Grief changes over time, and sometimes revisiting those moments is a way of making sure memories carry on.
Almost six years ago, I wrote these words after losing my mom suddenly. With it being Mother’s Day, it felt like a good time to share them again.
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My mother passed away on July 31. It was sudden, unexpected. There was no chance to say goodbye. No chance for me to say one more time “I love you, Mom”.
As I was rummaging through photographs for her funeral, I came across my old school class photo. I remembered that morning so clearly – Mom walking me into school, her hand wrapped around mine. I was still at that perfect age when holding your mom’s hand wasn’t something to hide, but something that made you feel safe.
In that class photo, I was surrounded by kids dressed in their Sunday best. Paula in her frilly white blouse, Scotty in his jacket and vest. And me – yes me – dressed from head to toe in my Superman costume.
My first thought was: “What kind of mother lets her son wear his Superman costume on class picture day?”
More on that in a minute. . .
Mom was a teacher and a media specialist. She was a lifelong learner – she had a thirst for knowledge and the world was her classroom. Rarely did you see her without a book in her hands. She was incredibly smart and fiercely independent.
She spent winters in Florida, where she volunteered at the local marine rescue center, feeding turtles and swimming with dolphins. She traveled the world with my father, and after he passed, continued traveling solo. She snorkeled with my brother and me in the Caribbean when she was in her mid-70s, though we still laugh about hearing her scream underwater when a giant eel slithered by.
Even in her mid-80s she was tech-savvy with her MacBook Pro and her social media accounts. Though her body slowed, her mind never did.
When we were young, she and my father named their first boat “Rub-a-Dub” after that old nursery rhyme “Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub. . .”, because of their 3 sons, Denny, Rusty and me. That old Chris Craft was full of dry rot, but I wouldn’t trade the memories we had on that boat for the biggest yacht in the world.
No mother should have to bury her son. But when Rusty was killed in an accident at age 18, she was the glue that held our family together, minus one.
She watched my brother and me grow up and succeed on our own, and she proudly watched her grandchildren blossom into kind, thoughtful young adults.
Because of COVID, in May of 2020 my brother and I drove a motorhome to Florida to bring my mother back to Michigan. We stayed in Florida a few days and she swam in the Gulf one last time. On the drive back to Michigan we slept in the motorhome, reflected on old times, laughed a lot, and took a hike on Jekyll Island to gaze at the ocean. At the time we didn’t know this would be our farewell trip, but we will treasure those memories forever.
Author Luffina Lourdjuraj said of mothers: “You loved me before seeing me; you love me in all my mistakes; you will love me for what I am.” I am blessed that my mother loved me unconditionally from the day I was born.
Mom would have told us not to mourn, but to celebrate her life. Which brings me back to that old class photo, and my question: “What kind of mother lets her son wear his Superman costume to class picture day?”
The answer?
- A Mom who let us be ourselves and let our spirits soar
- A Mom who expected success, but let us define for ourselves what success truly means
- A Mom who taught us to never stop learning
- And most importantly, a Mom who taught us that a positive attitude could take us anywhere we wanted to go
Mom held my hand on the way to that school photo, while I proudly wore my Superman costume. And even though she only held my hand for a short time while I was young, she will hold my heart forever.
