Mothers and Daughters; Daughters and Mothers

Deborah and I became friends through our mothers. When girls are little, their mothers often become friends through mutual play dates, parties and school functions. Our mothers became friends when they moved into assisted living across the hall from each other when both were well into their 90s. Both daughters had their mothers living with them at home until their care was no longer safe or feasible. There is a lot to be learned when roles are reversed.

We ran into each other when visiting our mothers. We also heard stories from them about sharing afternoon treats and walking each other to meals. Neither of them heard very well, but that did not hinder their friendship. They both enjoyed outings whenever possible. Here, Deborah and her mom catch some rays at Main Beach. 

Even when my mom no longer cooked, she loved reading cookbooks. Her favorite chef was our local legend, Jacques Pepin. She said he taught her how to make good hard-boiled eggs. Hers were always flawless. She was thrilled when he was going to be signing cookbooks at the Farmers Market. She had to get there in a wheelchair, but she loved every minute. 

Deborah and I shared the difficulties and frustrations of the logistics of taking our mothers out. It dawned on us that all four of us could go out together, sharing the load and the enjoyment. Soon, shopping trips to Walmart ensued. Ms. Bea pushed her own cart and my mom navigated a powered cart. I followed along to avert disaster. We would have brunch at the Beach Diner. Happy and tired, we’d take them back to their residence.

A memorable mutual outing was a ride around town in a pedicab my friend Lisa had at the time. They laughed and waved, conducting themselves like the royalty they were.

As we all got to know each other better, we learned that the two women were born in December, only a week apart. Deborah’s mom was one year older, born in 1925 and my mom in 1926. Their lives had traveled different paths until their paths converged in their 90s here in our town. It goes to show that no matter the twists and turns of our journeys, there is always something to be discovered and enjoyed.

When the pandemic required lockdown, Deborah and I were terribly worried about our mothers’ health and well-being. They were well cared for and did not get sick. However, the isolation took a terrible toll. It made us frantic to see them and reassure them of our love and care. Neither of them understood what was going on. Various attempts were made at making contact from a distance, but it was not the same.

Just as the two women shared close birthdays, they passed from this life two weeks apart in the summer of 2021. My mom was 94 and Deborah's was 95. My mom’s service was held locally in the fall. Deborah has a beautiful singing voice and I asked her to sing my mom’s favorite Christmas carol, which was an unusual one, “In the Bleak Midwinter.” Deborah cringed, saying she sang at weddings but not funerals. They were too emotional for her to sing. She did it for me. For my mom. I cannot hear or sing this song without tears. What a gift she gave me.

Many think of the upcoming Mother’s Day celebration as one invented by greeting card companies. Showing appreciation for motherly sacrifices on one day seems a token effort. Also, many did not have a nurturing relationship with their mothers. For them, this day is a painful reminder of what they missed. It is also painful for women who could not be biological mothers.

Unfortunately, churches can be insensitive to the varieties of women’s experiences. Things have gotten somewhat better more recently. It does not hurt to show empathy and sensitivity on this occasion.

Our mothers gave Deborah and me the parting gift of a beautiful friendship. We supported each other through our grief and continue to enjoy each other, sharing our lives and love of music.

For women like Deborah and me who chose not to have biological children, we relished the opportunities we had when roles were reversed and we got to mother our mothers.