Mother's Day 2012
Mother's Day went well. I didn't wear a carnation this year; Episcopalians (at least, not the northern ones) don't have the same tradition Baptists do and I always get strange looks whenever I dress up with a red flower in my lapel (on Father's Day, they ask how long I've been a father.) But, I did buy a long-stemmed rose encased in cellophane. A woman was selling them by the curbside along the way to the subway.
The rose lasted through Mass. Mother Liz delivered a homily during which she offered the possibility that we were "all mothers" - even the men. It was an interesting proposition.
I don't remember staying for much of Coffee Hour; I knew there was a long trip ahead of me, carrying the Mommypack -- and the rose. At the end of the train ride to Flushing, I decided to stop in Popeye's, the only fried chicken restaurant within walking distance, and bought a family pack with some plastic forks and paper bowls. Mom can't eat food through her mouth anymore, but I thought the day deserved a more festive atmosphere.
Somehow I managed all the packages - and the rose - all through the fianl leg of the bus ride from Flushing, finally arriving around 12:30. I was a little unnerved not to find Mom anywhere on the floor: she wasn't in her room or in any of trhe common areas. Finally, the doors to the elevator opened and there she was being wheeled out by Big Brother, accompanied by Sis and Gladys. They'd been briefly to the courtyard where they found things a little too hectic.
Fortunately (for us) Maria's daughter had injured her ankle a few days before and according to her, would not be visiting (I always take what Maria says with a grain of salt -- her daughter may well have visited earlier in the day) which left the room she shared with Mom unoccupied.
Sis took up position on the bed, squeezed between it and Mom's barcolounger. I unsheathed the rose and promptly took off as many of the thorns as I could find (years ago, Mom once stuck her finger, Cinderella-like, on a rose I similarly had proffered her.) She grabbed the stem and seemed to recognize immediately what it was. She rubbed the smooth petals against her cheeks and face.
In the brief moment I had turned my attention to the food, Sis had taken the rose from Mom's hand. When I asked her why, she said, "She was rubbing it against her face."
This is why I don't synchronize visits with my siblings.
The rose lasted through Mass. Mother Liz delivered a homily during which she offered the possibility that we were "all mothers" - even the men. It was an interesting proposition.
I don't remember staying for much of Coffee Hour; I knew there was a long trip ahead of me, carrying the Mommypack -- and the rose. At the end of the train ride to Flushing, I decided to stop in Popeye's, the only fried chicken restaurant within walking distance, and bought a family pack with some plastic forks and paper bowls. Mom can't eat food through her mouth anymore, but I thought the day deserved a more festive atmosphere.
Somehow I managed all the packages - and the rose - all through the fianl leg of the bus ride from Flushing, finally arriving around 12:30. I was a little unnerved not to find Mom anywhere on the floor: she wasn't in her room or in any of trhe common areas. Finally, the doors to the elevator opened and there she was being wheeled out by Big Brother, accompanied by Sis and Gladys. They'd been briefly to the courtyard where they found things a little too hectic.
Fortunately (for us) Maria's daughter had injured her ankle a few days before and according to her, would not be visiting (I always take what Maria says with a grain of salt -- her daughter may well have visited earlier in the day) which left the room she shared with Mom unoccupied.
Sis took up position on the bed, squeezed between it and Mom's barcolounger. I unsheathed the rose and promptly took off as many of the thorns as I could find (years ago, Mom once stuck her finger, Cinderella-like, on a rose I similarly had proffered her.) She grabbed the stem and seemed to recognize immediately what it was. She rubbed the smooth petals against her cheeks and face.
In the brief moment I had turned my attention to the food, Sis had taken the rose from Mom's hand. When I asked her why, she said, "She was rubbing it against her face."
This is why I don't synchronize visits with my siblings.