Wait, I need to call my Mom!
Marin Independent Journal, October 2024
My Mom died in 2009 and a day still does not go by that I don’t think “oh, I have to call my Mom about that.” A few days ago my granddaughter, Charlie, fell off a swing and broke her femur. The day progressed to a rushed trip to the emergency room, pain, traction, more pain, casting, more pain, angst, feeling of guilt from everyone who was present. It was a very long weekend. And one of the things that kept coming to me was how I needed to call my Mom.
My Mom was always there when I needed her whether it was for emotional or physical support. I knew I could call her at any time and tell her I needed her and she would drop everything and come to my aid. Thankfully I didn’t have to do that too often.
But a funny thing happened this past traumatic weekend -
I realized that I had no one older, wiser, more experienced than me to call and that I was the one everyone else was turning to for advice, help or just to talk. I had become the matriarch of the family when I wasn’t looking.
I realized that I was the end of the line. That there was no one else to go to after me. Everyone was calling me but I had no one to call. When a tough decision was being made or someone needed a hug I was the one they turned to as the elder, the experienced one, the Mom. This didn’t bother me until after three days of being strong for everyone else I found myself sobbing in my car wishing so hard that I could just call my Mom.
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Today I made a pie. One of many that I have made and will make this summer. It is a strawberry rhubarb pie - the strawberries so sweet and the rhubarb sour and tangy. One of my favorites. The pie goes into the oven and I turn to the leftover scraps of dough. As always I roll the dough out, spread it with butter and sprinkle it with cinnamon sugar. I roll up this small slab of yummy goodness and slice it into miniature individual cinnamon rolls. This is all part of my pie making and I do it every time - EVERY time. You see, my Mom did the same thing with her scrap dough. And her mother did the same with her scrap dough. I strongly suspect that my grandma’s Mom did the same with her scrap dough. My friend Nancy was with me today and she commented on how her mother used to do the same with her scrap dough. I quite imagine there are mothers and grandmothers all over the country who do this with their scrap dough.
It’s times like these, silly times, doing silly little things, that make me feel connected to my mom and all moms everywhere. My mom had such a strong impact on my life for both the big lessons and the smaller, less important lessons like what to do with your scrap dough after making a pie.
I remember reading a story once about a woman who always cut off the end of a ham before putting it in the pan and cooking it. About 2 inches worth. She did this for years until one day her daughter asked her why she always cut off the end of the ham before she cooked it and she realized she had no idea. She just knew that was what her mother always did so she did the same. Luckily her mother was still around so one day she asked her. What is the purpose of cutting off the end of the ham before cooking it and her mother replied, “Well my pan was always too short for the ham so I needed to cut off the end to make it fit.”
The thing is I could totally see myself doing that. Cutting off the end of the ham because my Mom did it. I paid attention, I watched everything she did and learned. Some things I have continued to do - making cinnamon rolls with the scrap dough, handing my kids (and grandkids) the spatula to lick after mixing cake or cookie batter, having pizza every Sunday night because doesn’t everyone have pizza every Sunday night? I fold the towels in thirds, I change the bed sheets every two weeks, there are certain cookies I only make at Christmas and I make the same ones EVERY Christmas. I grow petunias and marigolds and geraniums in my garden. I have a stash of candy that I hide from my kids and we open our presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day - these are all things I learned from my Mom.
Some things I have not continued to do. I don’t polish the silver every holiday, I let my kids have as many toasted marshmallows as they want since I was only ever allowed two at any given time, I don’t clean the fridge out every Tuesday or only use my living room for guests. I wipe the windshield with my hand when it is fogged over but when I do I can still hear my Mom saying “Stop! You’re going to get it all streaky”.
Either way the impact they have lingers and when we lose them we lose much more than “just a Mom”. The earth shifts under our feet and everything in the family shifts. And it’s times like these, when there is trauma in the family that I really feel the loss - when I go to call my Mom to ask for advice or just to talk it out and
she’s not there.