MOM: I Wish I Knew.

My mom's been gone more than twenty years, her life cut short by pancreatic cancer. I'll always believe being downwind of the nuclear experiments at Hanford played a large part in her early death as a great many women of around her age died close to the same time. Of course, our government has always denied the possibility so that's that.

Anyhow, she went too soon, especially since her parents and her grandparents all lived into their 90s. One of her brothers made it that long, too, but the other, like Mom, died early, also like her, of cancer.

But tomorrow is Mother's Day, and here in the flesh or not, I wish I could talk to her. I wish I could still send her the card I'd picked out for her. I selected two that year in a flush of optimism, and saved one. Sometimes I look at it and think of her. In fact, I think of both my parents often--more often now than when I was younger and I long for a real, meaningful conversation. My dad, although he kept a few heavy secrets from his children as we grew up, was still more open than Mom. Sometimes, as he got old, he even went so far as to say he loved me. Who would've guessed?

See, I can't remember my mom ever saying she loved me. Not once. I don't remember a hug or a kiss. Did she? I wish I knew. I hope she did, I think she did, but she just didn't find it easy to say. I don't tell my kids I love them often enough either. But I do, with all my heart and soul. I hope they know. I think they do.

Never once, as over those months it took her to die, did she say she was scared. She never said she hurt. She never said she was angry. She never said she'd miss us and that she wished she could stay with us longer. Did she tell my dad these things? I wish I knew. If she did, he never told us, but in the years before HE died, he made certain his estate was in order, that everything was set up for all of the children to share equally, and he made it--I hesitate to use this word but--he made it easy for us.

As much as I wish I knew things like this, would I ask her now, if given the chance? All I can say is, I don't know.

One of my best memories of Mom concerns my own son when he was around four years old. I won't go into the incident, but suffice it to say, in what she did that day, she also taught me a lesson in strong, level-headed compassion and I bless her for it.

My mom loved to read. Would she be proud that I'm an author? She never particularly encouraged me, but in the end, I didn't need anybody else. Maybe that's the gift she gave me, when you think about it.

She hated wind, loved roses, was afraid of horses. She tolerated hound dogs, but I'll bet she would've liked my troop of little dogs. She really loved her cats. She liked to eat and stay up late. I think she liked Christmas and having us around. I think she got lonely out on the farm because she never got over her fear of driving and so she didn't--not after she about put me and my little sister through the windshield when Delaine was about two. And so she was stuck, dependent on the goodwill of others when it came to going anywhere.

Anyway, happy Mother's Day, Mom. Whatever I am, you helped make me that way, for better or worse.