This coming Sunday is Mother’s Day.
Because my mom passed away many years ago, I do some things differently on this special day in May. Or, more correctly, I don’t do some things I used to do. I no longer need to stand at the greeting card racks at CVS — usually at the last minute — searching for a card with an appropriate message. And the kindly admonition that circulates this time of year to be mindful and “call your mother” no longer applies to me. When I realize what I no longer have to do, the thought enters my mind, “I wish I still had these tasks to perform.”
But I still remember and think about her, which is literally what a day of memorial asks of us. Over my life, my thoughts and emotions about Mother’s Day changed. That’s because my relationship with my mother changed over time. I find this relationship continues to evolve even after all these years without her.
According to Thesaurus. com, Anna Jarvis, the woman who founded the day, insisted that the word “Mother’s” in the name should be punctuated with an apostrophe before the S. By making the word a singular possessive it “highlights that the day should be dedicated to each family honoring their particular mother.” If it were spelled “Mothers Day” this might imply a day set aside for motherhood in general, while punctuating it “Mothers’ Day” would mean celebrating all mothers.
Anna Jarvis, English teachers and other sticklers for the language salute you.
In May of last year as I was contemplating my ever-changing relationship with my mom, I came up with lyrics to a song. Over the past year I have come to realize that, in one way, it is specific to the relationships my brothers, sister and I had with Mom. But I have also discovered other people seem to relate to it. When I play it on guitar, I make the song sort of Dylan-esque. I call it “My Mother’s Day.” It ends with a prayer of thanks.
Oh, Mommy, dear Mommy, it’s just what you do
You serve up my breakfast and you tie up my shoe
You make sure that I have my lunch and my books
You smooth my hair and take a long look
As I go out the door.
All of that and more
Oh, Mommy, dear Mommy, it’s just what you do.
But, Mom, but Mom, It’s what all the kids do.
“Well, If they jumped off a bridge, would you jump off one, too?
One day you will thank me, Now clean up your room.
Just wait ’til you have kids.”
“Don’t make me come in there,” you shout with alarm
and sometimes you ask, “Were you born in a barn?”
Oh, Mom, Dear Mom, it’s just what you do.
Oh, Mother, Dear Mother, You say what is true:
“This will hurt me more than it will hurt you.
Please, oh please, don’t fight with your brother.
Why can’t you kids get along with each other?”
The debate is over, I know
When I hear: “Because I said so.”
Oh, Mom, Dear Mom, It’s just how you roll.
Oh, Mother, Dear Mother, you just want what’s best
for me and the family and all in your nest.
Your tether gets longer with each passing year
But as far as I go, you always seem near.
I still can hear your voice
As I decide what is true.
Oh, Mother, Dear Mother, it’s just what you’d do.
And, Lord God, on this Special Day, it is clear;
You’ve blessed us with mothers through all of our years.
Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
