Tribute to Mom

A Tribute to My Mother

My mother celebrated her 90th birthday this year. What a milestone! I feel so fortunate not only to have been raised by such a great mom, but also that I am still able to ask her advice, cry on her shoulder, and share the joys in my life with her. So I would like this to be an open letter to my mom, in honor of her lifelong devotion to my sisters and me. I think it's important to say such things while your loved ones are still with you so that they can know how much they mean to you. So I write this open letter, in tribute to my mom.

Dearest Mom,

Certain memories will pop into my head every now and then, out of nowhere (starting with how you always address cards to me “Dearest Nancy”). I don’t know why these in particular stand out in my memory – I’m sure there were lots of other times that were just as special. But because I think of these so often I want to share them with you.

I was probably about five or six years old; it was before I went to school all day. You took me for a little adventure, down Alden Avenue to Elmont Road, where there was some grass and trees down a small slope from the Belt Parkway. We went to collect pine cones. And then we came back home and you showed me how we could put glue on them, and shake multi-colored glitter all over them so they would look like little Christmas trees. What I love about this memory is the warm feeling of spending a portion of the day, when the rest of the world was busy with important things like work and school, being in our own quiet and peaceful world and just making something pretty.

I also remember when you and Dad decided we would take a driving vacation to Florida. Was I seven or eight? You crawled into my bed in the morning – I guess you had come in to wake me up for school. And you told me the exciting news that we would be taking a trip to Florida. You told me all about what it would be like there – that it would be warm and we’d go to the beach and go swimming, even though it was cold and snowy at home. And that there’d be palm trees and coconuts. This was also a special time – a few minutes out of the routine of the day – to paint an image for me to look forward to.

Another memory I have is when I was looking for a summer job after my first year of college. I think I answered an ad in the newspaper for clerical work in the office of some kind of manufacturing business near where we lived. They said they would hire me and told me when I should come in for my first day. When I went there to start working, the office manager, a woman, told me they couldn’t use me and that I didn’t have a job. I don’t remember the details of it, but she was very mean. I think she made it sound like I never had the job in the first place and she was asking why did I come there? Whatever it was she said and how she said it, I came home crying. Of course you asked what was wrong and when I told you, you picked up the phone and called that woman. You said to her “What’s wrong with you? – being so nasty to a young girl that she comes home crying? You should be ashamed of yourself!” Even though I was eighteen and feeling like I should be grown up I remember feeling so glad that you stuck up for me that way.

And something I came to realize only in more recent years is that no matter what is wrong, what problem I have, when I tell you about it and you tell me not to worry, that it will be alright, I always feel better. Just those words from you make me feel better. And I’ve learned, as a result, that when my daughters call me with worries and problems and I feel like I’m not really sure what advice I can give them, that if I say don’t worry, everything will work out okay, this makes them feel better also. There’s something about a loving mother saying that – she knows, you believe her, and it calms you.

I am also so grateful to have been raised by a mother who taught me to love and value the arts – music, dance, theater, paintings, and reading. My childhood was filled with frequent trips to the city to see the ballet at Lincoln Center, a Broadway show, or the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall; and to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art – I remember among the many times you took me there was when the Mona Lisa was on special exhibition. I often marvel how at the time, it all just seemed very natural. But now I know that it is things such as these that make my childhood a very privileged one. Not only do most people not live in the proximity of these things, but more importantly, most people don’t necessarily make them a part of the fabric of their children’s lives. And you know that through this I have passed this love of the arts to my children – something that, as you know, has enriched their lives invaluably and made them who they are today.

These are just thoughts that often bubble to the surface of my consciousness. But I know they represent all of the warmth and love that I have felt from you all of my life. I tell people that I come from a line of strong women; it is a legacy that has been passed on – from Nana to you, from you to me, and now to my girls. I admire you so much. And I love you more than I could ever express.

Your Loving Daughter

While we're into nostalgia, you should checkout my hub about Blue Jeans, Classic Rock, and Saying Good-bye

You might also enjoy My Mother's Poetry.