Charles Jourdan was my mom’s favorite shoe designer. I guess this taste for shoes is in my genes.

The wave of grief hit me as I drove back home after a very positive morning that included a meaningful conversation I had postponed for too long, buying a gift for my mother-in-law and a cheerful quick meeting with a dear friend. You see, Mother’s Day never fails to remind me that MY mom only lives in my memory.

It is a hard day when for many years I had performed, putting on the rosy perspective of having had a wonderful mom and now being blessed with motherhood to four amazing little humans. Both are true. But it does not change the reality that I cannot  celebrate mom the way most people do. So, what do I do instead? I have done many things. One year I skipped the dinner thing all together. Another year (or two,) I cried lots. In most recent years I write what I remember of her. I have purposefully told my children what she looked like, what was she like…I wish I could tell them what her voice sounded like or how vividly I remember her hands and the softness of her hair. At times I feel angry my mom never met my children. It feels like I was cheated on that time. But….BUT staying there will make me grow bitter and then I will miss on THIS I call “living in the present.”

On Mother’s Day I try to remind  my girls and my boy what my mom was like, what things I saw her doing and now find myself imitating her. I also keep sharing what things I admired most about her and I keep praying and challenging myself to acquire such skills. I keep holding tight to the vivid memories and playing endlessly the songs that remind of her.  Here are the things I wish I could tell MY mom while looking into her hazel eyes and holding her hands:

1. Thanks mom for the gift of hospitality. One vivid and sweet memory of you is that of hosting family get togethers and parties for ANY reason. I can see how this is so important to create unity in a family and what a great place to hold meaningful conversations, memories, — practice tolerance and extend grace.
2. Thanks for allowing me to be the irreverent teenager but you never allowed me to disrespect you without consequences after. It helps me greatly to handle my pre-teen and teenager. Woman!!! You had an incredible amount of grace for me.
3. Thanks for being a loyal friend to your friends. I remember clearly how you would arrive in Caracas with a full agenda of visits and phone conversations with your gang. It modeled me the importance of having my own friends and cherishing them.
4. I really appreciate you never saying “I am fat,” or following ANY diet. I wish I could hold my ground that way. You were so comfortable in your own skin and always the happiest in a dress, peep toe heels and your hair just done from the hair salon. No talk about the size of that dress, or brand, or any non-sense I hear, or even say, these days.
5. I really appreciate you had a career but were SO comfortable after retiring in just being my mom. I mean, it was like a second life since you retired at 42, after 25 years of service in the education system. You never mentioned the working mom or stay-at-home tag lines either. I guess you modeled well that motherhood was a part of who you were and not what defined you. Your identity was based solely in who you knew you were meant to be. Another goal I am still working on!!!
6. Thanks for loving Grammy so well. It left me with sweet memories even if it breaks my heart that I would not be able to do the same for you. I try to love my aunties and the mother figures I have as a way to honor you.
7. I have come to love that you were not afraid of dying. At least I did not see any of it. No fear. You assumed your diagnosis the second time with grace and chose to live till your days were over. No fuss. Just LIVING. You went back to the classrooms and taught one more time which spoke volumes of your passion for education. We took that trip, we slept in the same bed and watched TV more than what you liked, you allowed me to still hang out with my friends even if that meant less time with you.
8. Above all mom, I am thankful for the times you forced me to go to church. Your faith held you gracefully through the hard times and taught me life is more than the few years we have on this side of eternity. I made that faith my own and I rest assured in knowing where you are.

My mom (Aida) and me. Circa 1983. Caracas, Venezuela. I inherited the wide smile also from her.

So this weekend mom, I will raise my rum& coke in a short glass like you did, turn on the volume and sing along Willie Colon’s “Amor Verdadero “ or “Gitana”. I will wear a dress and peep-toes  shoes and smile WIDE!  That is the most rebellious thing I can do to deter the sadness of not having you on this side of life.

Do Love and Shoes!

“Fight the good fight for the true faith. Hold tightly to the eternal life to which God has called you.” 1 Timothy 6a