A Vacation Without Leaving Home
Serious one, if I can beg your indulgence:
On last Thursday, I woke up to the somewhat happy thought that it was my birthday. Birthday number 42, to be exact. (Yes, Missie, I'm really THAT old.) We don't normally make a big deal about it, dinner and a movie maybe but no huge cake and candles. I can expect a few calls and a few cards, some with a monetary gift tucked inside, and that's fine by me. I didn't expect this year to be any different.
But it was. As I was getting ready for work, it occurred to me that I wouldn't get the one phone call I'd gotten ever since I moved out on my own. This year I wouldn't hear my mother's voice singing a gloriously hokey hick version of "Happy Birthday." This is the first birthday I've had since her death, and I had no idea it was going to hit me so hard.
When I got to work (Hallmark rep at WalMart, if you remember) I was already upset. And became worse because the task ahead of me that day was longer than usual, a re-set. That means I have to take whole sections of cards out to put new ones up. One of the new sections was called a "preview," which is a smattering of cards showcasing a season to come. In this case- yes, you've probably guessed it- Mother's Day.
I worked for nearly six hours putting in the new displays, and spent two of those thinking of the birthday calls I'd never again receive as I put up poufy lacy Mother's Day cards. See, my mom was a card freak. She was one of those people who would just read cards in the store because she liked to, and she might pick up cards months in advance of anyone's holidays, birthdays, anniversaries or graduations. She and I often had contests over who could send the sappiest card- our requirement was that the card that made you cry right there in the store was the one you bought and sent.
No one else sends me those kinds of cards, and I'm not sure I want anyone else to. It was one more of those 'me and mom' things that I won't have again. My husband came to pick me up, and found me sobbing in the WalMart McDonald's. There's nothing more lowering than having strangers stare at you in the tiny fast food franchise of a discount store as you hiccup and sniff and thoroughly baptize your cherry pie.
The reason I'm sharing this with all of you is one, I need to get it out and this seems to be my vehicle for doing so, and two, emotionally speaking right now I'm a limp dishrag. I've finished revising the chapters of my story that are to be sent to the editor; I just need a synopsis and this puppy's gone. That's really about all I can handle right now, so I'm going to take a short blog vacation. We'll be back on Wednesday, April 19, with a new cover snark (Johanna Lindsey; you don't want to miss this!) and a co-review of Nora Roberts. Thanks everyone, and see you then.
On last Thursday, I woke up to the somewhat happy thought that it was my birthday. Birthday number 42, to be exact. (Yes, Missie, I'm really THAT old.) We don't normally make a big deal about it, dinner and a movie maybe but no huge cake and candles. I can expect a few calls and a few cards, some with a monetary gift tucked inside, and that's fine by me. I didn't expect this year to be any different.
But it was. As I was getting ready for work, it occurred to me that I wouldn't get the one phone call I'd gotten ever since I moved out on my own. This year I wouldn't hear my mother's voice singing a gloriously hokey hick version of "Happy Birthday." This is the first birthday I've had since her death, and I had no idea it was going to hit me so hard.
When I got to work (Hallmark rep at WalMart, if you remember) I was already upset. And became worse because the task ahead of me that day was longer than usual, a re-set. That means I have to take whole sections of cards out to put new ones up. One of the new sections was called a "preview," which is a smattering of cards showcasing a season to come. In this case- yes, you've probably guessed it- Mother's Day.
I worked for nearly six hours putting in the new displays, and spent two of those thinking of the birthday calls I'd never again receive as I put up poufy lacy Mother's Day cards. See, my mom was a card freak. She was one of those people who would just read cards in the store because she liked to, and she might pick up cards months in advance of anyone's holidays, birthdays, anniversaries or graduations. She and I often had contests over who could send the sappiest card- our requirement was that the card that made you cry right there in the store was the one you bought and sent.
No one else sends me those kinds of cards, and I'm not sure I want anyone else to. It was one more of those 'me and mom' things that I won't have again. My husband came to pick me up, and found me sobbing in the WalMart McDonald's. There's nothing more lowering than having strangers stare at you in the tiny fast food franchise of a discount store as you hiccup and sniff and thoroughly baptize your cherry pie.
The reason I'm sharing this with all of you is one, I need to get it out and this seems to be my vehicle for doing so, and two, emotionally speaking right now I'm a limp dishrag. I've finished revising the chapters of my story that are to be sent to the editor; I just need a synopsis and this puppy's gone. That's really about all I can handle right now, so I'm going to take a short blog vacation. We'll be back on Wednesday, April 19, with a new cover snark (Johanna Lindsey; you don't want to miss this!) and a co-review of Nora Roberts. Thanks everyone, and see you then.
posted by Robyn | 7:07 AM
5 Comments:
Robyn--hugs! You never know when things will hit you. But there will also come a time, out of the blue, when you swear your mom had a hand in something. My mil passed away two years ago, and there have been some random things that happened where I KNOW for a fact, she was watching over us. And I truly believe that my daughter was a gift from her. She's a little spitfire, tiny and full of love, just like her Grammy.
I know, Robyn.
My daughter reads your blog quite often and she told me today, "Mom, you need to go read this and let her know you understand how she feels." So I've read it and, honey, do I understand. It'll be 17 years since I lost my Mom the week before Mother's Day back in 1989 but the memories of that day are as clear now as they were then. And yes, time DOES heal wounds but that doesn't mean they completely go away. There are still moments that are so bittersweet. My first grandchild, a boy, was born March 14th of this year. On March 22nd, a week later, my Dad passed away. Talk about the full spectrum of emotional highs to emotional lows! But Robyn, as I held that sweet darling baby in my arms a couple of days after Dad died, I looked down into that precious face and who did I see as he crinkled his brow but the face of my Mom. And he has my Dad's chin...or lack of chin, lol! Ah, Life is really something, isn't it? I've "baptized" a few things in the weirdest places too...one thing we never have to do is explain away our actions to strangers. Grief comes at the strangest moments and you just learn to go with the flow. I bought a little gift for my best friend Lizzee -- we always give each other little things whenever we get together -- and I thought, "When she and I meet one day this week, I need to stop and see Dad." Ouch...it dawned on me Dad's no longer at his care center...no reason to stop in there anymore. Well, we get thru those moments, too. Hugs to you, sweetie. It'll get easier, I promise.
Thank you so much.
I'm sorry Robyn...I can only pass on what Someone much wiser than me said,
"Blessed are those that mourn, for they will be comforted." - Matthew 5:4
and,
"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." - John 14:27
I'll be praying for you!
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