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Mother’s Day

May 9, 2010

Today is the day to celebrate moms, so I thought it only fitting that I write to my mom. The last time I wrote something for my mom was in the 70s. I wrote her a poem for Mother’s Day, had it laminated and put on a solid wood plaque. It probably still hangs in her living room. She loves that poem; still talks about it. At the time, I didn’t have a clue how much it meant to her — until, of course, my kids started writing notes to me.

That’s the trouble, isn’t it? We’re so busy growing up, we don’t really see our moms as real people. Real people struggling to get dinner on the table, keep their kids clothed and fed, and try, sometimes against all odds, to keep them safe and happy. It’s not always picture-perfect. Few childhoods are, but when reflecting on the days of my youth, now, as a mom, I know how hard it was for my mom.

My mom ran the house. She made sure that all of us had the exact same number of Christmas gifts under the tree. She brushed my long hair 100 times every night and made us eat meat loaf and brussel sprouts (though I always shoved them off the edge of my plate). And say our prayers.

My mom and my sister dancing up a storm

I remember my mom singing along with Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynne (even though she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket). I remember how she cried the day that Elvis died, and couldn’t stand to listen to Johnny Cash. My mom loved to dance, and garden, and lay out in the sun. She knit scarves, lots of scarves, and broke her big toe playing kick-ball in the back yard. She read books and played lawn darts, and wore blue eye-shadow. She was beautiful. She still is.

After 25 years of motherhood, I can honestly say, it’s so much harder than I ever thought it would be. So thank you Mom, for all that you did. For the good days — and there were plenty. For keeping us healthy. For worrying every time we crossed the road. For buying me those white jeans I wanted when I was 13. And the wedged-heel sandals I just had to have for Grade 9. And yes, even for the corned beef hash and fried bologna (aka Newfie steak). And even though I KNOW you read my diary, Mom, I still love ya!
Happy Mother’s Day Mom.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Linda Spear permalink
    May 9, 2010 4:20 pm

    Beautiful. Wish I could say the same about my mother, except that she DID make sure I ate my veggies….and I still love them. but FRIED BOLOGNA? Geez, that’s food torture!

  2. Anne Kirby permalink
    May 9, 2010 4:48 pm

    Very beautiful, Gwen….

  3. May 11, 2010 9:59 am

    It’s a huge revelation when we realize Mom is a real person.

    And your mom breaking her big toe reminds me of the time my mom – who was the ultimate athlete as a young person – we tried to get Mom up on skis in our lake sometime in her 50s. She was upset that she couldn’t do it, after being best athlete in all her schools. I was fascinated by her disappointment that she had aged and could not be that person again.


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