A Lifetime of Mothers

by Angela Sanford

I am very fortunate to have a great long-term memory. My short-term memory, well, that’s questionable at times. From that long-term memory, I clearly recall my maternal great-grandmother, who passed away when I was quite young.

I remember visiting her house with my Barbie doll in hand. I remember her taking a moment to sit on the floor beside me, asking about my doll for a few short minutes in between her cleaning tasks. I remember her gentle voice as she spoke to me so kindly.

I also remember both of my grandmothers very well. We lost them when I was in my late teens, but this week I’ll focus on my maternal grandmother — the one I grew up next door to. I remember the fresh doughnuts and the special macaroni dish she always made for Granddad. I remember her smile and the way she rocked in the chair by the kitchen window, waving every afternoon as I crossed their yard to head home after school. I remember her words of wisdom. And I remember the guilt and regret of standing outside her “home” — the nursing home — on the day she passed, crying because I couldn’t bring myself to go inside for one last visit, though I didn’t know it to be such while I stood in the parking lot,  only to lose her a few hours later.

I have nothing but positive memories of all my grandparents — quiet memories of days gone by.

Then there’s my mother, and a very different relationship. If you’re expecting me to rant about what a dreadful mother I had, I can’t do that. But like any mother-daughter relationship, we certainly had our share of battles.

Our friendship didn’t truly take hold until I became an adult. Until then, she was my mother first and foremost, not my friend. While I rebelled in my younger years — though, in my opinion, both of my siblings rebelled with far greater determination than I ever did — and challenged her choices and decisions, it was what I needed at the time: a mother, not a friend.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and Mum and I are seen together frequently — sometimes more often than Dan, my husband, and I. Sometimes I’m dragging her along; other times, she’s dragging me.

While we share many interests, we each have our own tastes: Mum enjoys 1950s country and western music while I lean toward 70s and 80s hard rock; Mum knits while I scrapbook; Mum reads romance novels while I prefer psychological thrillers.

Mum is happy to let me plan the adventures while she tags along, and we complement each other well because I enjoy organizing them. She’s the first person I call when I don’t want to do something alone, and unless she already has plans, she’s usually up for whatever adventure is ahead.

These days, our biggest debates are usually over food — I prefer sweet while she prefers savoury. If that’s all we argue about now, I’d say things are going well.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I realize just how fortunate I am to still have my mother by my side. Life changes so quickly, and the years seem to move faster with each passing season. I’m grateful not only for the mother she was when I needed guidance and structure, but also for the friend she has become through adulthood and for the new memories being made to add to the collection.