Happy Birthday

Today would have been my mother's 77th birthday.

I miss her.

Our new house is the definition of happy chaos.   Nephews are painting and installing light fixtures.  Frances' mom is building IKEA furniture.  A contractor is finishing up installing cabinets.  Some furniture will be here in an hour (or some I am told; I will believe it when I see it).  Air mattresses are strewn everywhere.

Mom would have looked forward to being part of this transition.

Frankly, I would not have always wished for Mom to visit.  My mother was efficient.  She wrote articles comparing raising her children to running a business.  Her primary advice for pain or insult was "take your mind off of it."  We are not talking Mary Poppins.

I always loved my mom in the way that you do.  You know.  "I love my mom."  And yet, as I have aged, and been challenged  I have developed a deep respect and appreciation for her that I did not have when she was alive.  

Her life was a story of dreams compromised, deferred and adjusted.   Her marriage was challenging - to say the least.  Motherhood was her life's work, and for the most part, her three children exceeded expectations. But motherhood was a detour from talents that she would have enjoyed developing: music, sewing, writing. She eventually got an MBA and enjoyed her career as a certified financial planner.  Born at another time, I doubt my mother would have chosen a family life.  Born when she was, she saw marriage as a destiny more than a choice, and she lived in to that destiny with enormous creativity and all the passion she could muster.

She had great taste - her possessions all had a similar style that I could never quite identify before I spent time sorting through them after her death.  I was never able to select the right gift for her when she was alive; I am pretty sure that I could now.

Perhaps I see her in a different light as I have aged because I look in the mirror and I see her.  I take a bike ride and I know that bike riding was her passion before it was mine.  I cook a healthy meal with the recognition that she was right about the importance of healthy eating and that it took me a long time to get on board with spinach and cauliflower. I am grateful that she managed money so well, but recognize that I will not do the same.  I understand her mid-life drive toward transition - her desire to travel to Europe alone; her decision to go to graduate school; her commitment to building a career.

Even as our house is full of boxes, Mom is part of this.  A bedspread that she made and was very proud of is on the guest room bed.  Her mother's old spice tins are displayed in our new kitchen.  I've got her measuring cups and a a thought that maybe I will bake if our kitchen ever gets done.

Even so.  While I sense her presence, sometimes that really just isn't enough.  This is the first major transition of my life after her death.  I look at my patio chairs and my wine refrigerator and feel only Mom's absence. She would have enjoyed cocktails, cheese and crackers on the patio after spending the day unpacking boxes and organizing the office.

My office would be better organized if she were here.  Mom would have had some creative decorating ideas that I am never going to think of - and would have probably liked.  She probably would have said something that would have gotten on my last nerve.  And I know that I would have irritated her, too.  And it would have been okay.

Happy Birthday, Mom!