May 12, 2024 — Mother’s Day
Good morning to you all from one of the twelve Delta Lounges in the Detroit Metropolitan Airport on this day, Mother’s Day. I can smell the rancid perfume wafting up from the Duty Free as we speak. Today, for me and many others around the world I assume, is the longest day of the year. Every minute, every hour of this day, I am reminded that my mom is gone and yours isn’t. But that’s just how it goooooes.
There was a time after she died, a hefty ten-year period, where sometimes the mere thought of my mom overwhelmed me to the point of having to cancel plans, in the event that I could spontaneously break down into deep guttural sobs at any moment. God forbid I let that happen in the middle of watching The Meg with a bunch of white guys or whatever.
The thought of her pops up often now that I’m allowing myself to even think about her. I see her everywhere, I hear her voice in mine, I have short, thick hair like hers, I’ve inadvertently started dressing like her (boxy tanks, breathable shorts, Tevas, red was her color and now it’s mine). I’ve switched to half-caff coffee like she did at some point in her 30s. Because of various back issues I now lay on the floor to allow my back to relax and reset like she used to. I picture her now, lying in our carpeted hallway looking up at the ceiling, occasionally lifting each leg to stretch out some presumably tense area toward the lower back.
Sometimes if I look at Jimmy Fallon’s face for too long I see her face. I see her in my friends and her sisters. I see her in your mother. I played a mother in a movie recently and it was like watching her up there. I channeled her to a T without really thinking about it too much. She was a very good mom and I like to think she’d be proud of me and where I ended up (unemployed BUT eating free overnight oats out of a tiny jar in an airport lounge).
She didn’t live long enough to see the advent of overnight oats, or hyaluronic acid, or Donald Trump, or Covid. Without her life has been very hard sometimes, and in those dark moments I’ll talk to her outloud, pleading for any sort of help from the other side. Guidance seems to come from what she taught me when she was alive. I’m kind because of her, generally patient and a little cautious. I wish she had lived long enough for me to find out what her life was like before me; to talk to her, adult to adult, about life and love and my dad and all that.
I’m proud of where I’ve ended up, even if it may not seem the pinnacle of success in anyone’s opinion, really, but I do feel like I’m headed…somewhere. I’m moving in an interesting (a word she used a lot) direction, easing along a steady and winding stream. Occasionally I find myself stuck in pits of sadness and insecurity, but the acceptance of life’s shitstorms, heartbreaks, and losses has made it much easier to find my way out of the darkness. I owe a lot of that ease to my mom, I think. If I couldn’t accept the loss of her I don’t think I’d have been able to move through life at all. Letting myself remember her love and support and encouragement to keep going and explore what life has to offer has allowed me to do just that. Move through life. Live. Et cetera. Booooy was it HARD, though, brother. Anyhubie, I hope you had a lovely mother’s day and that you have at least experienced the kind of love and support of someone like my dear mom, Cyndy. You’re very lucky if you have.
Love, Clare O.