Happy Mother’s Day!
I haven’t gotten my period in 1,456 days, so today on Mother’s Day, I took a pregnancy test. It was negative, hence my announcing this on Substack. But man, did that get me thinking. Would I be ready to be a mother, again?
Short answer, yes. Because wow, this job is the best. And the hardest. And also the worst. And also the most nauseating. And cutest. And funniest.
What I’m trying to say is despite having had the two worst, record-breakingly awful, most atrocious pregnancies of all time… a few, short hours ago, I was ready to do it all again. Because there is nothing quite like being a mama.
Today was a special day! I spent it with my mom. We went to brunch, just the two of us. Then we drove to visit B-ma, my mom’s mom, Lois Soglin, who is buried in Skokie right across from the mall. A fitting final resting place for Lolo. I like to imagine her ghostly form slipping into Nordstrom after hours, sampling Mac lipsticks and trying on sandals.
B-ma is buried next to Grandpa Seymour, her first husband, who died tragically in a car crash when his kids were still quite young. I never met him, but my B-ma used to tell me how much he would have adored me, and in some magical way, I felt his love filter down in those moments.
Today, when Mom and I visited their gravestones, we noticed both stones looked a little rough and tumble… littered with bird poop, dirt, and overgrown weeds. This inspired us to undertake: Operation Tombstone Scrubbing.
We went to Jewel (why do I still always want to say Dominics?) and grabbed sponges, paper towels, anti-bacterial bathroom cleaner (I’ll admit, I thought it an odd choice, but we were dealing with a type of poop, so I guess it made sense), and a cute potted flower. And then of course Mom had to buy matching, themed, miniature lawn chairs for my children, because—I mean—duh. Is it even Mother’s Day without a register-adjacent impulse purchase?
Once we were back in my car, we floored it to the cemetery. We scrubbed the gravestones a few times. Then Mom said we needed to go over to her aunt and uncles’ stones, so we took our little two woman grave cleaning operation a couple of graves over and scrubbed some more.
The day was gorgeous; the sun was bright and the sky so blue it looked like a Hollywood backdrop. When we were just about ready to leave, we saw a lone goose strutting around, moving in our direction.
Years ago, in the months after my grandmother had died, I would go to the cemetery alone and sob. I’d lay on the grass next to her grieving, my body heaving, begging for a sign. Then I’d stare up at the sky, exhausted. Sometimes flocks of birds would fly by. Once I saw a fox. Sometimes the wind would pick up just so. Once I felt a sign, I’d go home.
Today, I glanced at the waddling goose. Awww, maybe it’s B-ma, I said to my mom.
No sooner had I uttered those words did my mom start yelling: GET AWAY GOOSE, DON’T POOP ON OUR CLEAN GRAVES!
We chuckled. My mom changed her tune: A lone goose is very rare, she said. (somebody fact-check that, btw). You know, it probably is her. Hey Mom, she called to the creature.
I looked down at the graves once more. Bye, B-ma. I miss you.
We love you, said my mom.
As we drove off, I saw the shadow of a bird on the gray road next to our car, and then the shadow shifted ahead of us. I looked above, craning my neck to see. A lone seagull. Very rare, I’m sure.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the moms out there. This can be a hard day, so I want to acknowledge all of the grieving people who miss their mom today, like my husband. I love you, honey.
I want to honor the moms who are no longer with us, and of course, all of the mother-like-figures.
Happy Mother’s Day to Gee-Gee, who I’m absolutely positive is reading these words as I type them, smiling down from her cloud with a giant Diet Pepsi in hand, filled with crushed ice that automatically replenishes.
And happy Mother’s Day to my B-ma, you are always in my heart.
“i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)” -e. e. cummings
