Myra, this Mother's Day is for you.
Except for those flowery cards you wanted so badly, you made Mother's Day easy. I would stand for a long time in the card shops, going through card after card trying to find the perfect card. Humorous wouldn't do. It wasn't your style. I could not bare to put my name to the sentimental fantasies you and your compatriots loved so much. I remember you and my aunts swooning over the words on cards that belonged on bygone cards in bygone times. I inevitably purchased a beautiful wordless card, in which I wrote "Happy Mother's Day, I love you." Communication is between two people. We each had poetry in our hearts. The deep rhythms were the same but the words flowed from different times and different experiences.
However, buying a gift for you was always a joy. The only request, I remember you ever making was to go to the Mackay farm, to go for a walk in the bush to gather wild leeks. I often go for those wonderful walks, as I drift through the quiet of soft nights. I am growing wild leeks in my wild garden. There are not enough coming up yet, to pull up and eat one. There are times ahead. Each spring they rise, brings strong memories of you. What fun we had feeding them to the uninitiated.
The first present I really bought for you, was a set of coloured facecloths, I bought at Tim Clarke's store on Main Street in Markham. Those were the days when a little girl could walk down street with her little purse of coins to make a purchase, by herself, at a very young age. I was thrilled with my purchase. You were thrilled with your present. As I remember, when I was able to cross the road and venture further along the street, I bought collections of bright coloured sponges at Sinclairs, Five and Dime. All I know is that there was never a shortage of fresh sponges, under the sink.
Of course there were breakfasts in bed. Being too small to boil the kettle, your tea was made with hot tap water, your shredded wheat biscuit was softened in the same hot tap water. I am sure the tray was covered with a linen table mat and a tiny bouquet of johnny-jump-ups and blue forget-me nots from the lawn. Really presentation is everything, isn't it?
There were so many years that followed.
One year, I bought you a small burlap bag of hibernating lady bugs and a regal praying mantis - good aphid control for your organic garden. I stored them in my neighbour Karen's fridge. Of course the inevitable happened. Her children opened the bag and we spent an afternoon searching for them in an overloaded fridge.
Another year I bought you a fancy plastic system to house your Niagara Red Wigglers. The reality is it wasn't as good as the old wooden worm box. I still have the worms' descendents.
There were the pretties - rose bushes, handkerchhiefs, nighties and blouses; the edibles- Jordan Almonds, cherry filled chocolates, hoarhound and perhaps a fresh salmon steak or two from Healy's.
But the greatest gift I gave to you was a gift no one can really give. Children belong to the universe. When I became a mother, you became a grandmother. There wasn't anything in your life that gave you more pleasure than being grandma. You were an outstanding grandmother.
I am now a grandma, so I know the dimensions of such love. Two little girls and now a bouncing baby boy are your great grandchildren. Somehow I know you know all about them.
I don't miss you. One hundred years were so many years to live. You went happily. Thankfully you left so much of yourself behind for us.
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