Yesterday was my first Mother’s Day as Mommy and I enjoyed it immensely. Of course, there was this issue about finding a restaurant in town that had not been affected by a gas line break. Apparently someone thought it was okay to drive into a gas transmission plant that was a pumping station for the pipeline that runs along the Florida Turnpike.
Since brunch was out, we went home and finally got Ethan to take a nap. We ventured out that afternoon for some shopping and managed to get a table at Ruby Tuesday’s for dinner. Wasn’t fancy, but it was nice.
The bittersweetness (is that a word?) comes from not having my own mother with to share this day. Eight years ago she was diagnosed with a glioblastoma. Over the next 22 months, she went through two surgeries, rounds of radiation and chemotherapy, loss of the use of the right side of her body, and aphasia that affected her ability to speak coherently, but could mostly understand what we were saying to her. The aphasia proved incredibly frustrating for someone who loved to communicate, but would now say she wanted a lamp if she was hungry.
I’m angry that she was subjected to such a horrible last 2 years of life. I’m angry she only knew her first grandson for 3 months before succumbing to the tumor. I’m angry I can’t call her at 3 am to ask her what I’m supposed to do when Ethan is vomiting. And I’m angry that she couldn’t be here yesterday for my first Mother’s Day.