I miss you Mom.

It’s just past your birthday and just before your anniversary.  You would have turned 100 years old and been married to Dad for 73 years.

But, which Mom do I miss?  I certainly don’t miss the Mom who was in such pain at the end, who was fading away before my eyes.  I don’t miss the Mom who, a decade before, was hospitalized 13 times in one year – the year her husband was diagnosed and dying of cancer.

I miss the Mom I took to Saratoga, NY to go to the horse races, and who was so excited to attend a Pete Seeger concert – even though she had never heard of him.  But, she knew I said he was great, so she was excited.

I miss the Mom who was at a hotel bar with a woman friend when a man hit on her.  She threw her arms around her unsuspecting friend and claimed, “We’re lovers.”  The man fled quickly.

I miss the Mom who struggled with my being an adult, wanting to move North, having sex, not wanting to have children.  She struggled, but finally came around.  When we were visiting, her home or mine, she always treated me to lunch or dinner.  Once, after a lovely lunch at the Chrysler Museum, I insisted we had to arrange something different, explaining I was no longer just her child.  We agreed to alternate, the way she and her friends do. 

I miss the Mom who thanked me for helping her grow into her own feminism – during her 70s.

But, most days, I don’t think about her.  Recently, I had a bad day.  You know, where one thing after another happens.  It culminated with my smashing my elbow.  I broke out – not in tears – but in sobs, saying, “I want my Mom.”  

Actually, my mom at 91, 83, 75, even 60 or 50 couldn’t have made my elbow hurt less.  But I wanted someone to care that I  hurt – for the smashed elbow, for the rude and unhelpful dermatologist, for the broken promise by the carpet store -- for just a big bad day.

In reality, I know, my mother, at any of these ages, couldn’t have made any of it feel better.  But, she’d care.  She’d care that I wasn’t having a good day.  Sometime friends can do that; sometimes a lover or husband can, but the fantasy that my mom would be there for me, all the time no matter what, is really strong.