I link my arm in hers as we walk, just soaking in the simple things. The sound of her voice. The warmth of her body next to me. Her pearl necklace that she never takes off. Her personality that’s both calm and vibrant at the same time.
Joy—the word that is her scent and her substance. The way she smiles at everyone she sees.
Her best smiles are for me—pride and love visible in her eyes. No one else looks at me like that. No one ever will.
It doesn’t matter where we’re going.
Maybe the beach—a place we both love. She’s always been convinced the ocean has healing powers; and I’m convinced she’s right.
Maybe we’re going shopping. No one has better taste; or a better eye for a bargain.
Or maybe we’re going out to lunch. Just us.
Lunch is all about sharing—and not just the food.
We share laughs. And we have the same one— hopelessly hysterical,soundless and breathless with tears pouring down our cheeks.
We share intimacies and news—she never gets tired of hearing about my latest accomplishments or frustrations; seeing the latest pictures of my kids.
And it wouldn’t be complete without sharing the most important stuff— she loves chocolate almost as much as I do. And she always says there’s nothing in life that can’t be cured by an ice cream soda.
So maybe we’ll share one. Who are we kidding? We’ll each have our own.
It’s all perfect.
….a perfect fantasy.
Because really, there are no lunches. No walks arm in arm. No laughs. No shopping trips. No chocolate.
None of those little things. And none of the big things either.
No graduations. No weddings. No births. No birthdays.
There’s nothing at all.
Yet I still have the fantasy; 42 years after she died, I miss her when I see mothers and daughters together. Any time. Anywhere.
Especially today.
I think about that Mastercard commercial.
Birthday card: $4
Lunch (including dessert): $45
Box of chocolate: $30
Being here to celebrate : Priceless
If only I could give her what she would have wanted most.
All I have is my fantasy.
So as I write this and you read this — for my mother’s birthday, I hope you’ll do something nice for your mom.
Just because you can.
Also posted on the Huffington Post
I cannot believe it is your Mom’s birthday again. Although my beautiful wife, my angel of a VIRGO, just celebrated her birthday this past Sunday as well and I should have remembered the connection with your Mom. I cannot tell you how special your writing is (more special than usual) when you talk about your Mom. Her beauty, warmth, and overall goodness come through with such poignancy. Happy Birthday Mom.
I can see you in your mother’s face, Darryle. I had my mom a lot longer than you had yours, and we were able to share many of those special moments together, and I did get to see her pride in the wonderful child I produced. But she has been gone for many years now, and I miss her greatly. Happy Birthday to your mom on her day!
Love you, Darryle.
Thanks so much, Ron, I’m very touched by your words. Not aware that I might sound different (or special) writing about my mom; she truly was a special person who deserves very special words, and honestly I never feel my words can do her justice in expressing who she was. Happy birthday to your wife!
I was always told how much I looked like my dad when I always wished I looked like my mom—so I’m glad to think you see some resemblance. Thanks for the sweet words—I think our relationship with our moms are so special that it’s not surprising how people responded to this post, or whenever I write about my own mom—no matter how long they are gone, we miss them because no one else can ever take their place.
You more than most people would understand why I write about my mother, and why I want to keep her memory alive, if only on this blog, so she isn’t forgotten, even by people who never knew her. For those who knew her like you, it’s even more meaningful. Thank you for thinking of me today–I love you, too.
knowing as my sons birthday approaches and having not spoken with him in ten years, you remind me of the emptiness, and the love we have in my heart that will never subside. I never knew your mother but once I knew her grandson.