I
almost didn’t get to be a mother, the consequential damages of the subdural
hematoma sustained when I was 28. I didn’t
know until four years ago that the real culprit probably was my platelet bleeding
disorder. Whatever the reason or
multiplicity of reasons, including timing which was not my own, I endured years
of Mother’s Days at church, trying to be game (we all have our own mothers to
celebrate, after all), and remain nonchalant with the inevitable comments in
the vein of “well, what are you waiting for?” and “next year for you!”
In
my infertility pain, I was somewhat startled to learn from my contemporaries
who already were mothers that Mother’s Day wasn’t necessarily a favorite day
for them, either. For some, the
attention made them uncomfortable in their insecurity that they didn’t think
they were as good at mothering as they thought they should or could be. Others felt guilty that they thought this
mothering business isn’t all that it is cracked up to be. More and more, I heard variations of what I’d
call my mother’s philosophy, which is “every day should be Mother’s Day,”
meaning “I just want you to be good and happy.” My mother generally expressed this
as “mind me and get good grades.”
Then
there’s the whole present/”do something for Mom” thing. Wash the car? Who were we kidding that we could
wash the car as well as the 25-cent car wash?
Egg shells in the scrambled eggs?
Then there was the Mother’s Day in the Downey house when I fell off the
kitchen counter reaching up to a high shelf, crashing to the floor with her
second-best plates slipping from my hands.
In true mother response, she was only concerned that I wasn’t hurt as I
cried, mortified, amid the broken plates.
I think the next year, my dad made a preemptive suggestion that we get doughnuts,
which was popular with us, if not Mom.
For
my first Mother’s Day after Akemi was born, Weeder left a large floral
arrangement by our side door, with the note “’Cuz it’s your first.” During Akemi’s early Colburn years, her big
orchestra concert always was scheduled on Mother’s Day. We’d dress for church and make an appearance
at Sacrament meeting in Pasadena, change and drive an hour out to Anaheim for
lunch with my parents, change back into dressier clothes and put Akemi in her
concert dress, and drive another hour to LA, breathless and stressed to make
her call time. Did we remember the
extension cord for the video camera? Did
we put her music in her case? Of course
I loved every occasion to hear her play, but that was really crazy, and I can
assure you that none of the other orchestra moms liked spending Mother’s Day
that way any more than I did.
This
Mother’s Day I’m remembering her second solo recital when she was 11. It was July 14, 2001 – not Mother’s Day at
all – but I’m thinking of it as a most favorite mother’s memory, because it was
her first recital at Colburn, I got to play with her, and it turned out to be
the only occasion when all four of her grandparents and her dad were together
to hear her play. Her dress was
hand-painted French silk, a present from my mother, and she’s carrying flowers
sent or given to her from Leigh, Linda, Janice, and other women who have been
generous and important to her in her life.
Fortunately
for me, when you have a daughter as hard-working and talented as Akemi with her
head on her shoulders, I have a precious bank of mother’s memories of special
and celebratory times, with the promise of many more to come. Whenever I am congratulated on having been
such a good mother to have raised such a wonderful daughter, really I demur –
she makes me look good. When Akemi was
young, the Parkins gave us a book Mr. and
Mrs. Smith Have Only One Child, But What a Child! If you only get one, she’s been the one to
have, and that is certainly gift abundant.
She’s texted and we will “celebrate” in a few days when she comes home
for a visit from Boston.
Now
for my mother this Mother’s Day, I am quite proud of what I’ve gotten her. She has always loved wisteria, a very
Japanese thing – the first kanzashi she
gave me for my hair featured wisteria blossoms.
For years, she has admired the wisteria that Bing planted to trail across
the front of the garage, combined with complaining that she always wanted my
dad to plant her one, and he never did. I hesitated from getting her one, because she’d
have to have a trellis or some kind of structure built for it.
Then
a couple of months ago, we were at a Japanese restaurant with her which had a
wisteria plant trellised in a pot, large enough to get the effect but small
enough to be contained. More
admiring/complaining, but now I had the idea.
So I am about to pack a five-foot trellised wisteria plant into my car,
with a large (plastic) pot, and a large bag of potting soil. I’ll assemble it at her house, and then drive
over to my brother John’s with her for the afternoon with the local-area
grandkids. She knows about it and is
excited about it; it’s nice to make her happy with a tangible present outside
of the “get good grades” category.
John has bought the
roast (his kids are big-time meat eaters), I’m bringing the fixings for a
favorite Sunset magazine salad, and
hopefully someone else is bringing a box of See’s candy. However you spend this day, I wish you a
happy one.
