Mothers lost

In keeping with tradition, I'll wear a white flower on Mother's Day.
Since my mother's journey ended on June 18, this Mother's Day is like no other. The flower will signify my mother is gone. My mood will reflect my longing to have her back.
While visiting the little cemetery in Orono this weekend, I'll plant geraniums at mom's grave and remind myself I had a good mother.
Don't get me wrong, Mom wasn't perfect. At times she'd accuse me of trying to send her to the poor house, around the bend and to an early grave.
The woman never stopped telling me to always wear clean underpants, to never sit on a public toilet seat and if a guy got fresh, to kick him in the family jewels.
If you asked for money or anything new, Mom's pat answer was, "If you can't walk upright under the kitchen table, you're on your own."
A kid in our family prayed to be short. My prayers were never answered.
I was almost entirely self-sufficient by the time I was 12. I bought my own clothes, treats, school supplies and paid for my own fun. Mom made sure I put at lease 25 cents on the church collection plate. I never liked church. Mom didn't care. I went. She was pushy that way.
And, when I got thrown out of Canadian Girls In Training camp for smoking Daily Mails in 1957, Mom made me smoke one cigarette after another until I threw up. The woman never hit m, but once she chased me up a tree. I stayed there for hours. It was boring.
Since I'm on a roll, you might as well know my mother not only made me find my own way to the dentist, I had to pay the bill. My 1958 part-time job paid 50 cents an hour. I had to work 20 hours to pay that stupid dentist.
I admit: it was better than the alternative. Mom mentioned going to the the driving shed to fetch a pair of pliers to pull the aching tooth.
To make sure I knew the meaning of community, I had to donate to every damned charity-drive going. I can still feel the pain of forking over $25 for the Orono pool building fund
"You swim in it. You give," was my mother's bottom line.
And, my mother could be a little demanding with her "hold your head high, pull your shoulders back, stand up straight and never bring any shame to your name" lecture.
Still, looking back, I realize my mom trumped me at just about everything — I don't have her tolerance, her quiet charm, her wisdom or her loyalties. I was never as kind, as frugal or as forgiving. Nor did I work as hard.
Mom was both strong and gentle. She adored my babies, had a fondness for Canadian history and loved secluded picnics and travel with my dad.
Mom was proud of her Irish roots, prayed in the United Church of Canada, was a tireless community volunteer and, of course, always voted Liberal.
Most of all, my mother fought the good fight, loved in all the right places and died knowing she mattered.
The white flower will be a trillium from the hardwood bush on the family farm. I'll wear it in memory of my mother.