Thursday, February 12, 2009

My Ever Valentine

Jo. That's what you insisted on being called, not Josephine, or heaven forbid, Josie, not even Mrs. M____ to my friends. But it suited you, short, simple, straightforward.

We never had an easy time of it together, you and I. So headstrong, both of us, yet without the slightest understanding that it was often our similarities, not our differences, that were our biggest obstacles. You were my first Valentine, and all these years later, you still are the first person I associate with that day. Of course, the fact it was your birthday as well made it even more your day. But on your Valentine Birthday, I would unleash my best artistic urges, and when I would get creative and make you pretty things, we seemed to find our good place together.

I still have vivid memories of the pains I would take in constructing the most gorgeous valentines I could conceive of, sometimes far too large to get home in my schoolbag. I remember the one year when you sent me to school with only red construction paper and doilies, and I was so frustrated by my inability to make a perfect heart that I burst into tears. Fortunately, my kind classmates responded with donations of their spare craft hearts, because I could only be happy if it was perfect. Little did I know that you would have loved even the crooked hearts, and that you would see them as perfect, as only a mother's eyes can. And I remember also, many years later, when you showed me a box you kept in a drawer, filled with some of the smaller and more interesting gifts I'd made for you.

As the years passed, and the distance between us grew, both physical and emotional, crafted gifts gave way to store bought cards, but you were still the first person on my card list every year. And then when I lived closer again, and I learned to let go of my ego in dealing with you, I found myself trying once more to give you a perfect gift.

You had no need for frilly doilies then, but your fierce pride kept me from doing the immensely practical things that I would have liked to do for you, like getting you groceries or maybe paying your gas bill. So, then my creativity had to take on new and different aspects. One year, I came across a laundry basket that was red and had heart cutouts, and so I then filled it with edible treats and decorated with bows and ribbons. I held my breath for your reaction, but for once, you accepted something you really needed, and seemed happy about it! So, there we were, having finally grown into a place where we could accept each other and get along reasonably well. But that time for us was to be all too brief, and in 2001, your body finally succumbed to all those years of poor health, just two weeks short of your 67th birthday.

In so many ways, I don't think I really knew you at all until you lay in the hospital on your deathbed. It astonished me how every day, there were friends turning up to see you, even after you had gone far enough that you were unaware of our presence. More than one of them told me that you were the only friend they had. People I had never heard of would exclaim, "Oh, you're Jo's daughter - she always bragged about how beautiful, and what a wonderful daughter you were!" Things that you never said to me. Knowing that you felt that way made all the grief we had put each other through over the years worth it.

Today would have been the day you turned 75, and I'm sure I would have done something wonderful for you, something that would have made you protest and bitch. And you would have secretly loved it.

We honored your wishes and "donated your body to science", and then later scattered your ashes at sea, so today there is no monument, no place of reflection, no site where I could even leave a token of my affection and remembrance. I only have these words.

Happy Birthday, Mom, My Ever Valentine. I miss you, and I will always love you.