the first, and last time ever i saw her face

You might want to get out the Kleenex for this post today. It has taken me nine years to be able to write much of anything about my mom since her passing. I have notes and more notes about the details of my last week with her. I try to write, but it is so emotional for me, that I always end up feeling that I need to take a week alone in a motel by myself in order to do it. Today I want to write something.....as a gift to you, Mom. Every Mother's Day I try to get you something, still. The first Mother's Day without you it was a little music box that plays "Somewhere in Time", the song you requested that Bruce play on the piano at your funeral. You loved that movie, and that song. I felt that it was no coincidence that I picked up a pretty music box in the drug store, thinking of you, and that it played your song. Well, here goes.....I'm going to write about you at last.

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and my thoughts turned to my mom. My earliest memory of my life with her is taking an afternoon nap together on the bottom bunk of the old metal bunk bed at the house in Fairway Hills, cuddled close, my face against her cheek. So close that my eyelashes brushed her skin each time I blinked.....as I carefully examined her face. She, already asleep, was surely exhausted from caring for her five children six years and under. In the quiet, dim room, I watched her, and felt love for this person who lay beside me. My mom. My caretaker, my protector, my example, my friend.

I always thought Mom was beautiful. Though she certainly was, as you can see from her picture, she herself never thought so. There were no airs about her...... no conceit, no pride, no vanity. No admiring her reflection as she passed a mirror. Sometimes I wish that she knew and believed and saw what the rest of us did. Maybe, though, her humility was what made her so beautiful. Yes, I think that must be it. That, and all of the selflessness she exhibited throughout her life for her family. Mostly, I think she was a beautiful mom because she was my mom.

The week before she passed away, I came for a visit and to spend Mother's Day with her. Each morning I would help her get ready by putting her makeup on for her. The effects of her disease had made it very difficult for her to do it alone. Sensing that this could possibly be my last visit, as I'd smooth the foundation over her soft skin, I consciously memorized her face.....each contour of her cheek, her nose, her chin. When she was gone, I wanted to be able to see her in detail. After a week of doing this, I felt that if I were a sculptor, I could sculpt her face.

When I'd finish her makeup and hair, I'd tell her how pretty she looked, but she would not look in the mirror. Probably hopeful that she looked good, but fearful that she might look as bad as she felt, she said "no".

Then, on the day before Mother's Day, I insisted. As I held up the mirror, she silently considered her reflection for a moment, and then the corners of her mouth turned up and she said, "I do look pretty good, don't I?" Something wonderful and hopeful was breathed into her, and that night she asked me to help her put on a beautiful pink nightgown that Dad had purchased for her months before, that she had never yet worn. It had hung in her closet, still with the tags, waiting, I suppose, for a special occasion. She decided this was it. She said she wanted to do a "fashion show" for Dad. I wheeled her out into the living room where he sat, and whirled her around the room in the wheelchair. She was radiantly beautiful, and it made me happy to know that for that moment, she felt it. Dad was so happy to see her happy. It was a special moment, one I'll never forget.

On Mother's Day her livingroom was filled with all of 8 of her children and some grandchildren, my brother Bruce "pounding" on the piano as we all sang and laughed, a replica of many nights in our home growing up. It got pretty loud, and Dad reprimanded us, saying, "Don't you know your mother is sick?" But Mom just said, "No......please....I love it." It was a slice of the life she had loved, and she was drinking it all in.

She passed away expectedly/unexpectedly two days later, surrounded by Dad and my brother and sisters and I. You're never prepared to lose someone you love, and it felt like a dream. Mom and Dad and all of us kids had all just spent a week together. Though it was extremely hard to let her go, I have to say that it was a beautiful spiritual experience.

At the viewing on the morning of her funeral, I couldn't stop looking at her face. All the lines of worry and pain were relaxed. My sister Vickie commented that she looked like someone had just told her something funny, and she had the very beginnings of a smile, a familiar favorite look we had all witnessed many times before. We would miss that look, and all of the others that were a part of her. It was hard to watch Dad close the casket. But I knew that one day I would see her again. I just couldn't believe that I had to live the rest of my life without my mom. It would be a long wait, I thought.

It has been nine years, yet I can still just close my eyes and see my mom's face, in detail. Sometimes when I close my eyes, behind my eyelids the light and shadow come together in a perfect black and white painting of my mom. I just sit and stare intently at her, my eyes closed, and she is always smiling.

I was wrong to think that I would have to wait to see her face again. I can see her eyes in the eyes of my daughters and nieces, her smile in the smiles of my sisters, and lately, her face when I look in the mirror. She's not far, and I know that someday I'll again put my cheek against hers in an embrace, and feel my eyelashes brush her skin.

Happy Mother's Day Mom! I love you!