Mom...

We all grow up to be orphans, God willing

Today is a national holiday set aside for moms everywhere. If you are reading this, you had one, and if she is still with us, lucky you.

Every story, if you go back far enough, begins with Mom. She existed for you before you existed, even though the memory of it gets pretty foggy around two or three. Before that, life is a concept, a fuzzy place you know existed, but can’t put your finger on it from personal experience.

I don’t remember anything about this moment, but it existed, I am sure of it.

I do remember this moment, though.

My father had already died, and Mom moved into a “home” in Livermore to be close to my younger sister. I was living in San Francisco at the time. We used to look at family pictures together, and she kept mistaking me for Dad in the pictures. It was endearing and understandable. After all, he existed before me.

Quietly reflecting on what my mom means to me brings up such a strange brew of feelings and memories. It is a goulash of everything we experienced together, and that covers a lot of ground.

No need to gush about it all here. You have moms too. You know what I’m talking about. My advice is this: prepare to be an orphan. Once you cross that line, there are no do-overs. Lingering questions will never be answered again.

A mom’s work is never done, they say. For the moms out there reading this today, know that you are preparing your children to be orphans. From the moment you bring a child into the world, you are preparing to offer them up to the world, to sacrifice them to their own devices. When you are old and can barely remember who is who, when you leave this world your work is finally done. But even then, moms live on in the hearts of orphans.

Take it from me. Mom has never left my side. “Oh, Rob!” said with a glint of sarcasm and gentle reprimand. That’s mom. Thanks for the visit. I miss you.