In my three decades of liturgical ministry, I believe I may have spent one Mother’s Day with my mom–the year we adopted the young miss and my family was graced with a visit from back east. Funny how today’s holiday always lands during the Easter Season. And how many First Communions have involved me these long years on this weekend! (not this year, but the plan is afoot for it in 2019 in my parish.
It was my dad with whom I had a more regular adult tradition, until he passed away. We were the seafood lovers in the fam, so what others in our household growing up disliked, we feasted on those third Sundays in June. Even after I moved away from the liturgical desert of my home diocese, I often got back to visit in June–my first chance to escape, usually, since the prior August. I knew I had graduated into the adult world when my dad remarked on our way to supper one year that he enjoyed our time together; I was the only one in the family with whom he could have a sensible conversation. I might dispute that point, but I appreciated our man-to-man talks.
As I was browsing through facebook this weekend, I was noticing friends’ pictures with their moms. I don’t believe I have one with mine, not since my baby days. The family joke is that the palm of my mother’s hand is her most photogenic feature, averse as she is to having her picture taken.
Anyway, here’s to all the moms out there, especially the oft-overlooked godmothers. Those women do a lot of praying and I’m sure they will get a special day in eternal life, if we even bother with years in the hereafter.