My mom came to town over the weekend for the SF Choral Society performance and we had a really great time. The woman has a lot of energy and we did as much as possible during her 48 hour visit. I made her play keyboard in church on Sunday. We shopped. We decorated. I’m still recovering.
During the intermission of Saturday night’s performance, I was scanning the room for where my mom was seated and she was directly ahead of me. I had only met the woman sitting next to me a couple of days before when we were seated next to each other for this event, and she and I had chatted briefly and she’s a really sweet person. I told her that I had spotted my mom in the crowd and that she had travelled here that day to see the performance. She remarked back, “That’s sweet. My mom is dead, but this is her skirt I’m wearing. I think she would be proud.” At first, I was a little taken aback because of the matter-of-fact way that she stated it and because I had only just met her and it was a pretty personal statement.
Over the last couple of days, I’ve not been able to get her statement out of my mind. My mom is dead. I think she would be proud. I’m so grateful that I still have my mom. I know that parents get older and people die, and I know that someday I will belong to that club of Women Whose Mothers Are Dead, and I dread that day. I can’t imagine not being able to call her up and tell her about something great that happened, or something I think is funny, or go shopping with her, or cook with her at holidays. I have friends who live with this and I just can’t fathom the pain and emptiness of that. I’m so grateful for my mom and I’m so sorry for those who don’t have that, for whatever reason. I love you, Mom.