The 17th Mothers Day without My Mom

My mother, Sally Ann Floyd, died in 1993. It's coming up on 17 Mothers Days without her. I don't remember the first one. She died in April so I have very little memory of that May. Grief does that. I'm sure I didn't go to church on that Mother's Day. When grief was still a bleeding wound, watching Moms get pointed out and honored was a river of salt cascading into my pain.

Between her death and the time I became a Mom myself was six years. After I got pregnant with Noah, celebrating Mothers Day took on a whole new meaning. What a joy to be a mom. Nothing compares with the mysterious, supernatural bond between mother and child. So I love Mothers Day. I wish it was Mothers Week or Mothers Month. I mean, come on, we deserve it right? :0)

But a part of me still hurts on the day that I used to give Sally Ann cards and macaroni necklaces and pictures I drew. I miss her. She was a tall slender woman who was extremely intelligent. Very competitive. Loved to play all sorts of games and taught the four of us to win and to lose. Of course when we played her we mostly practiced how to lose. She loved flowers and grew all sorts of colorful ones throughout our yard. Her roses won prizes at the local fair. Mama's laugh was infectious and her smile was huge. I get my smile from her - all gums and teeth and a gap right in the middle. Sally loved Walker, my dad, with an unfliching loyalty. 40 years they were married before her death. Together, they taught each of us a lot about love and what it means to be individuals and yet one.

So a new Mothers Day is coming and it will be bittersweet. Mostly sweet. Most of the day will be spent being pampered by the guys in my life. As it should be. :0) But a memory of my mom will sneak up on me sometime. It'll feel like someone's tapping me on the shoulder. I'll turn around and remember Sally Ann. I'll tear up for a minute and say a prayer and thank God for the time I got to have with her. And I'll be grateful that someday I'll see her again and I'll introduce her to her son-in-law John and her grandson Noah. That hope, that faith, soothes the wound that no longer bleeds. Just occasionally aches. The ache on Sunday will be temporary as it always is. I'll wipe my eyes and look at Noah and John and smile.

Then I'll say, "So where are the presents?"  :0)