by Melinda
Pillsbury-Foster
Last night
mothers and daughters gathered at St. Peter's Church for the annual
Mother – Daughter Dinner. Dads and men cooked, dished up, and
served the meal, comprised of several courses. Garden Salad, fresh
and tangy, a main dish comprised of a d'Poulet au Croissant, Sweet
Corn Collage and fresh vegetables. Dessert was Velvet Chocolate
Cake.
The service
was astonishing. Plates were placed in front of each lady with a
smile and attention to our every need.
Amidst the
happy voices and drawings for prizes, talk went on about children and
what it means to be a mother. Nudged, I shared a story about my own
motherly experience with my youngest son, now advanced into college
and a serious ball room dancer.
What do you
think a mother is was the question. I learned the answer one morning
in 1998 while driving my son to school after extracting him,
belatedly, from bed. It was one of those dark and very damp days in
Santa Barbara which the Chamber of Commerce does not admit happen.
I asked my
son that very question. After a pause of around 90 seconds, he
answered. “Why, Mom, you ought to know that. Just consider the
spelling of the word and it is obvious.” He paused.
Huh? I
spelled it out in my mind. Honestly, no lights went on.
Then,
slowly spelling out each word in the acronymistic definition he had
devised in such a short time, he patiently recited,
“Multi-Operational-Tasking-Home &-Emergency-Resource.” Then
he gave me a sleepy smile, clearly delighted with his own cleverness
and also at having said, in such an unanticipated way, “I love
you, Mother.” I was left both stunned and leaking tears.
It had been
a tough few months for both of us. His older brother, Arthur, was
still in a wheelchair, paralyzed from having shot himself through the
brain in the wake of his motorcycle accident. I was just finding out
what it meant to become a full time caretaker of one son, who was an
adult, with this one still at home, upset and depressed, at the
changes in his life which also included his father leaving me.
“Do
you want to stop at MacDonalds?” I asked him. “Yes,
please,” he responded, sitting up finally.
“Breakfast
McMuffin, two hash browns and a large orange juice? “Yep.” Life
goes on, bringing unexpected joys when you least expect it.
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