This will my first Mother’s Day since Janet died. My own mother died of pancreatic cancer when I was fourteen. I spent more Mother’s Days with Janet than I did with mom, so when I think of this Sunday in May being for a special mother I think of Janet.
I had spent 44 Mother’s Days with her while I only had 14 with mom so I hope no one will think I am being unfaithful to mom’s memory. To be honest, as a child I thought of the store-bought cake with the frosting flowers on top as the main attraction of the day. I had the impression that my mom considered it as just another day. It was more than half a century ago but I don’t remember her being very happy about anything.
Janet, on the other hand, enjoyed every holiday, every special occasion. The children and I planned more elaborate celebrations because we knew Janet would appreciate it. My mother-in-law, however, expected the day to be all about her, and Janet did everything she could to make her mother believe it really was. But the children and I understood it was actually was about Janet because that how we felt about the entire day.
Forty-five years ago I read a couple of books about marriage. Yes, I was that kind of nerd who wasn’t satisfied to be swept along by all the wonderful emotions of being in love. I wanted to be educated on the proper way to be a good husband. One chapter was about how the new couple should be parents to each other. Somedays, the wife needed her husband to give her the support that a father could supply; other days the husband needed to be mothered. If the marriage worked well, the husband and wife instinctively knew when it was their turn to be the child and when to be the parent and without deliberate effort to make it come out evenly. If you loved each other, it just worked out that way.
For forty-four years it just worked out that way for Janet and me. I think that’s why Mother’s Day will always be, for me, Janet’s day.