Mothers Day Observed

Mothers Day.  The holiday came about in this country on the eve of the Great War in 1914 to commemorate the memory of a woman, and her Mother Work Day Clubs, which had served to ease the suffering of the poor, and then the combat victims of both sides in the Civil War.

The last one I celebrated with my mom was sixteen years ago, and she was bed ridden with only two months to live. Not that we knew, because the oncologist was "vigorously attacking the problem" he continually assured us all. So much for those plans of mice and doctors.

I never had much luck around Mothers Day. I remember one occasion right before the official holiday. I had packed for the four hour drive from the Bay only to have a lady run a stop sign and broadside the car I was driving on the way to the Nimitz Freeway. The lady was not insured. It was an ugly scene in the neighborhood right off Cedar Street in Berkeley with many of the inhabitants coming to the rescue of the woman who had run the stop sign to offer support with baseball bats in hand. Fortunately, it was a busy, what-other-kind-is-there-in-Berkeley, intersection with plenty of people stopping and offering business cards to me if I needed a witness and to keep a semblance of peace until a police car arrived. What saved me that Saturday afternoon was the sheer size of the automobile I sat in.

I kept the car for a few more years, but it was never the same. Prior to the ill timed broadside it had been a magnificent Pontiac Star Chief Executive model from the mid-sixties when "wide tracks" and GM ruled the world's car business. Like so many of those giant V-8 steel-tonnage transports, this model's parts could be swapped, if necessary, with many other like-sized GM model car parts. No Star Chief Executive model doors available in the wrecking yards at a decent price? How about a door from this Buick, Oldsmobile or other Pontiac model for you? A fine can of spray paint to match that color and you're golden. No, it was never the same.  

I never did make it down for that Mothers Day, which did not sit well with the parental units who must have thought this was a simple ruse to avoid the long drive. The small gift I had picked up north to hand deliver in person got to the recipient far too late to make any amends.

Other years, other tales of ineptitude surrounding the holiday ensued. The time when the kids, with my ex-wife and I, went down for the Mothers Day right after my mom had been diagnosed with arrhythmia. She had just announced her retirement from the teaching ranks after 25 years of devoted service, but had been feeling tired that last semester. She had finally gone to the doctor about the condition and got the news, along with the paddle-shock treatment to get the ticker back in rhythm. On the day we arrived the heart had resumed its irregular jazz meter, which really annoyed her. It did not help that my ex had the strange habit of nap-crashing in bed for much of the daylight hours for every visit we would make to see my parents. I don't think I've ever seen my mom and dad so glad to see us leave than that Mothers Day afternoon.

This holiday has never been a picnic for my beautiful wife of these past fifteen years. Being a step in charge of children not biologically yours is no prize on a holiday like this one. No matter what your tutelage skill level, or the many years of parental confidences shared with the kids in your charge, or the great family spirit that enshrouds your domicile Mothers Day is just going to ultimately disappoint too many deserving ladies.

Very seldom is the stepmother a  mom in language, even though each is a mom everyday in action. Steps, as general rule, get called by their first name, particularly so as the years roll by. The calls from those little people in the photos on the walls and mantles who now have some wrinkles of their own come late on days like this one, if they come at all. Some steps are luckier than others, and might get some FTD arrangement on their doorstep a day or two before, or maybe a candy-gram from the Mongo or Mongitte of their past life. Bravo!

What I have discovered over my time on the planet is that there are many thankless jobs in this world, but being a step parent has got to be the toughest of all the thankless occupations. Those who go and grow through the process are tough, kind, loving and that one person you want most in life to have your back, because they will get the job done without consideration of reward.

I am the most fortunate of men to have such a person by my side. The love of my life has always been a step ahead of the curve, a step above the base and common, a step first to both comfort and help those in most need on this earth, and she remains in step with me however odd my irregular path curves to accommodate a curiosity of interest.
  
We now share a home with three furry felines, and one goofy looking canine who is in this world without any of those teeth that bear his specie's name. The dog just went through surgery to repair a dislocated knee-cap, and is the luckiest pooch in the Western Hemisphere to have the mom he now has. That he faithfully adores her, follows her every movement when she is home and dotes each afternoon/evening by the window at the front door waiting for her return proves he does have some sense.  More than I can say most days about some grown men in the family.

Happy Mothers Day to all women, but especially to my wonder woman, Vicky. If you've ever been in any relationship for any length of time you have been a mom. This is your day, you earned it, so make sure you enjoy it.