Ironing the Pillowcases - A Mother's Day Reflection

My mom has been gone for ten years now- but I carry her with me every day. She has a way of showing up in the most inconspicuous places. When I fold laundry- she’s there, when I make hospital bed corners – she’s there, when I watch the sunset over Long Beach- she’s there…… She rests within my memories but also in the cellular code of who and what I am. When I set the table, the stems of the botanica plates have to point south, fork to the left, knife blade right- pointed in, spoon to the right of the knife. On special occasions it was the ‘good’ China, other days Corelle ware with the circumference of tiny green spring flowers.

Many years ago, after my uncle’s funeral, my mom invited the family over for dinner and resurrected the good China, all the stems pointing south, glasses to the right silverware polished and in its proper place. My aunt insisted my mother not go through too much trouble and if I have the story straight my mom’s response was, “I want my kids to see how it’s done right.” And that is how it was. There was always a right and a wrong way of doing everything- and nothing was impossible to diligence, skill and my mom. The world had a perfect order which was followed faithfully within the chaos of a tiny house, six kids, two parents, a dog, a grandma, a single bathroom and a motel to run.

When I iron, my mom is there ironing with me- but I can never make the shirts as crisp and perfect-as she had. Her chocolate chip cookies, and cupcakes, and scallops and mashed potatoes, her tuna fish sandwiches, even her scrambled eggs and toast were perfect. Everything was or at least seemed to be….perfect. My older sister had walked in on my mom ironing pillowcases one day long ago – and my mom professed that she could never iron them quite as well as her mom had. My grandmother that is, ironed and folded hers in thirds while my mom’s folds were only in halves. I’ve learned this aspiration toward perfection is genetic but I’m afraid the skills required for follow through might have skipped a generation.

My mom is the finest human being I have ever known and every day with and without her, I have counted my lucky stars that the universe gifted me with her. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much because she filled in any gap and any need with her constant love and loyalty. And although she came from a difficult place she rose above and never let it define her.

And now that my own daughter has grown to adulthood, my parenting, just like my pillowcases and my tuna fish sandwiches, may not compare with that same level of perfection; but my hope is that she will forever know the love and the loyalty, curated by my mom, that is always and will always be there.

There will come a time that we will all be forgotten-perhaps even George Washington for that matter- but the love that my mother encouraged in each of us remains, and hopefully the shared remnants of that love will continue to shine on long after we’re gone.

So, to all who mother, who have been mothered, for fathers who also mother, for aunts and uncles and sister and brothers and friends and neighbors who help mother this world- wishing you all the joy a mothers and mothering heart can hold. Happy Mother’s Day!