A Mothers Day Weekend Story

I was planning something else but It’s Mothers Day weekend and I should do a Mother story.

I called my mother at least once a day, pretty much from the time I finally left Baltimore in 1978, until she died in 1997. Some times I called many times, and she usually chastised me for doing so. Her complaint was if I got so used to calling her all the time, when she “was gone” I’d miss doing it way too much. There was a weird logic to all that, but I continued to call anyway.

She had called her mother every day, which only ended when we lived with my grandparents, so there was no need to call. My Aunt called my Grandmother every day as well.

My mother was, of course, right! I only stopped because she died, and to this day I find myself wanting to pick up the phone and call.

I really think this blog, which goes out to the infinite, is a poor excuse in my communication with the dead. This way I get to tell all my stories to my mother, or at least to the world with a hope my mother receives them.

I was looking for a good mother story to tell, as if this weren’t enough. The one that comes to mind is really about my mother and her sister, and the only significant part is the end.

We see the two sisters, my mother at about 75 and her sister being only in her late 60’s, credit cards in hand, chasing each other around a restaurant table, fighting with each other to get the check!

The first part of that story doesn’t matter, the end is history!