They are honored and acknowledged every May on Mother’s Day, but when you think about it, moms are everywhere all the time. Mother Nature. Mother-of-Pearl. Mother, may I? Mother lode. Mother Teresa. Hello Muddah. Mother Goose. Mother Hubbard. Mother Superior. Mother Mary. The Queen Mum. Mommie dearest. Mother Ship. Mother Earth.
The list goes on and on. You could say it’s the mother of all lists.
It’s been several weeks since my sweet momma officially left Mother Earth to be with Father God and two weeks since we said our final goodbyes. Each day is different but each and every day I think about her and miss her.
I look at photos of her. I look at big and little things I have around the house that were hers or that she gave me. And I look at photos of my childhood home in Santa Fe, which she lived in until a move to assisted living was needed as she hit her 90s. Photos of that beloved home are hard to look at. I can hear every drawer open and close. I can feel the carpet under my feet. And I can hear the front door open as she welcomed us home after a long drive. My memories in that home are infinite. I’d give anything to walk into it again but the buyer has remodeled and updated it. It would be fun to see his final product, but at the same time it wouldn’t be the same.
French novelist Marcel Proust’s writes that among many abiding lessons is that “a longing for our childhood home never leaves us. Wherever we live, we carry inside us a vision of the place in which we were, if not in every case happiest, then first conscious of the world beyond us.” I concur Mr. Proust.
Life wasn’t always perfect growing up, but my mom did her best and tried her best. She was there as I walked home for lunch in elementary school, making me a sandwich while ironing or watching “As the World Turns.” She bought us nice clothes for those special occassions like Christmas and Easter. She had class and style and was the envy of many for her beauty. She passed on beauty tips to my two sisters and me and taught me how to make green chile stacked enchiladas.
She was right there by my side as she and my dad drove me to school at the University of Oklahoma and she stood for both her and my dad at my wedding many years later. She was the quintessential “June Cleaver” mom and wife but she was also so dang strong. Yeah she also stood with me and for me, but she stood strong too.
My mom was my husband’s and my last surviving parent so I guess we’re officially orphans. We’re at that age where many friends are also members of that unenviable guild. But, as much as I will miss my mom, she lived a good life, albeit one that consisted of many years without her beloved husband and my dad, who passed away my senior year at college. She was 94 years old but our family will forever think of her as “folley-fo,” as she used to joke about being 44. Ironically, my niece and her granddaughter turned “folley-fo” this year.
Don’t blink.
Thank you mom. Thank you for giving me your Catholic faith and teaching me manners and style. Thank you for your prayers and your patience when I wasn’t making the greatest choices and decisions. Thank you for teaching me that perfume is always a must regardless of income or budget and for letting me have dogs growing up. Thank you for sacrificing for me…from out-of-state tuition to our beautiful wedding in Santa Fe all without dad there and for always being there for me. I’m who and where I am because of you and I am forever grateful.
And finally, thank so many of you. Thank you to the many friends and family members who have reached out, continue to reach out, and have filled my life with love and comfort. I’m still getting cards in the mail daily and I can’t thank y’all enough as each one makes my day and warms my heart. Masses are also being said, for which I’m forever grateful. And the flowers and plants. So many beautiful flowers and plants! Thank you, sweet friends, you know who you are and I will never forget your thoughtfulness. Lastly, thank you to those reading this who attended my mom’s mass and burial. They say it’s times like these that you learn who is truly there for you and I couldn’t agree more. From the bottom of my broken heart, thank you.
One special gift I received is a beautiful original watercolor of a cardinal from my four college buddies. As many believe, cardinals symbolize hope, love, good fortune, spiritual connection, and are often seen as messengers from loved ones who have passed away. Their vibrant red color is associated with vitality and the promise of new beginnings, making them a comforting presence during difficult times.
The symbolism of cardinals is deeply rooted in various cultures and beliefs, the most popular one probably being that when you see one, it’s a visit from a departed loved one. Cardinals also symbolize sincerity, loyalty, and love as they are monogamous birds. Native Americans associate them with good fortune and consider them lucky and believe cardinals are spiritual connectors between the earthbound and the divine. For many tribes, the northern cardinal is more than a bird; it’s a guide. Their red color, vibrant and fiery, is thought to embody vitality, energy, and significant change.
Within Christianity, the cardinal can represent the Blood of Christ, symbolizing renewal, sacrifice, and love and seeing them in of flight can symbolize a blessing from angels. Cardinals can live up to 15 years in the wild and seeing one is ultimately considered a blessing and a reminder to be attentive and grateful.
I’ve always found it interesting and even a bit unfair that much like peacocks and other birds, male cardinals are prettier, or I guess more handsome, then females. Seems to me it should be the opposite but what do I know? Sounds like something my mamma would know.
Beyond Words 