Dead Moms Day

I’ve been trying for weeks to decide how to best spend today. I want it to be special because 10 years ago today my mother lost her short and painful battle with cancer. I want to do something that reflects her true spirit, something that I can share with my son so that he can have a glimpse into the wonderful and beautiful person she was.

This idea has been rolling around in my mind for some time and I would say that I had prayed for some direction on how best to celebrate her short life, but I don’t remember doing so. So it seems strange to say that prayer was answered unexpectedly the other day. I was chatting with Mary-Reid – our sons play T-ball together on the same undefeated team (had to throw that in). We were discussing the mother of a mutual friend who has been struggling with her own years-long battle with cancer. I said, “I understand what she’s going through. My mother died from cancer. It will be 10 years this month.”

Mary-Reid turned to me with a look of surprise. I recognized that look almost immediately. She was part of my club, this unwanted sorority of women who have lost their mothers. “I lost my mother to MS two years ago this month. The 29th,” she said. I said, “Mine died on the 18th. I’ve been trying to decide what to do on that day.” She said simply, “Dead Moms Day.”

She admits it sounds morbid, but then again, it would not be celebrated if one’s mother were still alive. She celebrates the day eating the food her mother most loved – tiny Krystal sandwiches and doughnuts for breakfast. She has a friend whose mother died on St. Patrick’s Day who serves ice cream sundaes for dinner on her Dead Moms Day. The evening of each of their Dead Moms Day these two friends go to a local restaurant and order a mountain of food and drink bottles of wine and laugh and cry and remember.

So I have designated today as my Dead Mom Day. We will pull a great bottle of wine from our meager wine cellar because my mother was quite fond of wine. (I already told Rick we wouldn’t choose her favorite label because she and I had different tastes in spirits!) We would start by popping a bottle of prosecco, because my mother loved bubbly, and we will christen our newly planted garden in her honor, because my mom adored gardening to the point that even terrible allergic rashes on her arms couldn’t keep her out of the flowerbeds. And we’ll do something fun for dinner, because my mother enjoyed cooking and trying new recipes.

While significant for me, these activities also seemed somewhat selfish. I felt I needed to do something more, something that would show others just how genuine she was. So I called the Vacca Campus of the Department of Youth Services, which serves as an alternative to jail for young juvenile boys, and asked what I could give in memory of my mother. My mother was a stay-at-home when I was in elementary school but she grew bored with being the PTA president. So in her early 30s she enrolled in law school. She worked in private practice for a few short years but couldn’t stop accepting pro bono cases from people who needed help but couldn’t afford an attorney. She felt most drawn to juveniles, many of whom were good kids but had little direction finding the right path in life. It was a perfect move when she took a job as the juvenile defender for Memphis City juvenile court serving as appointed attorney to children from less fortunate families. She worked there nearly 20 years before her office belongings came home packed in boxes with notes of condolences.

The administrator at Vacca was gracious and a little surprised. He said the boys would most appreciate sports equipment, so we will deliver a generous supply for the 75-plus boys there in memory of my mother. I hope to continue the celebration next year.

I think back on all this life has presented me these past 10 years and there is no avoiding the gap left behind by her death. It is a wound that will never heal. But I think she must know what’s going on with me down here. I think she’d appreciate the gift to Vacca. And I know she’ll be with me in spirit today, as always.

Love you, Mom.

Photo, Flickr, debaird