Mother of the Year
Back in 1976, I made a “Mother-of-the-Year” certificate for my mother. I typed the certificate using a very old Underwood typewriter, which required frequent re-inking as the very-worn ribbon could very well have been the original one.
The sentiment which I typed onto the certificate was sappy, and full of grammatical errors. But none of that mattered, because when it came to receiving gifts, my mother was one of those, “It’s the thought that counts” type of mothers.
Towards the bottom of the certificate, I typed my name, and then the names of my siblings. Each name appeared on a separate line, and space was provided for everyone’s signature - Because a certificate without signatures was/is unofficial, meritless, and therefore, not worth the paper it’s poorly typed on. I then placed the signed certificate in a (fake, but made to look like a) genuine wood frame, and then gift wrapped it.
When my siblings and I presented our mother with the signed Mother-of-the-Year award, she said it was the best Mother’s Day gift she had ever received (at least that’s what I remember hearing.) That award hung on the wall in my mother’s sewing/craft room until we had to take it down, along with everything else that hung on walls, in preparation for selling the house my parents lived in for nearly fifty years.
For the past several Mother’s Days, my mother had no comprehension of what Mother’s Day was. She didn’t know what the sentiments on the cards meant. She didn’t know what the flowers represented. But the most difficult of all was the realization that she had no idea that the people who visited her were the same signees who 40 years earlier presented her with the coveted 1976 Mother-of-the Year award. And that was a devastating reality.
Last fall, my mother courageously defeated her battle with Alzheimer’s Dementia. I believe she is now where she always believed she would be when she left this world. And that brings me much comfort.
When I was a little kid, I remember being terrified of my parents dying. What would I do? Who would take care of me? I feel very blessed that both of my parents lived into their early 80’s before moving on. But I’ll be honest with you. Sometimes I find myself now asking, “Now that they’re gone, what am I going to do?”
Happy Mother's Day Mom