Your Momma's So...

I ugly cried today. U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi, bad acting in a Lifetime movie, eyes swelling shut, kind of cry.

B and I started our day off at an adorable farm in the middle of the 'burbs, petting ponies, feeding pigs, and trying to figure out why the chickens wouldn't let us hold them. It was the perfect fall morning with the sun shining down on us. Near the end of our visit, we found ourselves on the tractor ride, sitting in the back of a rusty wagon, waiting to be pulled through a couple of acres of trees. As I looked at all the sweet toddlers pushing for room on the benches and gabbing to their mommas, it hit me like a brick. Everyone was there with their grandmothers. Everyone except us.

Sweet little voices called out "Gigi" and "Mimi" and something that sounded like "Boopie." In the Deep South, it is unclear if that was her grandmother moniker or her given name. She was a grandmother, nonetheless. The daughters took pictures of the smiling generations above and below them and there was a general consensus that we were in some sort of Hallmark commercial.

The grandmothers started introducing their little ones as we waited for our ride to start, comparing all the stats. Age. How many grandkids they have. Whether they lived in town or were just visiting. Slowly the introductions made it around the circle as I bit my lip and focused on answering B's questions about why there were no doggies riding with us. When it got to us, I plastered on the biggest fake smile I had, introduced B, and said cheerily, "It is just us today!"

The grandmother next to me patted my knee sweetly, and chirped, "Well, be sure to send your mom lots of pictures! And bring her next time!"

And I lost it. Ugly cry, frightened the other tractor riders, I wish someone would have just sedated me, lost it.

And when my tears had dried, when all the grandmothers had hugged me and told me about losing their own moms (or their fear of when that happens to their 90 year old moms), and the girls my age had looked at me with pity and heartbreak in their own eyes while subconsciously resting their hands on their own moms, we started the stupid tractor ride.

And it was perfect. We saw horses and squirrels. We stopped in a garden and learned about fall vegetables. A butterfly landed a foot away from B, and her smile and squeals were pure joy. It was the best morning we could have asked for this last day of this long September.

So, as we drove the long back roads home and B slept in the back seat, I thought about the morning. Had I ruined the morning for the other farm visitors? Was the whole tractor ride tainted by the sad girl with the seemingly endless stream of tears? I hope not.

It occurred to me, as well, that lately, friends are shielding me. Arguments with their moms aren't discussed or are abruptly ended with "I shouldn't be talking to you about this. It is really not a big deal." Mother daughter dates are glossed over with a "Oh, yep, we had fun" rather than the details I would have been given a year ago.

And that is sad. Friends not willing or wanting to share their own joy is so, so sad.

Don't stop sharing. Don't stop telling me about the joy you have with your mom, the wonderful relationship she has with your kids, how crazy she is driving you about where you are going to spend Christmas when it is only July.

Your having a relationship with your mom doesn't heighten my grief. Your hiding your relationship doesn't lessen it. If anything, I take joy in the fact that there are so many wonderful women I know who have strong, wonderful relationships with their own moms.

When I see your mom beaming more than you at your baby shower, my heart soars. Sure, I might cry a bit in the car on the way home, but I am elated for you. For her. For your unborn baby.

When your mom writes something on your Facebook wall that was meant to be private, I cringe and laugh with you. I don't begrudge you the adorable mess.

When you and your mom fight over something small - or even something big - I want to hear it. I still want to be the friend who you can lean on and who can relate. Sure, some of my bite might be gone and I might preach a lot more "life is short, give grace" but I am still there.

This past Mother's Day, as my Facebook feed filled with beautiful pictures of my friends and their beloved mommas, I couldn't look away. Not out of grief or heartbreak, but out of true happiness for all the love these pictures showed. All the relationships with their own little unique languages and patterns, all the memories that are still to be made. Each photograph was so precious in its own right and each reminded me in some way of my own sweet momma. Not of what I had lost, no. It reminded me of what I had experienced. And lived. And been blessed to call my own.

So, please, share your moms with those of us who find ourselves motherless. We promise to share in all your happiness and joy... and keep the ugly crying to a minimum. At least in front of the kids.

One of my favorite Gamma Phi events: Mother Daughter Tea.
How wonderful to see all these amazing women and the women that raised them. 

That's the Glory of Love

Tomorrow would be Momma's 66th birthday. More than all those firsts in the time since her passing, this one seems the most personal. 

All the other days had distractions - holidays to be celebrated, family to see, other bright moments on which we could focus our attention. Her birthday, though, is all hers. The 29th has always just been her day, late September synonymous in our little family with celebrating her and all that she was to us. 

Last year, we celebrated and celebrated. We threw a surprise party for her 65th. Family came from the opposite coast, dear friends kept secrets for months, and those she treasured sent cards and notes telling stories of their lives together. When she walked in the door and saw everyone there, she cried. She cried and hugged and laughed and cried some more. We had debated not doing it - maybe we should wait until 70? Or, channel all our energy into her retirement party? We never imagined she wouldn't make it to either of those milestones. 

Now, looking back, how thankful I am that we threw her the party. That two months to the day before her stroke all those she loved were able to let her know how much she meant to them. How much she was loved. And cherished. And valued. 

We have always been a little over the top on birthdays in our family. Parties have been big and presents planned for months. They seem all the more important now, as does each day. We are not promised tomorrow, let alone the next milestone to celebrate. So tomorrow, I am going to celebrate. Celebrate the 65+ years we had her. The 29 years I had her. All that was wonderful and amazing and totally unique about her. 

B and I are going to go to the park and breath in the fall air, talk about the leaves changing, and remember all Momma loved about this time of year. We will read the fall books she sent B last year, holding tight to the inscriptions on the inside cover so lovingly written for her youngest granddaughter. 

I might even watch Beaches with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, remembering all the times of my childhood we curled up together under a blanket on a rainy day, crying our eyes out the minute Barbara Hershey couldn't make it up the stairs. Momma would always pause it (okay, technically tell me to pause it because she didn't know how) and sigh deeply. "I just wish she could live. Her baby needs her. I just wish she could live."

Me too, Momma. Me too. 

You've got to give a little, take a little

And let your poor heart break a little

That's the story of, that's the glory of love

You've got to laugh a little, cry a little

Before the clouds roll by a little

That's the story of, that's the glory of love

As long as there's the two of you

You've got the world and all its charms

And when the world is through with you

You've got each other's arms

You've got to win a little, lose a little

And always have the blues a little

That's the story of, that's the glory of love

As long as there's the two of you

You've got the world and all its charms

And when the world is through with you

You've got each other's arms

You've got to win a little, lose a little

And always have the blues a little

That's the story of, that's the glory of love

That's the story of, that's the glory of love

65th Birthday Pictures courtesy of the wonderfully talented Lindsay Collette
Lyrics from "The Glory of Love" - One of Momma's favorite scenes from Beaches