I’d recently moved back to my hometown of Atlanta from college, and on that sunny Mother’s Day I was headed for my mom’s house, looking forward to taking her to a lovely restaurant for lunch. Halfway there, white smoke began to billow from under my car hood. I pulled over, jumped out and ran away from the car as fast as I could, dialing—who else?—my mom in a panic. (I must have been quite a sight, standing beside a six-lane highway decked out in a dress and close to tears.) The rest of the day is a blur of tow trucks and car parts, but what I do remember clearly is going for supper at the only restaurant nearby without a wait: the Waffle House. We all sat there in our Sunday best, devouring waffles and hash browns and laughing with fatigue and relief as the servers refilled our coffee cups again and again. My mom has always had a way of putting things into perspective, and she managed to turn that stressful afternoon into an adventure. She may not have gotten the elegant meal she was promised, but she definitely got one for the memory books!
I think of my mother every single day. She died 22 years ago—January 4, 1998, to be exact. How can you ever forget that date? She had 31 grandchildren when she died. I was the last person to talk to her, telling her I suspected I was pregnant yet again with number 32, but I hadn’t confirmed it with a test. She said, “Marie, you’ve had three children. You know whether you are pregnant or not. Congratulations!”
In most of the years since she died, I have drawn from her wisdom as a mother and an extraordinary hostess. In the last seven years, it has taken a new turn as I have become a grandmother. I have three beautiful, bright, and very lively granddaughters ages 6, 4, and 2. They are the joy of my life. I always was amazed at how much my mom and dad loved my kids, after dozens of grandkids. Surely this grandchild thing was getting old by now? Nope. They oohed and aahed as much as they did with the first ones. But I get it now.
My granddaughters and I each share a unique relationship. My oldest is a people pleaser, so it was adorable when she explained to me in all innocence that Covid-19 means “we have to stay away from the old people. That’s you, Grand B, my other grandmother, and Aunt Becky.” The 4-year-old loves to tell me with unadulterated enthusiasm: “I love you, Rie-Rie.” And the 2-year-old made my day when, after weeks of separation, she ordered her daddy to get her car seat, followed by, “I get my shoes. I go to Rie-Rie’s house.” Who would think such simple things could tug your heart strings, but they do. I get it now, Mom.
I could count the number of women in my life I’ve considered mother figures, but I’d end up hurting feelings by leaving too many out. On the other hand, there are just a few who have shown me the compassion and guidance that epitomize motherly love. My mother-in-law tops this short list.
When I married my husband in 2016, I’d considered his mother my mentor and friend for nearly a decade already. I’d gone to work for her part-time at her specialty boutique the summer after graduating high school, and over time, we were closer to business partners and certainly tight-knit buds.
Somewhere along the way of navigating work and school and my twenties, I realized my mother does indeed know everything—or at least knows best—like she’s claimed since my childhood. She became my closest friend, my most trusted confidant, and I saw in her all the characteristics I associate with strong, admirable women: a graceful blend of humble and self-assured, empathetic and open-minded, yet unafraid to take a stand in the face of opposition.
In addition to all of that, she’s the life of the party. Just like my mother-in-law. They are an unstoppable duo with contagious smiles and huge hearts. They are spectacular hostesses, wonderful listeners, and two of my biggest fans. It’s still hard for me to fathom that in tying the knot with love of my life, I also brought together my two most irreplaceable friends.
The only surprise left in finding them in one another’s company now is how the sound of their happy, intermingling voices makes my heart flutter with pure gratefulness. I celebrate that blessing every day.
After living near my family for most of my life, a few years ago, I started a new adventure across the country with my husband just a couple days after our wedding. Though it was an exciting and happy time, it was also an adjustment to be so far from loved ones.
My first Mother’s Day away came the week after our move, and it was bittersweet to be separated, but the next year, I was lucky enough to get my mom to myself—a Mother’s Day I’ll never forget. My husband and I were in the final stages of buying our first home when he had to leave town for work for a few weeks, so my mom volunteered to come visit and help me through the details with him gone. She made last-minute flight arrangements without giving thought to the holiday and just happened to arrive on Mother’s Day.
I welcomed her with a spread of her favorite appetizers and treats, roses, and a card. We got to take a nice afternoon stroll with my dog, her beloved grand-pup, and catch up while I showed her around my new town. We ended the evening with some Thai takeout and a movie. It was nothing fancy, but it was a day together made all the more special by its newfound rarity.
While my grandmother is no longer with us, there isn’t a day that goes by without me wishing she were here to see how her guidance and wisdom continue to shape me into the person I am today. As my sister and I’ve gotten older, we continue to shower my mother with love and affection each year. Regardless of what day it is and whether we are together, Mother’s Day is a holiday we try to celebrate year-round.
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