Happy Mothers' Day

Me, Norma Jean (and doll),  and Mama

The only way I can date this picture is by noticing that my sister PJ (born in 1950) is not yet on the scene. So I must be six or seven. That means Mama was in her early twenties, looking very serene in white, with her beautiful auburn hair pulled back. She had long, luxurious hair, although you couldn't tell it much from this shot. Although she had some reddish cast to her hair, she amplified it with henna treatments. I well remember the dark "mud" she put into her hair, working it in well, and then covering her entire head with a warm bath towel. She didn't forget her eyebrows, either: they were also covered with that same mud. They looked fierce and a little scary to me, but when she washed it all away, she was even more beautiful than before.

I really don't know if I believe in reincarnation or life after death, but it sure would be nice to think that someday I might once again find myself in the presence of my mom, who died in 1993. I found this piece that I wrote in my 1985-86 journal:

"Saturday night after the Winter Solstice 12/21/85":

I watched Mama today make fudge and noticed that she "fudged" often on her no-sugar diet. She often waxes eloquent on her lack of a sweet tooth, but I know better. Somehow it doesn't count when you're cooking. But I watched her being happy today, too. We worked hard, her harder than me; she made four loaves of homemade bread (yum!), more cheese balls, and, of course, the fudge.

Tonight I watched her become animated as she talked with Richard about her golfing days. I thought of her damaged heart as she poured in the alcohol and sugar, but somehow it didn't matter in the way it did before. I recognize her loss to me will be great, but as hard as it is to picture this vital loquacious woman gone from the face of the earth, no one can deny that she is enjoying herself today. She lives close to the edge and I admire her immensely -- once I remove my judgment about what she should be doing... Many lessons here for me to learn for myself.

A description: She sits in a chair as though at a bar after 18 holes of golf, relaxed and talkative. Her left hand holds her drink, her right gestures characteristically, almost royally, as she tells her story. A flush creeps into her cheeks and across her nose, giving the illusion of health. Ruddy-bright, eyes sparkling with good humor and wit. Her torso is thick, but somehow she carries it with good grace, and the long slim legs give her the look of a dancer, a chorus girl perhaps. One can imagine her as a young beauty queen. And she is still, to this day, a beauty.

When she is home during the day, unmade-up, no prosthesis covering the mutilation performed a decade and a half ago upon her body, she is even more interesting. Her left shoulder is higher than the right, the scar tissue having drawn tight across the collarbone, and the strange flatness across her chest is somehow protective of that area. Great trauma has visited this body, and the spirit has molded it and made it beautiful, in defiance of the cold merciless surgery that has been perpetrated upon it. She is my mother, and I love her.

Oh, Mama, you still come to me in my dreams now and then. Not as often as you did a few decades ago, but you still appear to me, the same person who gave birth to me and to my siblings. That little girl with the doll will turn 80 this summer, beginning her ninth decade of life. Every once in awhile I will be reminded of the way Mama was and will experience a sharp frisson of grief, even after all these years.

Yesterday I didn't get my usual walk in with Steve, since his daughter (who lives on a nearby island) is in town and they will enjoy the weekend with one another. And today, John will not be coming to pick me up for breakfast, since he is joining another group who are going to breakfast together. I'll miss him; it's hard for me to change my routine, but it happens now and then and makes me realize how lucky I am to have such good friends, who are around most of the time. 

When I look at the weather for today, it seems we will not be getting the expected rain after all. It might show up tomorrow, but for today, we are going to have a dry one, which means I'll be able to get in a good walk, probably down to Squalicum Beach to enjoy that reconstructed pier now open to the public.

If you are fortunate to have your mother still alive, I do hope you will have a chance to communicate with her today. And if she is gone from this world, you still can send her your thoughts and thank her for her part in your journey. I am asking her to come visit me soon. Through dreams and recollections, she is still around and part of me forever. Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you the best of everything. Be well.