With Mother’s Day coming on Sunday, the premise for a new anthology, "Dear Mom: Women’s Letters of Love, Loss and Longing," caught my eye. Editor Deborah Berger wrote that we all carry our mothers with us.
"Sometimes we carry her in our hearts, in our heads, or on our backs," Berger wrote. "Even if our mother has been gone for years, for decades, the relationship is still very much alive. When I first started this project, I asked contributors to write letters about what they had never told their mothers."
The book includes 25 letters, including one from Teresa Wippel of Edmonds. She wrote that after college, when she was working as a journalist, her 75-yer-old mother, who lives in Lynnwood, told her she would have chosen journalism as a career.
"And it struck me that no one had really given you that choice," Wippel wrote to her mother. "You were a waitress and a secretary out of necessity to support your family when you were a young widow."
Wippel said she would never be able to tell her mother how much she appreciated her love, support and friendship. I don’t think you say those things enough.
My mother, who turns 80 this month, is bright, goofy and loving. She tells me how to garden. She scolds me when I butt into my kid’s lives. She says I am beautiful.
What haven’t I told her? I bought a padded bra in the seventh grade, hid it in my closet, then wore it to school.
My husband, Chuck, wishes he could tell his mother he had a beautiful daughter. His mother died a week before our youngest, Kati, was born.
I asked some newsroom friends to share their secrets. Here are their thoughts:
Steve Powell, communities editor: "I really want to tell my mom how I appreciated how strong she was when she and my dad got divorced. She did not start dating seriously for a few years after that. We were able to get used to the situation before she moved on. I thought it was great then, but after going through my own divorce, I really see how that was best for us kids."
Nichole Berkenhoff, executive assistant: "When I was about 10, I nearly burnt down our house. Sometimes after school, before Mom got home, I picked colored wax off candles. A strange habit, I know (and even knew then), but it was fun when big chunks of red or green would come off, leaving a plain white candle. One day I was catching all the colored wax in a Tupperware bowl and thought it would be fun to melt colors together. All of a sudden, my little orange bowl caught on fire. I grabbed a towel and beat the fire down. When Mom came home, she asked why the house smelled like Lysol disinfecting spray. I must have convinced her of something, because she never seemed to notice the bowl and towel were gone."
Brian Kelly, reporter: "In the summertime, we used to pitch a tent in the backyard so me and my brothers could go ‘camping.’ Once, my mom had to make an emergency trip to the dentist because I broke a front tooth. I told her it happened when I was running and fell on a tent stake. The truth was, I was playing with my toy trains with a neighbor kid, Ronnie. Ronnie also had a train, and a BB gun, and he started to shoot at his engine as it slowly made its way around the big oval track in our basement. I was laughing because Ronnie couldn’t hit the train, but he kept firing, even as the train passed in front of me. Well, the train kept going and so did the BB, shattering my tooth. I stopped laughing. I didn’t tell my mom because she didn’t like us boys playing with Ronnie."
Jim Haley, reporter: "You know, Mom, I wish I had been able to telephone you about my daughter’s track meet. She came home sporting a medal for a CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) area championship in the 100-yard dash. I was proud. She was proud. I took a photo of her in the yard when we got home from the track meet. My wife went into the house only to receive a telephone message that I had to call a cousin immediately in Canada. Mom, you had a heart attack and died about the time your granddaughter was winning that gold medal. You would have been proud. I wish I could have told you."
Jonetta Coffin, reporter: "My mother died when I was 15. I was afraid of her moods and didn’t really trust her, so a lot of things went unsaid. If I could talk to her today, as another adult, I would tell her how sad I am not to be able to remember a single time when she smiled. I would ask her why she was so unhappy and why she disliked me so much. I would tell her that I really did try to make her proud, but that I just couldn’t figure out what it was that she wanted from me. I wish we could have the chance to talk to each other as adults, we might even like each other; but maybe not."
Thanks to those who shared.
Mom, I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch. I’ve got a few things I should tell you.
Kristi O’Harran’s column appears Tuesdays and Fridays. If you have an idea for her, call 425-339-3451 or e-mail oharran@heraldnet.com.
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