Mom

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I know you can’t respond to this letter, but I thought I’d write it anyway. You are over 1000 miles away from me, and it feels much further. I can’t call you because you can’t talk on the phone. I sent you a card, but I’ll never know when you get it. The distance between us is so vast that dreams are the best way to connect with you right now. I dreamed about you the other night. We were talking. I have no idea what we were talking about, but you could form complete thoughts and verbalize them. We had a conversation. It was wonderful. I could feel you with me, which stayed with me for days. I wonder if you dreamed it too.

I have old messages on my phone. My last message from Dad was when he was in the center getting better from his stroke. I had set up a game on his iPad, and he couldn’t get it to work. He called me and left this message: “Amy, this is Norm, your father. And, uh, I can’t make your program work. I think it’s a little simple thing that I’m not doing. If you give me a call, you can coach me. Thank you. Love you, Dear. Bye-bye.” His voice sounded tired. I imagine him sitting there with his iPad, trying to challenge his brain and make the program work. He was always techy. We liked teasing him about that, but it was what was endearing about him. He always tried to keep up with the latest technology to challenge himself and us. He had an engineer’s brain, problem-solving and thinking outside the box.

My last message from you I kept, too. You were in the car with Jake on December 24, 2020. You said: “Hi, Sweetheart, it’s Mother, and we’ve just been to mass that we haven’t gone to in a long time [because of Covid] and, uh, it was wonderful, it was wonderful. It’s a light evening out, and we’re going somewhere…to Aurora…next, to get something to eat, I guess…dinner. It’s 4:37 pm. Merry Christmas. Love you all. We sent you some pictures, and you can share them. Love you, sweetheart. Have a nice evening. Bye-Bye.” Jake’s voice is in the background, coaching you on what to say…where you’re going. I’m not sure what you said where you were going to dinner, but it sounded like “Rome” first and then “Aurora,” which I don’t think either was correct. But that’s okay. You felt so fortunate to have been able to attend mass. I could hear it in your voice. What a special time you had with Jake. And I got to enjoy it, too. And keep enjoying it as I listen to that message over and over again.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I’ll think about you when we get together with the kids on Mother’s Day and celebrate the unique love that mothers give and that mothers receive. You always said we didn’t need to wish you a happy Mother’s Day because every day is Mother’s Day. But we did it anyway because we understand how important and extraordinary you are. I love you, Mom! I hope you have your own version of a remarkable day. Know that we all—your kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids—love you and remember all the fun times spent with you. I’ll meet you in our dreams.