye shadow palettes and Landlubber jeans. She had jeans herself! She got her hair done regularly, and later moved on to manicures and pedicures. Like my own mother, she always had lots of friends, including many from her girlhood days.

She had a peach kitchen, because that was her favorite color. She taught me tiny and giant life lessons, like choose a cleaning product that smells good, so you don't mind cleaning as much, and remember, don't sleep with a man unless you will be able to look in the mirror in the morning and feel good about yourself. She also taught us something I have repeated to Figgy: "Boyfriends come and boyfriends go, but your friends are there forever."

After my mom died, Mrs. C. drove me back to college. She put in a good word for me and helped me get a job one summer in my field. She invited me down to the shore with her family on vacation. She talked to me on the phone when I needed a sympathetic ear. She took a day off from work to attend my college graduation. She came to my house on the morning of my wedding, when I first had my white lace dress on. She came to the hospital in NYC [with Mr. C., Moey and Dad] to meet our newborn Figgy. Then she came over and spent the night, bringing baked ziti, Breyer's neopolitan ice cream and bananas. She slept downstairs on our pullout couch, and when I had to get up for a nighttime feeding, she sat up talking to me.

Grace note: Dear Mrs. C., Happy Mother's Day to someone I have always cherished. Thank you for modeling a good and stylish life and for being so generous and kind. Love always, Ali

Hattie Ashmore
Hattie had dark skin and an aqua pantsuit. She rolled her cart of mops, brooms and cleaning sprays into the The Daily Targum offices every evening. I'd often be there working at a manual typewriter. Hattie was my friend. She was from the South, one of the Carolinas. She had a tough life, but she was positive and happy. She called me Allison--I corrected her in the beginning, but then just left it alone. To Hattie, I was Allison. And I still have a red felt stocking that she made me, with Allison spelled out in green glitter, to prove it.

Hattie and I talked about life. She hoped her daughter could get out of the projects, where Hattie and her husband still lived. She wanted better for her grandkids. She talked to me about J., my college boyfriend. About love, marriage and growing up on a farm. My mother had died at the end of sophomore year, and Hattie was an angel who stepped in to fill the gap.

Once, she invited me and my boyfriend J. to come for dinner. We took the campus bus to downtown New Brunswick and turned right, walking toward the tall brick buildings. She made a wonderful poundcake and served it with Cool Whip and strawberries.

When she opened the freezer, she showed me the boxes of butter that she had gotten with food stamps. Butter was the key ingredient in that classic cake.

Grace note: Dear Hattie, Thanks for being there when I lost my mother as a college sophomore. Thanks for listening and being kind. You made a big campus feel much more like home. I'm sorry we lost touch, and I hope life was good to you. Love, Allison

My Sister and My Friends
Yes, they've had to step in and fill the gap too. Sometimes I feel sorry for them because I know I've put so much on their doorsteps--like a baby in a basket who just shows up and needs a home. I can't thank Sis* and Moey* enough [also Anne]. They know why.

*Sis and Moey actually have far more elegant names--MaryAnne and Maureen--but I love using their nicknames, like a little sister would. They'd think something was wrong if I left a phone message or started an email with "Hi, MaryAnne" or "Hi, Maureen." They might think an impostor took over my body.

Grace note: Dear Sis/Moey/Anne, Thank you so much for making my world sweeter. I love you. Happy Mother's Day. Love, Alice