In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m sharing an essay I wrote several years ago.
I hope you enjoy it.
“I am your
mother, and when I’m gone you’ll never have another.”
I remember my mother telling me that
from time to time as I grew up. Maybe she said it because she lost her mother
when I was five years old. Maybe she meant it to be a lesson, a precaution, a
warning—people are special, unique individuals and should be cherished while
they are here.
Most of life’s instructions are reflective. They come
unannounced, without a proclamation declaring: “Here’s an important teaching!” They
sneak up on you when you’re being, living, doing. How much easier would life be
if we were told in advance, “Hey, pay attention to this and write it down. Don’t
miss it, because it’s going to be crucial one day.” But that’s not how it works.
Life has a way of happening to you before you realize it.
My mother is still teaching me,
although now that we are both older, the topics have changed, and the subjects
seem more serious. Now we discuss life, death, dealing with difficult people,
what to do about a job you don’t like, or how to be happy.
She may not have all the answers, but
she has sound advice and an opinion I value greatly. Somehow, mothers always
know. I once told a friend that mothers must automatically be given all the
information and wisdom they will need to impart on their child. She agreed. Is
this a maternal instinct or merely the passing down of knowledge from
generation to generation?
I learned many things from my
easy-going mother, mostly from her sharing her life with me. There were no
sit-down talks on how to live life or how to grow up to be a good person. No
lectures or “I expect you to…” speeches.
There were no great tragedies or
hardships in my life while growing up. We had plenty of food and a nice house
in rural upstate New York. Everything wasn’t always roses and sunshine, but we
were content. Maybe that’s why the values I learned and the lessons I was
taught were simple. Don’t lie. Be nice. Take in abandoned animals. Act
responsibly.
Perhaps the main thing my
mother taught me was to be my own person, to develop my own sense of identity. Why
do what everyone else does? “If they don’t like it, frig them!” she’d say. She
still has that independent attitude.
My mother encouraged me
to pursue my own hobbies and became interested in them without judgment. She
went to concerts with me when I had no one else to go with. We listened to
music together. She played her Roy Orbison and Jackie Wilson albums and told me
stories about being raised in New Jersey. We were never bored and always had
interesting diversions.
Growing up I’d often
hear, “Let’s go have an adventure.” We’d soon be on our way to an indoor flea
market, to visit one of her friends, or to shop at the record store forty
minutes away in Albany.
Her parenting style was more liberal
and hands-off than that of most other mothers. I was shocked to learn that many
girls in my high school fought with, hated, and in some cases, never conversed
with their mothers. To them, a mother was an authority figure, a demanding and
restrictive parent. To me, “mother” meant friend and confidant, someone who
loved and trusted me. Looking back now, I realize that I mostly kept out of
trouble to spare her disappointment rather than because I feared her punishment.
I learned little things just by
observing her in the kitchen or listening to her tell a story. Almost anything
can be baked at 350 degrees in the oven; when making stuffed cabbage you have
to roll them tight; and tar comes off your car windows with Coke.
Many teachings were more substantial. After supper on spring
and summer evenings she’d say, “Let’s go outside and putter.” In our language,
this translated into gardening.
Whenever we could, we’d go outside, sit on the front lawn and
putter in the numerous flowerbeds. We’d plant petunias, move tulip bulbs, check
on the impatients in the flowerbox, weed, and water. She taught me everything about
gardening, explained the difference between annuals and perennials, and showed
me which green thing was the weed and which one was the flower.
During these times we’d discuss life, relatives, school, her
job, why people are the way they are, or whatever else came to mind. Again, I
wish I’d had the foresight to write it all down and memorize every word, for
I’m sure I missed a few lessons.
All of her knowledge and wisdom has
been carried over into my gardens, my flowerbeds. Even to this day, there are
times when I point to something growing and ask, “Is that a weed?” and she has
the answer. Other people don’t know how to plant, grow, or enrich, but to me,
it’s second nature.
Looking back, it seems that my mother
was cultivating more than flowers in the garden.
***
In loving memory of my mother, who’s been gone for 6
years.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kelli A. Wilkins is an
award-winning author who has published more than 100 short stories, 20+ romance
novels, and 6 mystery/horror ebooks. Her romances span many genres and
settings, and she likes to scare readers with her horror and mystery stories.
Kelli released her fourth gay romance, A Thousand Summer Secrets,
in April 2024. This tender contemporary romance takes place over a summer
weekend, where two friends reconnect while seeking love and acceptance.
She published The Route 9 Killer, a
mystery/thriller set in Central NJ, in early 2023.
Follow Kelli on her
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKelliWilkins and visit her website/blog www.KelliWilkins.com for a full title list and
social media links.
