I'm always a little sad when Mother's Day ends. I have enough self-knowledge to know it's the passage of time that gently tugs at my heart. Quickly go the years...
These two ladies were neighbors for almost thirty years. The photo was taken last summer at my daughter's wedding. The woman on the right is my mother, Joan. Next to her is my second mother, Rosemary, who receives a Mother's Day card from me each year.
Rosemary is my first best friend's mother. As girls, Paula and I used to love when our mothers gathered to chat in the heated summer darkness at the end of our driveway. We pretended to play but we were really hanging onto their every word. It was during one of these eavesdropping sessions that I discovered my mother was harboring a secret worry that my eyebrows might be taking on the shape of my Scottish grandfather's (believe me, you don't want the flying brows of a scotsman). I also got advance notices of upcoming vacations and other plans that were still in closed family discussions. One night the mothers collectively concluded that it was ok for us to begin shaving our legs, long-wished for by us and long-denied by them. Lots of rites-of-passages occurred in tandem because they were dissected and decided during motherly pow-wows that took place in the still summer air, accompanied only by the waving buzz of cicadas.
We knew it was time for bed when our mothers began slapping at their legs. The mosquitoes always won out and off to bed we'ld go, a little disappointed there wasn't going to be more said...and more to hear.