Wistful Thinking

Tuesday, March 16th was the 11-year anniversary of my mother's death. I know some people say "passing" but that word has never felt comfortable to me in this context. Anyone who knows me can attest to my tendency to be direct. She died. It was a very sad day for me and my family.

My mother and I had an interesting relationship, one that changed shape many times during the course of our 74 years together. As a young child, I was thrilled when I got any attention from her at all. I came from a big family, and enjoyed the limelight as the youngest for a brief 18 months before my younger brother came along. He was cuter so that was the end of that. Not that I harbor any resentment. When I look at photos of all of us, I can certainly understand his appeal and my... well let's just say of the many gifts I received, a pleasant looking little face wasn't one of them.

As I grew older, things changed and as life events came along, our relationship either grew closer (my heart surgery at age 6, my first wedding, giving birth to her grandchildren) or more strained (her treatment of my friends, my husband, [insert anyone's name here]). As a teenager, a friend and I grew bold enough to start calling our parents by their first names. We thought it was funny. My mom never minded it at all, especially because I called her Betts. Her name was Betty Jane and she hated that name. She loved Betts so much more that she actually ended up having friends call her that.

Over time everyone quickly realized Betts' bark was worse than her bite. She said provocative things because she loved a good debate. I remember when she kept telling me that OJ was innocent. She could get me so hooked into the arguing and then I finally realized it's best just to laugh. And laugh we did. She was so much fun. She had a great sense of humor and was so well read that we could talk about anything - books, art, movies, history, fashion, cooking, sewing, politics, religion, childrearing, sex, love, heartache, money, finances, gardening, entertaining, flower arranging, travel, etc.

Betts positively adored my children. From the time they were babies, she would sneak into the daycare on Friday to get them and then call to tell me they were staying over with her for the weekend. I remember when she picked Nick up and drove him straight to Baskin & Robbins for an ice cream cone on the way home. He was about 18 months old in his car seat covered with ice cream by the time they arrived home. Me - the clean freak - would never have done that. It was great to have a babysitter, but there were times when their father and I kind of missed them. She rewarded us for sharing them by hosting a delicious meal on Sunday afternoons when we came to retrieve them. I thank her for creating such a strong and memorable bond with them. They were very close to her and learned many lessons at her side. That was the best gift she could give me.

I THINK OF HER AND MISS HER EVERY SINGLE DAY.

This may be a cliche, but there's a reason for it. It's true.

At times I find myself silently talking to her. I imagine wistfully how great it would be if she could just come back for one day. We'd spend a long day strolling through Paris. She'd love every minute of it. I'd treat her to a fine meal and we'd share a good long talk and a lot of hearty laughter. If only it could be so. If only.