Can we talk?

Happy Birthday, Mom

    Today would have been my mother's birthday. No one here has mentioned it. All of us still gather on Sunday if we can. One lives a little over an hour away, one is half an hour away, one ten minutes, and I have moved in. We still try to fix a meal like hers, although it's never quite as good as we remember.

    Two of my three brothers made it today. We cooked burgers on the gas grill. As I made the patties, Dad and I chitchatted. He likes to do things in the kitchen occasionally. He was chopping celery and re-doing store bought potato salad. I talked about the way his mother used to make hamburgers. Man, did she make good hamburgers. And iced tea. Funny, how you remember little things like that. I know other relatives remember her tea, and stewed tomatoes, and deviled eggs. Some old lady I met not long ago told me how she used to love going by Dixie's (the old lady was best friends with Dixie's niece) for beans and franks.

      Dad recalled some of the ingredients his mother would add to  hamburgers. Then he started to tear up. We both were thinking of his wife, but neither could say anything directly. We talked about everything else. I even mentioned Mom's favorite aunt who turns 93 today. Virgie was just a teen when Mom was born. and they were always close--birthday buddies.

    Mom is still with us. I know she is with me. When I clean something aroiund the house the way she liked, I know she's delighted. When I make something crafty, I know she's enjoyed it. She guides me all the time. Brother #2 has said the same thing. She's with him when he washes the dishes or cooks something special. She took delight in small accomplishments and loved doing things with her hands. We're still close as a family because she would have wanted it that way.

    When I brush off my 80 year old father's shoulders and adjust his collar before he goes off to work, (yes, he's gainfully employed) I know she would be happy that I'm looking after him. She took a lot of pride in his looking spiffy and wrinkle free and spotless when he left the house. She would tell us on the phone that "he looked right nice today". She would approve of me or brother #3 going to the doctor with him, or taking his blood pressure at home, or myriad other things that she would have done.

    And I know he still misses her. He doesn't go to the cemetery every week any more, but at least every 3 or 4 weeks. He was crying so hard Easter morning, Easter lilies in hand, that I could hardly understand him as he told me and brother #1 that he was leaving for a little while. I went later in the week and discovered a tall vase of things he had cut from the yard as well--some  shrub branches, some blooms that hadn't come out yet, and some sweet peas--so that she could still have some of her own yard with her.

    So today's a holy day. One that we can't discuss, for fear of being too sentimental. But it's one that's heavy on our hearts.