Mothers Day Meandering

Happy Mothers Day to all of you that are Mothers, and everyone else that had a Mother. I never think of my own Motherhood on this day of remembrance. My husband and children celebrate me with a day of honey-dos. I appreciate those chores more than jewelry and gifts. Blessed, that's me.

The most serious piece of advice I will ever give you is this. If your Mother is alive and you have not made peace with her, do it. The sooner, the better. Your relationship with your Mother ends when you die, not when she does. When I next meet Mom, all of my questions will no longer matter.

I had a complex Mother. She was not a women given over to effusive emotional outbursts. By that, I mean I do not remember her kissing or hugging her children spontaneously. The few people left alive that knew her while she raised her children, are hard pressed to tell tales of overt Mother love. I always wanted more from her than I got. I was a square peg, constantly trying to conform to the round hole.

I remember her today for the things she taught me. Independence. A love of reading, music, art, travel and culture. Respect for this country, voting as a right and a privilege. The freedoms we enjoy by virtue of being born here. Commitment to a cause. How to stretch a dollar, clean a house, sew a garment, cook a decent meal. Keeping up with current affairs, the value of a good education. Life long learning. Saying "yes" to new experiences. Savoring friends as family. Enjoying a glass of good wine when you get the chance. Charity to the less fortunate. How to host a party.

I will ignore her examples of forgiveness, judgment, marriage, religion, childcare, finances, honesty and love. I have been mentored in these disciplines by others. Mothers with out the "M".

Today we miss Don's Mother. For the first time in my life, I did not send a card or flowers to a Mother of mine. Helena was a first class mother-in-law. Even if her first impressions of her future daughter-in-law were unsure, she quickly became my friend. To all of the others- those who parent beyond their immediate family, I raise my glass today. I thank you and my own
Mother for making me the woman and mother I am today. Keep working on me, I am not done yet...

A Tribute To Helena

This morning, Helena Mae Wenskay went to her heavenly home to eternal rest and peace. We got the dreaded "middle of the night" phone call a little after 5am. John was there with her and she knew his comfort right to the end. We are so grateful for that. Awakened from deep sleep, we both felt relief and sorrow. She had suffered with the ravages of Parkinson's. She was in daily conversation with God, and was ready to leave this world for many months.

I loved her. She was more of a mother to me over the last 30 years, than my own came close to. The true beauty of our relationship was that she loved me. I always knew it. Never once did I doubt it. She sided with me, over her own son, sometimes. Now there is a tip for endearing yourself to your daughter-in-laws.

She was a wonderful Grandmother to my children. We had the pleasure of 2 week visits to California, sometimes twice a year. Roaming the house in her nightgown for a piece of toast and tea made her a part of our household. The kids had her undivided attention and she reveled in it. She ran every errand, attended every school program and made the mundane chores of motherhood fun for me. I looked forward to cooking for her, she was so appreciative.

We would drop the kids at school, get a cup of coffee and head to the beach to watch the surfers and talk. Some of the best conversations ever held happen while staring through the windshield of a parked car. We would anticipate the surfers return to their cars where they wrap a towel around their waist and change out of their wetsuits. Helena would squeal with delight when the towel would drop and expose the buff surfer. More than once, I would have to move quickly to start the car and retreat, as the naked surfer became aware of his audience.

We laughed and we cried. She was so little and soft spoken. Yet, I learned she had a tenacious way about her. Like a dog with a bone, she held on to get her way. She loved her boys. They were some lucky boys. Helena, I miss you. I'll see you later.