Mother's Day 2010

Another Mother’s Day and once again I am alone. I ate lunch with Jean and Mary. Jean’s family took her to the cafeteria for dinner last night. Mary’s sons sent her flowers, and all three called her this morning.

I talked to my daughter Friday evening. Martha promised her brother David that she would order flowers for me. She said she had been too busy at work to place the order. Cody, our cook, came by our table and gave me a yellow rose.

Sallye also stopped at our table. She said her son and his dog came to her apartment this morning. The dog had a flower and a card attached to his collar. “They didn’t stay long. He went to the park to play with the dog.”

So it is. Some children smother their mothers with gifts. Other mothers have to be pleased to get a card. And some, like me, get nothing. Does it mean that some women are better mothers than others?

My children’s father was a real Scrooge when it came to giving me presents. When it wasn’t a holiday, as he came home from work he would stop at the train station and pick up a half-pound box of chocolates or a handful of daffodils. But for special occasions? My birthday, Valentine’s, Christmas – nothing! We went out on our 24th wedding anniversary, and I paid for our dinner.

Children learn habits from both parents. If my children don’t send gifts, they are just following their father’s example.

Today Martha and David are middle-aged parents. I see them doing what I did when they were teenagers. Both have demanding jobs. After work, both devote their lives to caring for their spouses and children. Both are excellent parents. I worry that they don’t have time for anything except work and family.

Other old women who live where I do are dependent on their children for everything. Elizabeth’s daughter comes to take her to the grocery store. Erline’s son writes the checks and pays her bills. Becky can’t go to a play because she has to go to her grandson’s soccer game. At times it seems these women and their children don’t have lives of their own.

I am independent, thank you. I live in my own apartment, still drive my car, went to the theater last week, balance my own checkbook, keep up with politics, and read two weekly magazines and at least one book each month. I am content with a full and active life, even though my children live a thousand miles away.

The price of independence is that my children don’t worry about me. They know I can take care of myself. If there is an emergency, I will call 911.