My mother. She has been gone from this earth for nearly twenty years now. My memories of her have grown fewer and fewer, but somehow those that remain are no dimmer. I remember things that put a smile on her face the most.
But my favorite memory? I couldn’t come up with anything until now.
Back in the day, when I was much younger but no longer living in my parents’ home, I would go home to visit, usually for holidays or for their anniversary. I was almost certain to do one thing at these visits: decide to stay for one day longer than I had planned. I remember my mother’s smiling and commenting on my always doing just that. And that I always had a lot of cash in my pocket. Still do.
But my favorite memory of her was created just this past few days.
This past weekend, I drove to Brooklyn NY, a six-and-a-half-hour drive from my current home in upstate NY. Time was when I was a Brooklynite myself, for more than twenty years. I was there this time for a celebration of life for a family member. I was able to stay in the building that I had run a business out of, and that I still own. My eldest, a daughter, flew in from Nashville for the celebration.
Our visit together, just the two of us, was wonderful. We walked the familiar streets often, we talked intimately, we shared our first Omakaze meal together. The celebration opened up a lot of stuff I had never disclosed to her about her father’s death 15 years ago. I told her nearly all of the things I had protected her from knowing back when she was still a teen, back when her father was hopelessly dying and she was in her first year of college. That’s what we do, right, mothers? We protect. I protected then, and I gratefully answered questions now. I feel freer somehow, lighter, unburdened. And respected for the choices that I made, choices that I am sure looked odd to many others, perhaps even to her, back then.
She and I had both planned to leave Brooklyn on Monday morning, she on an early morning flight, and I in my car for the six-and-a-half-hour drive home, just me and my dog. But I decided to stay one more day, so I would be leaving the morning after my daughter did. Some things never do change.
She left for the airport. I was bereft, sobbing into her hair as she left. What makes me sad? Eric asked in another of his Monday memoir installments. I couldn’t think of anything, other than a loved ones dying, that makes me truly sad. This Monday morning I discovered what can make me instantly bereft - when someone I love as dearly as I love this daughter leaves to go back to their lives, that don’t intersect very often with mine in real time.
She texted, as she always does, when she arrived at the gate. Her flight was boarding.
She had a crazy thought! She wanted to come back, to stay with me for one more day! And she did. She took an Uber right back to me so that we could spend one more day together.
How is this my favorite memory of my mother? I understood fully that my staying for one more day back when I had flown or driven home made my own mother feel the love that I felt at that moment.
What makes you sad? , and What is one of your favorite memories of your mother?. Every week Eric posts a question about our lives for us to answer, in hopes that, after a year, the participants will have produced a valuable collection of memories.This is my entry to two of @ericvancewalton's Memoir Mondays,
In Eric's words:
Someday all that will be left of our existence are memories of us, our deeds, and words. It's up to you to leave as rich of a heritage as possible for future generations to learn from. So, go ahead, tell your stories!
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Ah @owasco, that was such a heartfelt read! How very lovely that your daughter did that, I've got a wet face. happy that you spent another night together, and sad,for you, and for me, because as you said so well...
But that is part of living, right? Our children have to find their little place in this life, and it's every mother's wish that they thrive <3
Wonderful response @owasco!
It is a great joy to see my remaining children doing so well in life. On their ownm independent, well-employed in their chosen vocations, and happy.
I let them go gladly, and try hard to hold back those tears. I always fail. As a line in the song I am currently learning, this:
Lovely tune! Here it is:
It indeed is wonderful seeing the children doing well in their chosen paths! But so true, there's often a tear behind the smile❤️What an absolutely lovely song @owasco! Thank you for sharing it with me.
This was beyond insightful. Almost poetic. I feel honoured in a way to be able to read and share in this with you. Hope you keep making more beautiful memories with those you love.💜
Why thank you! What a sweet comment to receive.
I can almost feel your emotions reading this. Maybe because I can relate to you. Because every time I say goodbye to my son and I get the message about to embark I feel that a little bit of my heart goes out in those goodbyes.
But how beautiful that your daughter stayed one more day, I can imagine the great emotion for you and also for her.
Big hugs!
Thank you!
Isn't it awful when they leave? My mother had five kids, and when we all showed up with our partners and our kids and our dogs, we often numbered 19 humans and 7 dogs. I used to think she probably couldn't wait until we all left. Maybe I stayed to have a day with less hoopla, and more quality time with my mother. I like to think that was the reason anyway.
I just got off the phone with her. My goodness do I ever miss her! If I ever wonder how love feels, I just have to remember this feeling I have right now.
Your story is so touching, I could feel your joy to have your daughter stay one more day.
I really felt loved, I can tell you that much! I'm glad you felt the joy, too.
How lovely! You both got one more day!
Yes, and I would have been happy to have a great many more!
Over whelming feeling to stay longer is so understandable!
We had a long weekend with my Mom (traveled over 500km) to spend an early 70th birthday with her, knowing the end was close. Heart wrenching leaving knowing it would be the last a time chatting laughing, reminiscing it still leaves one feeling empty all these years later.
Now reaching the big 70 a couple of days ago, I realized how it was haunting me that neither my mother or oldest brother reached the age, mom by a month, my brother a year.
Texting isn't the same as a warm embrace with laughter together. Celebrate life while you are able not at a Celebration of Life.... So happy for you your daughter returned to spend an extra day, it means so much.
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You've had some hard losses I see. I'm sorry.
My own mother died in her early 70's, of disease caused by the meds she had been prescribed. I miss her so much.
In person, with physical contact, is surely best. Few of us have that very often with our "kids" now, they all move so very far away.
We move with the river of life we never know the end destination nor how soon.
Having done our utmost best if the children feel they must move to better themselves it is always sad most of us wish them well knowing how much we will miss them.
Magic moments like the one you shared is something both of you will remember.❤️
My grandmother used to say: My happiness is that my children can leave the nest and fly, but perhaps that is also my sadness. Seeing children grow up is a source of pride for parents, even if it brings distance and less time together. Thank you for this very touching piece. Regards
Thank you for your lovely comment! It is a mixed bag for sure.
What a great picture of you two! I'm sorry for your loss. As someone who's lived far away from my parents and sibling for three decades I can really identify with how difficult it is to leave after a visit. Those handful of moments at the airport gate or driving away from our loved ones' driveway are damned difficult. After a while we know that the current of life sweeps us away and the pain subsides but it's right there waiting for your the next time which we get to experience if we're lucky.
I am very very lucky that she has a job that allows her to work remotely. She comes here and works a few times a year, I go to Nashville for an extended visit annually where my other daughter joins us. When I drive either of them to the airport, I also watch them walk away for as long as I can see them. I suck up every single moment I can. For both my daughters. The other daughter comes a bit less often, but still several times a year. We all three manage to get together several times a year. Having lost one, I treasure every moment. I am so saddened for my friends who rarely see their grown children, usually sons.
It's lovely to be posting again. Thanks for the appreciation! I still have to write for the prompt about finding your true vocation, which is the reason I haven't been posting! I had to make space for studying.
I'm glad you're able to get together with your daughters regularly to share that valuable time. I try to make it home 3-4 times a year to see my family but, especially as my Mom is getting older, that doesn't feel like enough. We make the most of our time together though. I love how effortless it always seems once I'm there. I'm already looking forward to the next post, I'm intrigued to learn what you've been up to!
That is SO sweet... and emotional knowing that your Mom probably felt the same way.
If you're lucky, there are so many "favorite" times with others that you love. I cannot imagine trying to choose one. Sure as I would be about to say one, another that I hadn't thought of in forever would pop up.... over and over.
I have yet t have one of mine fly the nest, but with my eldest turning 16 this year, it won't be too much longer. I can't imagine not seeing her everyday though. So I can understand how hard it must be.
Super lovely though that she stayed an extra day and shared that in common with you and your mum.
Sending you a huge hug xxxx