“Good morning, Sunshine,” my mother would say with enthusiasm every time I called her. Now I don’t hear those words anymore and I would love to hear her voice one more time.
It’s been three years since Mom passed away and I want to share a lot of things with her. I want to tell her about my upcoming speaking engagement in Honolulu, Hawaii this week. I want to tell her about my dog, Oliver, and how sad I am that he’s been diagnosed with congestive heart failure (the same thing she died from).
I want to tell her that I’m in menopause and I have hot flashes a lot. I’m having one right now. I want to ask her why I’m having symptoms and she never did. I think of her when I look at my legs. I have her legs – varicose veins and all. I also have her round stomach. She gave birth to five children but unfortunately, I don’t have an excuse.
I long to taste her fried pork chops and rice with tomato gravy. I would give anything to sit at her dining room table and taste some of her freshly-percolated coffee, frying pan toast with strawberry preserves, and instant grits with lots of butter. Nothing made her happier than to cook for her children and see the smile on our faces when we would eat her lovingly-prepared meals.
“Is it good?” she’d ask. Even though she knew the answer, she enjoyed hearing us rave about how delicious everything tasted. I want to tell her that I’m making French toast for my husband, Brian, and his parents for Mother’s Day. I want to tell her how I plan to prepare it and how I’d love for her to taste it.
Just the other day I heard one of her favorite big-band songs on the television. I don’t know the title but I know she was in the room with me at that moment. She lets me know she’s present — when I hear certain songs, smell certain scents, or look out my bedroom window at the sunrise each morning.
I want to tell her that I’m doing well, working hard, and becoming a better writer. She would be so proud to know that my second book was published last November and would tell all her friends about it. I can hear her saying, “Honey, remember to keep a few copies in the trunk of your car, just in case someone wants to buy one.”
I miss taking her shopping and buying her nice things like her favorite Estée Lauder perfume. I want to take her to get her hair done. She desperately wanted her hair to look good regardless of how sick she felt. I remember going to Hospice on a Wednesday morning. I had planned to pick her up and take her to the beauty parlor. When I entered her room, she was still asleep. I learned that she had had a stroke the night before. When she woke up, she could barely respond to me when I talked to her. The nurse brought in a cup of soup and I fed her a few bites until she couldn’t eat anymore. This was her last meal. She died three days later.
I’d like to tell Mom what a good mom she was and that I miss her very much. Just one more time, I’d like to hold her tight, kiss and hug her, and wish her a Happy Mother’s Day!