Rock-a-bye Sweet Baby James

A dear friend died 14 years ago today. I think of him often. He was just a few years older than I was -- he was 30 when I was just 25. When he told me I would understand life better once I turned 30, I laughed it off. But he was right, even if it was just because I better understood loss. Fourteen years and many losses and disappointments later, I still think of him. With my 30s behind me, I can tell my younger friends they'll understand better once they turn 40 ... and I can smile.

He also helped me appreciate the songs of James Taylor. So, this is for him. Rest well.

A year and a day

As most of you know, my mom died a year ago yesterday. Isn't supposed to get easier after a year? Am I supposed to be past the mourning stage by now? Here in Colorado, we've been enjoying a long stretch of spring-like weather -- and lots of sunshine. But yesterday was cold and gloomy, which seemed to be a fitting complement to how I felt. I'm 41 years old and all I could think was, "I want my mommy." It's kind of pathetic, so feel free to stop reading here.

I moved out of my parents' house when I was 20 and moved away from my hometown nine years ago, so I didn't see my mom daily or even monthly. But we talked nearly every Sunday. I would tell her about my week, my ups and downs and the latest developments at work and in my (often rocky) love life. She would tell me about the nieces and nephews and what my brothers had been up to. I always made sure to tell her about things I knew she would find exciting -- we went skiing, there was a fox in our front yard -- as well as the mundane, day-to-day occurrences. It was my Sunday ritual, and I miss it very much.

A few weeks ago, the S.O. and I went to see the Velvet Hills Chorus on a Saturday evening because our neighbor is a member, and it got us out of the house. The barbershop harmony isn't exactly our cup of tea, but as I watched, I kept thinking how much Mom would have loved it. I could hear her saying how neat it was and how she wished she had the guts to get up on stage and sing. It was something I would have told her all about the next day. So, even though it wasn't exactly my thing, I enjoyed it for Mom.

Looking through some pictures yesterday, I came across one of Mom as a young girl. I'm guessing she's somewhere around 7 or 8 years old. She looks happy. And sassy.


I miss her.

On my mind

Today would have been my mom's 71st birthday. This video, with images of her through the years, is for her and everyone who loved her.

An Irish Blessing

My mom loved flowers and birds. Birds flocked to her backyard feeders, and her roses were the envy of the neighbors. I didn't really inherit her green thumb, but I am working on putting together a small area in my backyard in her memory. It will have plants -- drought-resistant, of course -- a birdbath and this stepping stone I made. I wanted something that would remind me of my mom without being an obvious memorial. I didn't want it to look like a grave marker.

This passage comes from a poem my mom's Irish father wrote when he was a young man.

Flowery be thy pathway
And blue the sky above thee
Happiness in each coming year
To thee and those that love thee

Shortly before Grandpa died, he gave this poem to my mom. I think it was his way of saying goodbye, and it's held a special place in my heart for the past 20 years. I like to think this little Irish blessing applies in this world and the next -- whatever that might be. It helps to imagine my loved ones who have died happily walking down a flowery pathway with the blue sky overhead.

Mother's Day

This picture of my mom qualifies as a glamour shot in my book. I think it is her high school senior portrait, but to me she looks like a movie star. Mom always had an inner beauty but in this photograph it shines straight through and comes out as physical beauty. She's gorgeous and not just because she's my mom. There's something of a young Elizabeth Taylor about her -- all pale skin and dark hair and soft shoulders.

This picture is rivaled only by one from her wedding day. In it, she is in the back seat of the wedding car. We see her in profile while my dad looks at her with pride and love like I've never seen on his face. And it's no wonder when, even in profile, my mother glows with such hope for the future.

I wonder if marriage was a disappointment. My dad couldn't have been the Prince Charming he seemed that day. I know from my time at home he wasn't. He wasn't an ogre, but he certainly wasn't a prince. But still, pictures of her holding her newborns show a beaming smile full of pride. Later pictures of her with her grandchildren show a similar happiness.

Her children and grandchildren were obviously a source of joy. She wanted to be a teacher but wasn't allowed because her father didn't believe college was for girls (thank goodness my parents didn't feel the same way). She would have been a great teacher. She was a great teacher in her way. Many things I learned from her I didn't realize until much later. Chief among them is how to care about other people.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Mary Louise Lard, June 26, 1937 - Feb. 8, 2008

Mom often told me the details of the day of my birth -- not how many hours she was in labor or how bad the pain was or whether or not drugs were administered. But I heard often how it was the coldest day on record -- temperatures dipping to well-below zero. How even though I was a big baby -- weighing in at 8 pounds, 10 ounces and bigger than my three older brothers -- the doctors and nurses couldn't get my temperature up, and I was placed in an incubator. I wonder now if this is the reason I feel cold all the time.

It never occurred to me that my birth may have been difficult for my mom or that her pregnancy was anything but easy. I don't know if it ever occurred to her. It wasn't like her to complain or to speak of her children as burdens. I believe we were a source of pride. But she was never one to brag, not about her kids, not about herself. She was self-deprecating, to a fault. But she was talented -- she knit, she sewed, she made the most amazing cakes that were like works of art. At the age of 70, she was learning to use a computer.

I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I can only hope that when I become a mom, I do as good a job as she did.