Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day is often a day for accolades. A day set apart for honoring mothers. The first thing I should mention is that my mother always told me she hated Mother's Day. She said that every day should be Mother's Day and that it shouldn't take some artificial holiday to tell your mother you love her. I could tell you about my mother. I could tell you how she was born in 1942, grew up on the West Side of Manchester, NH. Or that her name was Joanne Duval Weed. I could tell you she was a lover of music, how she played and taught piano. I could tell you countless stories of her, her love for God, her love for life. But, I will also have to share that she died March 2, 2007. If there could be a World's Worse Disease, Lewy Body Disease would surely be close to the top. It is a disease that combines the symptoms of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's, and eventually robs you of mind and body. When my mother was finally diagnosed with this disease, we all searched the web for information. I found countless websites about this disease, that just months before I was clueless about. It was a disease that, according to most medical records, came on slow and progressed slowly. But in my mother, it was like a cassette tape stuck on fast-forward, all of us fumbling to stop it. But it did not. And so we saw and she experienced on a week-to-week basis what for some took years. The reality of this life is that we all will die someday. When my mother was diagnosed with Lewy Body, I knew she would die, most likely sooner than later. But, we all thought there would be more time, one more birthday, one more celebration. For the most part, I lived my life here in NH. Yet there was a chunk of my life, about 10 years, when I was living elsewhere. I have always wondered the reason why I came back. Of course, I can point to the need for a better job, a stable life and a safer place to raise kids. But, looking back it was more than that. I was called back here so that I could have 12 more years with my mom. 12 years when I became her true friend. Years not encumbered by my adolescent hormones. Years of sharing stories, countless phone calls, years of becoming each other’s confidantes. And in the past months, seeing my mother change and become consumed by a disease she could not control. There are so many things that go on between mothers and daughters, some said, some unsaid. I am not ashamed to say I love my mother and I miss her. People have told me what a good daughter I am, how devoted to my mother I was. I tell them honoring our parents is a commandment, not a suggestion. But it can also be a tremendous blessing.