Mary Hunt writes about money matters. Her nationally syndicated column before Mother’s Day combined money matter with what really matters. Florists, she told her readers, will make a good third of their annual income on Mother’s Day. Restaurants do very well indeed. It is a huge helping for them. Oh yes, it is a big spending holiday.
But Hunt had a radical idea – forget the flowers, pass on dinner. Instead do something personal on Mother’s Day. Write a letter, Make a cake or a card from scratch. In other words, give a piece of yourself back to your Mom. She’ll love you for it.
I thought Hunt was onto something.
And so it came to pass that I looked up the times for masses at a nearby Catholic church. Going to mass would make my mom happy. She believed in church on Sunday and fish on Fridays. She blessed herself with holy water every time she went inside a church and her rosary beads where wor
n from use. The blessed virgin was her favorite and she prayed to her a lot. Mom was righteous about regular confession and giving up anything you really liked for Lent. That last one never really appealed to me.
Mom wouldn’t think of stepping inside church doors without a hat or veil, gloves on both hands and her shoes polished. Stockings would have perfectly straight lines up the back and of course she wore Sunday best clothes.
Her plans for me as I was growing up included finding a good Catholic boy. She looked for favorable candidates and made suggestions. Sometimes she even invited them to dinner. It drove me nuts.
In her mind there was a natural progression from finding the right one, getting me married and having grandchildren. In my mind there was no reason to hurry things. There was a world to see and explore.
Mom did not live to complete her mission. She died three days after Christmas the year I was a senior in college. I graduated, married that catholic boy and had three children. They’ve grown up now and have children of their own.
Although I don’t go to a Catholic church any more, mass seemed like the perfect way to honor my mother. It would certainly make her happy to know I was inside a catholic church. On Mother’s Day I showed up ten minutes before a 10 a.m. service. Pulling into the parking lot, it didn’t take a genius to figure out something didn’t compute. There were five cars in the parking lot. It turns out that mass is at 11 a.m. someone forgot to upgrade the church Web site.
Wandering through the big double doors I saw lovely stained glass windows. Off to one side I found a sweet statue of the Blessed Virgin and a number of candles at her feet. Lighting a candle for my mom, I sat down nearby and told her all about the grandchildren and granddaughter she never met. They would have loved her. And I told her I missed her still.
I thanked her for the many times she was my best friend as well as my mom and asked forgiveness for those times when I didn’t take her advice to heart, especially in my teenage years. Let’s just say I was a trying child who had her own ideas about future flight plans and that’s putting it mildly.
Getting ready to leave, I saw a boy about 12 years old going towards the lectern. His mom stood in the aisle. In a sure, firm voice he said his name and that he was the lector for today. Ah, practicing for the 11 a.m. service. I stood still and listened. His mom nodded her approval, encouraging him with her full attention and smiles.
It was déjà vu.
The torch of unconditional love passes from hand to hand. Another generation is growing up, testing its wings and trying out new things. Mom is right there, encouraging, loving and helping the fledgling fledge.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I’ll try to make it to mass on time next year. Honest.
Lucy Beebe Tobias is a freelance writer, photographer and artist in Ocala, Florida. ©2007 Lucy Beebe Tobias