Moms always know. They know when you’re hurting and they always know what’s best. They know who is right for you and in my case, my mom also knew when she was going to die.
This Mother’s Day was perfect. Everyone in Northern New Mexico woke up to fresh spring air and all we wanted to do was stay in bed. But every mom who wanted to stay in bed a little longer, couldn’t. With love and anticipation, boys, girls and husbands planned Mother’s Day. A messy breakfast, loud pans and a dirty leftover kitchen. We have all been there and “given” our mothers what they wanted, right? Breakfast in bed, a poorly written card on construction paper and a gift. Maybe a blender or a spa day. All the things that mothers are supposed to want.
On Mother’s Day, I had coffee with my friend, Genoveva, who is almost 90. We drank Folgers instant crystals, had a few cries, and talked about the day. The world esta duro, she says. But we insist. No hay otro. Insist. What a perfect word to describe moms. They insist. They persist and they are incessant. Like rivers that bend land, rocks and canyons. They persist. Genoveva has buried her husband and her daughter in the last year. Not easy for anyone. But moms endure.
They were built to withstand the pain of the world. Cultural norms dictate that men don’t cry. They’re made of steel. Crying is seen as a weakness expected of womenfolk. Yet with every cry, with every child borne, women grow stronger.
I learned this from watching my own mother. I used to love going with my dad to pick her up from work where she was a seamstress at a factory. At 3:30 on the dot, like a stream of ants, women would escape whatever doors the white expanse of a building would let loose. They all looked the same. Women in various stages of vigor and exhaustion would flow from their work places. I was excited to see her! My dad made sure to keep the air conditioner on full blast. The first thing she would do is turn off the radio. I hate it, she’d say. They keep the radio blasting in the factory to keep us working faster. Like cattle.
One day on the car ride home I remember my mom and dad arguing, which was odd. They never argued in front us. This time was different. She was anxious and clearly bothered by something. Was it the cattle-like working conditions? The heat of the day, or the smock she was wearing? I will never know. It was the first time I remember experiencing the pain of a mother. With a deep sigh, she put her elbow on the space between the door and the closed window, placed her chin gently on the knuckles of her hand, and gazed out the window.
What was she thinking I remember wondering? What were her dreams and hopes? Where does she wish she were? Away from us? How did she imagine her life? When she was 16, she used to sing in a band. Did she want to be a star or make it big under the bright lights? I’ll never know.
A few months before my mom passed eight years ago, she insisted on taking a trip to see my brother. She also wanted to visit her niece. And while she was at it, went to Oklahoma to visit her brother, whom she hadn’t seen in forever. She knew her time was coming and she wanted to say goodbye.
This next part I was only reminded of recently. My friend, out of the blue, last week told me. Oh, didn’t I tell you I had a dream about your mom? Carmela has no idea who my mom is and never met her. She said, “Yeah. She wanted me to tell you she likes her ring.” I think nothing of it. I’ve told the story many times about the college ring she bought me for graduation. She tells me, “No! “ Not that ring. In my dream, your mom says she loves the ring you gave her.
When I landed my first job after college I wanted to buy her something special. My job was a major accomplishment for me and I was working in a large city. One of the first things I wanted to do was give my mother, Lily, a gift that symbolized how she and my family had helped me- achieve, what for the time once might have seemed the impossible dream. So I splurged and bought her a ring from a famous jewler. I only spent a few hundred dollars.
On a whirlwind tour of this metropolis, she stopped at the same store where I purchased the ring. My dad later told me this story. Lily, boldly walked in to this store which would have intimidated some people and said, “ I would like something to match this ring. What do you have on sale?” The lady at the counter politely said, well ma’am, we don’t have anything on sale but I’m sure we can find something.
Lily bought earrings that matched the ring.
Moms are naturally proud. They protect and they insist and they keep us with them forever. They are stubborn and they are beautiful. They never get what they want and life never goes their way. At least that is what we assume when looking from the outside in. As difficult as it is to clean up the kitchen on “their day” or never get to sleep in, moms endure because they love unconditionally. And in the case of Genoveva, they endure better than any man possibly could. To my mom, Lily, and my mother-in-law, Emily, up in heaven, and to all of the moms who woke up longing to stay in bed just a little longer, bless you. You have taught us how to persist and carry on. Happy Mother’s Day.
P.S. I made sure that the ring would be with my mom forever, so I buried it with her. I’ll never see it again. But her, I cannot wait to see.