Happy Mothers Day to my mom, and hers.
This is the third Mothers Day since my grandma died. Each passing year it gets a little easier for my mom(and the rest of us). But as she told me just the other day, after my oldest daughter’s spring band concert, she feels like something is missing in her and she’ll never get it back. “Like a phantom limb, sort of?”. “Yes”, she said.
It’s those moments when my kids say or do something extraordinarily funny or ridiculous that Ruthie’s absence is noticed most for me. Cause those ridiculous and funny moments were where she shined. She was funny without having to try. She just was. And my mom is the same.
I sat on my mom’s couch yesterday after my oldest’s 13th birthday bowling party and I looked at my mom and I saw my grandma. The way she sat in the chair. The lines in her face. And the expression of both interest and a certain distance. Like she was thinking of something else -or someone else- as I told her about 13 year old girls adhering marshmallows to their faces with blue frosting in a crowded bowling alley.
She was probably thinking about Ruthie. Just like me.