As happens, I have been thinking about my Mom a lot today and I will share two stories of what she was like …
My Mother did not swear. Ever. My Mother once said the word ‘Crap,’ and followed it quickly with, ‘Pardon my French.’ How she raised a son that swears like Cher, or a longshoreman, is a mystery, and yet I never cursed in front of Mother except one time.
I was living in California, about ninety minutes from my parents and Mom called to see if I would dog sit while she and my Dad took a long weekend away. Of course, I said; happy to di it, I said; Just get me the dates you need me, I said.
One Friday afternoon, Mom called me to say she and dad were getting ready to go and when was I going to arrive. She had never given me a specific date and we went round and round:
I stood in my house and panicked thinking I’d just cursed in front of my Mother—and I was a grown-assed man at the time, but still—and as I freaked out, my phone rang again:
And that was the only time I ever cursed in front of her.
A sweeter story without swearing … when my Mother called me or I called he, we’d always chat for a good long while, and then she would say:
All right, I need to get off here, Your Dad will be home soon.
And she’d keep taking, until:
All right, sweetie, that’s it for me. I’ll talk to you soon.
And she’d keep talking. And talking. But, when she was actually, truly, finally finished, she’d always say this:
All right, then, Goodbye sweetie, I love you.
And then she was off.
I still miss that send off.
PS That's a picture my Dad took of my Mom when they'd gone down to an inn by the sea for an anniversary weekend.