My mother passed away 30 years ago.
I almost wrote that I lost my mother decades ago, but in so many ways, she is still with me. I feel her presence now; how could I not, my mother was all about love.
She loved me, I know; she loved all of her children individually and collectively, giving more of herself to each one of us, supporting us, providing for us, giving us the home and the family she believed we needed.
It was a beautiful family. She was the spirit.
My mother was the support system for the entire family. She was from the last generation of homemakers, a time where being a mom meant being at home. She was there for us: my father and his professional life, my brother, my sister, and me.
My parents encouraged involvement and creativity. They were both understanding parents who allowed us to pursue our desires and interests (hell, they allowed a set of drums – mine – into the house).
My mother was happiest when her children were content. She was there for us, anytime, all the time. She was dedicated, to us.
With three children intensely involved in a wide range of activities and competitive sports, my mother and my father involved themselves in our pursuits as a means of being involved in our lives. My mom was the one you could hear shouting the loudest at volleyball games, track meets, and on the ski hill. Yes, even in those -40 degree Manitoba winters, she was the one who was standing out on the course cheering me on, or my sister, or any of our friends. She was the mother who would drive a station wagon full of kids to track meets a couple of hours away on a regular basis.
I always knew she was there for us. My friends always knew she was there for support. She was that kind of mother.
She taught me that being involved in your children’s lives was the most important thing a parent could do. It was a lesson that became so obvious when I became a parent myself.
I always wanted to be there for my daughter. I knew the importance of being there. I was taught well.
When my mother passed away, I remember how difficult it was telling my daughter, barely three, that her grandma has died. My mother had a heart condition.
I ended up telling her that Grandma’s heart was so full of love that it just couldn’t keep up.
My mother had a big heart.
I miss her dearly, but still feel her love; especially today.