Mother's Day Gift Ideas

What to get the mom who has everything…including cancer.

I’m having a hard time knowing what to get my mom this mother’s day. My mom’s got it all. She has a great wardrobe she can no longer wear, lots of pots and pans she can’t use, jewelry that no longer fits or is appropriate, books that no longer keep her attention, so many arts and crafts that she can’t understand, enough pillows and blankets, plenty of food and flowers…and a whole lot of cancer. Everywhere. In her back. In her skull. Maybe her brain, who knows…

Friends ask me how my mom is and I want to say, “She’s dying.” But I can’t. That’s not what my mother would want and I can’t help but hear her own words in my ear:  “I’m good, Meg.”

I stop by when I can, which is not often enough, and I ask her how she is. Every time I do this, don’t ask me why. Maybe because I like the response,  “I’m good, Meg.” I’m frustrated, angry, and impatient about work, the kids, the dog and cats, the everything there is to do…and she’s ‘good.’

When I visit I try to think of anything to tell her that I may have missed the last time. I tell her how the kids are doing in school and what funny thing they said the other day. I ask her questions that I think she might remember the answers to: “How do you make pea soup?” “What was the name of that guy that was in that play you directed…?” “Who has come to visit you today?” “What did you have for lunch?” I try to stay away from topics such as shopping or what show I’m going to see, my plans for the weekend or what restaurant I visited last, what book I’m reading or what project I’m working on. These, I think are what she misses most. Being confined in her house in a hospital bed affords a lot of luxuries like having my dad, God bless him, wait on her hand and foot but doesn’t allow going out to eat, going for a car ride, going to see a play…going anywhere.

My brothers don’t seem to have the same problem coming up with conversation. They can talk about sports and weather and work forever it seems. But I’m her daughter. Her only one. And that’s different somehow. Somehow it makes me think of what I would want if I were in her place. How I would want my kids to act? It reminds me that I’m a mom too and that there’s no other person in the world that can take the place of your mom. And that’s scary to think about both as a mom and someone who’s losing her mom.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask because I can’t think of anything else to say. This one she always answers the same “Do for me what I would do for you.” Boy, that’s hard. She would come visit me every day. She would know, somehow, what I needed without having to ask. She would be accommodating to the point of annoyance. She would cry. And she would never give up on me.

I think I just answered my own question.

Happy Mother’s Day

Want My Identity?

     Not that long ago my mother and I were at the counter in JC Penney making a purchase. The saleslady behind the counter did what salesladies so often do and tried to entice my mother to sign up for a store credit card, offering her more savings on her purchase if she did. My mother was not going for it. She was very reluctant. The saleslady told her exactly how much she would save once approved. I goaded my mother into taking the bait. We, the saleslady and I, were this close to signing mom up for the credit card and then the lady requested my mother to use the "pin pad" to enter her social security number into the computer. Mom put on the brakes, for good. She wasn't having it. She didn't like the idea of entering her social security number for JC Penney or anybody.
     It wasn't until we got back home did mom explain that she was concerned about identity theft.
"C'mon, mom, really, who's gonna want your identity anyway? You're a 69 year old woman with cancer and three crummy kids. Nobody is gonna want to be YOU!"
     Of course I say this with tongue and cheek. Of course I know what identity theft is and that it's a horrible crime. But it makes you think. Identity theft is all about the numbers; your social security number, your bank account number, your credit card numbers and I suppose we gave this particular theft the most convenient name we could think of. But these numbers; they are not really our identity. Whatever numbers you can steal from me would not change my friends, those I love or who I really am...my identity.
     My friend, Jay, and I recently joked about if someone were to hack our computers; they'd take from us the recent list of emails of cast members in the upcoming show, our brand new Angry Birds Space (which we both agree is more frustrating than fun), and maybe our recent credit card statements which you can feel free to pay off for us if you wish.
     It's not that I don't take identity theft seriously; it's that I query the phraseology used to describe the crime. My identity is summed up in what I do, the company I keep, how I spend my time, not my dollars. My friends aren't famous and don't have expensive cars and vacation homes, but they're there whenever I need them and sometimes when I don't think I do. I don't have any glamorous job but I'm lucky enough to get on stage a few times a year and do my soul the favor of putting on a costume and challenging myself to learn a bookful of lines. I don't have an enviable lifestyle but it offers me time to spend with my kids and husband, my mom and dad, my family and friends and sometimes, time all to myself... I guess you can't steal all that from me, but now I'm beginning to see why you'd want to.

Momma Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

     Tuesday mornings I visit with mom. I'll give it to you right off the bat...Mom has cancer. The big C. Which means, you guessed it...I have to be nice to her, even though she's my mom. Even when she says "Did you comb your hair this morning? It doesn't look like it." I can't say "You're just jealous I have hair!" Actually I can. I think. I'm pretty sure we have that relationship, but it can be tricky sometimes.
     Sometimes I show up and clean the bathroom and wash the dishes. Sometimes we just sit and talk then go to lunch. Sometimes she's not even there and I vacuum, re-organize her pantry and clean her fridge. Sometimes we go get a pedicure. Sometimes she calls and tells me not to come. Sometimes that's a relief. Because sometimes she says, "Did you try on those jeans I gave you?" and I say, "No, mom, they're a size 16." and she says, "But they'll stretch." I'm a size 12 by the way...and I'm not ashamed to tell you that. But I am ashamed to tell you that mom wears me out sometimes.
     And sometimes she goes to Florida or Vermont or somewhere and she's not there for three or four Tuesdays and I miss her and I wonder what it will be like to never have her again and then I stop wondering because it hurts too much to wonder that.
     "How's your mom doing?" takes on a whole new meaning for me now.
     How's your mom doing? "She's doing okay." "She's having a bad day." "She's not doing very well." "She's dying..." There I said it. She told me recently that the doctor told her she will actually live longer than he originally expected but she'll be in a lot more pain. Huh. Reminds me of the worm the boys "saved" from burning in the sun on the driveway. They brought it onto the porch and put it on the table. One of the cats ate half of it. It lived longer but it's in a lot more pain. Huh.