Messages for Mother's Day

In this age of highly targeted, individualized marketing, the number and frequency of marketing messages I receive about Mother's Day take me by surprise. "Celebrate Mom." "Color your mother's world." "Brighten her day with flowers." These messages come via email, direct mail, and in person. I purchased periwinkles at a local nursery last week, and the store employee who assisted me said, "Just in time for Mother's Day."

My mother died seven years ago. I find it surreal, on the one hand, to receive all these reminders about Mothers' Day--and, instructive, on the other. Surreal, because I miss her still, because her absence is as alive as it ever was. I loved shopping for something to "brighten her day, color her world, and celebrate" the woman who was my mother, my teacher, my friend, and my soul's companion. And instructive, because these messages make me stop and remember . . . . not only Mother's Days past, but so many other days and memories connected to my mother.

As most children do, I wanted to be able to "surprise" her with something on Mother's Day. Yet I was as often the one surprised, because my mother used Mother's Day to "color my world" with a message of her own. More often than not, until illness stilled her hand, she would write me a note, telling me how grateful she was to have me as a daughter, to have become a mother for the first time with my birth.

Then, one day, a child was born to me. A son. Who, during these past 30 years, has been my son, my friend, my teacher, my soul's companion. He is a great note-writer, too. (It must run in the family.) I have kept one of his notes by my desk for more than 20 years, and every year it means more. It represents all we need to say to our mothers on Mother's Day--and other days. It represents everything I would say to my mother if she were here today and everything I would say to her, could I see her on the other side of this life. If your mother has moved on ahead of you to the next world, and you, like me, wish you could send her a present that would somehow break through the borderland between here and heaven, then print out this note, penciled by a child just learning to write on a remnant of colored paper. Whisper its contents, say them, sing them, write them on a balloon and send it flying. Or, if your mother is still with you here, then write these very words on any piece of paper, and hand them to her. There may be other gifts that your mother would like, but none more necessary or more complete than this:

Text and images, copyright Ysabel de la Rosa, 2008