Happy Mother’s Day, Mom (1923-2007)
Dear Mom,
This marks the second Mother’s Day I’ve celebrated without you. As you knew full well, I’m not a believer in an afterlife, so I’m not deluding myself that you can actually read this from a higher plain or celestial viewpoint. But I see no reason I cannot address this to the you that lives on in my memory, the you I knew and loved for 53 years of my life, and continue to love to this day, your day, Mother’s Day.
Bertha Vivan Carlson (1923-2007)
You wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I have the same job and nearly the same daily routine I had when you were here. I have received a few pay raises, and it appears the store’s future is bright. Not much that happens every day is very different than it was back then. I’m still driving the same truck I’ve owned since 1998, the one you helped me buy by paying the down payment I couldn’t afford at the time. I still get home about the same time, still relax in front of the computer until bedtime, still have the TV on with a History Channel or Science Channel show playing in the background that I’m hardly paying attention to. I still spend most of my free time online, trying to help others in forums and learn more about technology from others in social networks. I still collect books like they were going out of style, reading them as often as possible. I still spend a few hours every week in my greatly reduced garden, tending the plants you and I both raised for years. Every one I transplanted from our old house to my current place has survived and flourished.
There have been a few changes since you left. I had to move out of the house we shared the last few years of your life, the one next door to the house you lived in for more than 20 years. I couldn’t afford a two bedroom house anymore. My current studio bungalow is about the right size for my needs. You’d feel right at home in my kitchen. Just about every dish, every pot and pan and every piece of cutlery I brought with me were once yours. Two years later and I still have those two boxes of brown sugar in my cabinet you bought and never used. I should throw them out but never seem to get around to doing it.
I also have a new companion, one I know you’d have loved as much as I do. Her name is Cleo, and she’s sleeping at my feet as I type this. Of all the animals I’ve owned and you met, she most closely resembles Bob the Malamute in attitude. She’s mellow, well behaved and easy going. Cleo is the perfect dog, a much better pup than I probably deserve to own. She goes to work with me every day and both the customers and my co-workers all love her. We just celebrated her 1st birthday last Friday at the store. I was tempted to rename her Bert to make up for having once named a pygmy goat after you. But she already knew her name when I adopted her, and I didn’t want to confuse her. Cleo doesn’t fit her as well as Bert would have, but there you go.
There isn’t much more news to catch you up on. I know you often said that your greatest satisfaction in life came from raising your two sons. In all honesty I can’t claim to have made as much of my life as your other son has, and as you well knew I made some dreadful mistakes that I have been able to outlive and to some extent make up for. You knew my good and bad points and were still always there for me.
I was fortunate to have you around for more of my life than many of my friends had with their mothers. You raised me well enough that I didn’t precede you in death or wind up in prison. Considering all I’ve done to make my own life inconsequential, it has instead turned out rather well. I give the credit for that to you and your influence. You were always patient, always supportive, always honest with me. It paid off.
You weren’t famous. You never made the national news. In your mind you were just a farm girl from Nebraska that moved to California after high school. You never were aware of your nearly unique status as a single working mother of two in the 1950s. You never took enough pride in the jobs you held until just shortly before your death. I don’t think you ever noticed how many lives you touched in a positive way, how many of your friends depended on your mid-Western practicality and no-bullshit way of expressing your ideas. You didn’t notice much of the influence you had on this world. But you did, and you still do.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I love you.
Jack
