Dec. 2, 2011: Mother's Day

I took a jewelry making class when I was sixteen. I began the class making a simple silver ring, but ended it making elaborate bracelets, rings, and key chains.  I won an award, fed my ego, kept my favorite pieces and completely forgot about the first ring that I had ever made, which I had given to my Nan as she had been visiting us during the time I was taking the class. I was sixteen, and that silver ring was out of my mind probably two minutes after I gave it to Nan.  

I am named after my grandmother, Helen, but I always called her Nan.  Though she was forced to drop out of school after fourth grade during the Great Depression in the United States, Nan was usually the wisest person in the room.  Her sense, along with her capacity to laugh and enjoy life despite the heartache, came from her tremendous ability to keep her ego at bay, live in the present, and to lead a spiritual life.  She summarized it in her motto: we’re all just here on a visit.  

We did things together that were about making the most of our visit. In Kindergarten, Nan made my dream come true by spending the night with me in the back of our station wagon, something my parents had refused to do.   We spent a lot of time sitting on her front porch eating licorice and drinking lemonade, and when I was in college, she and I road-tripped from New Jersey to Texas to visit my parents. 

Ten years ago, I flew up to New Jersey for my last visit with Nan, who had only a few days left in her.  Unlike our life together, this time we didn’t talk much.  We just held hands, and it was when I saw there on her finger the poorly-crafted silver ring that I had forgotten even existed, the ring I made when I was sixteen. And the words that my Nan did manage to get out were these:  “Remember your ring. I never did take it off.”   

Remember the first time you walked? I will never forget. Remember the time you fell off the trampoline, and I just about had a heart attack, and YOU just wanted to go on it again? Oh my goodness; I will never forget that.  Remember your first day at preschool? I sat at home freaked out that something might happen and I wouldn’t be there.  But you were fine and happy and ready to go back the next day, even if I wasn’t.

Moms remember.

When Nan died, I inherited back her silver ring, the ring I made, and I rarely take off.  It reminds me to cherish my people, to make the most of our visit together, however short or long it may be. And it reminds me of my luck to have had such an incredible woman nearby as I navigated my way through life. 

Happy Mother’s Day to you all.  May the world shower you with love and blessings and a brief respite from the hard work that you all do. I see you here in the mornings and after school, and in between picking-up sick children or dropping-off forgotten lunches.  So many tasks and all that remembering that goes along with it.  I know how hard you are working and wish for you  the support and caring you deserve to keep doing what you are doing.  Don’t stop! I see your work in progress everyday when I come to work… and it’s good stuff.   Happy Mother’s Day to everyone.