According to the records, more phone calls are made on Mother’s Day in this country than on any other day of the year. Did you know that? Evidently, the mother-child relationship remains unique and vital these days. No matter whether it refers to a birthmother, stepmother, or a dad taking on the mom’s role in a family, they are all deserving of being honored in some way when Mother’s Day comes around.
Mothers seem to be eternal. Long after they have left this world, they are still here somehow. My own mother has been gone for many years now but there is no mistaking the fact that she is still around. Sometimes when I look in a mirror, there is Hazel, my mother, looking out at me. Beyond that, it is absolutely uncanny the way my voice not only sounds like hers, but the words I am saying echo things she passed on to me during my growing up years. Evidently our thoughts and actions do not fall far from the maternal tree.
Then there are those creepy old folk sayings she seemed to like handing down for posterity. “Sing before breakfast, cry before supper!” for instance. Even today, if for some reason I catch myself humming before I’ve had my coffee in the morning I stop immediately for fear something drastic might happen to me before suppertime.
And how about the “Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning” example? My siblings and I heard that often even though the chances of anyone in our family ever owning a sailing vessel were pretty remote. Yet, today if the sky looks the least bit red at sunrise I still keep watching for signs of rain the rest of the day. Don’t tell me that a mother’s words to her offspring don’t live forever because obviously they do, at least in our family.
The most disturbing of my mother’s folklore warnings was “Familiarity breeds contempt.” Now there is a dreary thought for you. This seemed to be her favorite, yet it surely was not a message anyone should drill into a child’s head. In fact, it frightened me into believing that the longer she and my father were married, the more they would grow to hate each other. As a small child, I thought a divorce was in their future for sure, but somehow that never happened. Now that I am a mother and grandmother, and privileged to be such, I try not to pass down such discouraging thoughts to the younger generation.
Speaking of mothers, as I am writing this column, my daughter is on a flight to Chicago in order to meet with a group of women she calls simply, “The Moms.” There are over forty of them now, coming from various parts of the U.S. and Canada and they try to meet once a year at some midpoint.
It all began over 20 years ago with just two moms emailing back and forth to each other and sharing the joys and sometimes trials of motherhood and family life in general. Year after year the group grew and no topic seemed off limits. From the joys of having a new baby to the agony of divorce, they listened, commiserated and were a support group for each other when needed. It just occurred to me that by now, several of their children must be in their twenties. It may not be long before these moms’ offspring will be marrying and becoming moms themselves. That means that when the second Sunday in May comes around each year some of these new moms will receive beautiful floral bouquets while for others it might be boxes of mouth-watering chocolates. For the luckiest of all, however, the phone will ring, she will answer it and hear, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!” In a way, the very best Mother’s Day gift of all.
Joann Duncanson, a former Peterborough resident now living in Greenland, is the author of “Who Gets the Yellow Bananas?”, co-author of “Breakfast in the Bathtub” and author of her latest book, “Eight Crayons — Poems and Stories by an Almost Sane Woman.” She can be reached at joannduncanson@gmail.com.