May Day

and my mom

May Day conjures up memories of walking through the woods, looking for Violets and Blood Root to put in construction paper May baskets.  We filled them with the few scraggly stems we could find and some leftover jelly beans my Mom found in the cupboard and Hershey’s kisses from her secret stash.  We all knew where she kept them but we didn’t usually steal them, not from fear but because they were Mom’s and we probably didn’t love them as much as we knew she did.  We certainly didn’t love radishes as much as she did.

It was my Mom’s birthday a couple days ago.  She would have been 96 had she lived past 66.  She’s been gone a long, long time but I’ll never stop missing her.  I hardly dare let myself think of all the things she missed.  I’d rather think she didn’t miss anything but instead saw it all from a different angle.  That she’s watching over us and lends a hand now and then when we need it.

It’s been awhile but the last time I asked for a hand was when I was making a kransekake for my middle daughter’s wedding.  I had a million things to do, as one does when hosting a wedding, and I REALLY needed it to turn out the first time.   I wasn’t feeling at all sure footed, so I said a little prayer. I could feel her steadying presence and the cake turned out great, worthy of the occasion.

I dream about her sometimes, whole and well.   She had a long, debilitating illness.  I wish I’d been older and maybe more able to be there with her in her decline.  Mostly I was horrified by the slow loss of her.  I had three little kids then. They provided a welcome distraction and I admit, an excuse to look away.  Still, I can’t imagine how it was for her.  I remember she loved watching the kids. And how she lost her fear of fast driving and heights and laughed a lot, even when she wasn’t able to speak.

I’m so grateful for her.  She was a wonderful mother.  She took good care of us and pretty much kept our father in line.  He was the fun one and I’m sure that’s why she married him. They built a whole family together, a business, and a home.  A little dynasty in the way that two people can.

But fun was sometimes double edged for my little Scandinavian, Lutheran mother. From what we could tell, she (almost) always cheerfully went along with my Dad’s schemes.  They ranged from  hosting last minute cookouts with ALL the aunts and uncles and cousins, or going on 3 week camping trips with 4 kids and Rivets, our standard poodle,  to hauling a chicken coop home from the neighbors to remake into a barn for a pony when I was 9.

She made us a beautiful home.  She gardened and cooked and sewed and painted.  She loved us and we only occasionally gave her a migraine or made her lose her temper. She showed us how to make May baskets and gave us permission to step into the crabby neighbors’ yard to hang one on the door knob.  We knocked on the door and ran away.  We felt daring and generous.

My mother’s brother died last week.  He was a few weeks shy of 99 years.  I suppose that’s what’s put me in mind of my mom.  He lived 33 years longer than she did.  My cousins were lucky and they know it.  But losses are sad, no matter when they come.  We’ve lost a lot of mom’s in the last year.  My parents generation has been blessed mostly with long lives but they’re well into their 90’s now and there’s not much further they can go.

My Mom and her brother Harry

Inevitably my generation is facing it’s own demise.   How do we make friends with our decline and stop fearing our own end.  It’s hard to know if we have one or 10 or 20 years left to live on this planet. But however long, it feels short.  Especially when things are starting to go wrong with our bodies.   It seems a lot of people die in their 70’s.   How do we live with that?  I’m heartened by the fact, as I was when in labor with my children, that I’m not the first to ask that question.  It’s part of being human.  Part of the adventure and I think I have to just trust that I’ll be able to figure it out each step of the way.  There’s still so much to learn about being a human being and living a human life.

May is so full of life.  It’s hard to be morose or disheartened or worried in the face of all the green life bursting from the trees and the ground.  The sunshine is warming and calls the sap in my bones to rise up and to do something!  Go outside and dig in the dirt or pick up sticks, or clean a drawer or make a May basket and hang it on the crabby neighbors door knob.  This year maybe in memory of my sweet mom.  And in case you’re my neighbor, I should add that nice neighbors should get May baskets too.