That's Mom and me on the left. This photo of just the two of us has been uploaded to my Nook so I can see it every day. Makes me smile all over...I love Mom, and I wish I could have known her better.
She has a white scarf wrapped around her head, and it’s keeping her wavy black hair firmly in place, though a few strands have worked themselves loose to hang over her right eye. Mom is holding me in her arms, a little girl of about 3. I’m wearing a white knitted hoodie, my dark hair blown back by the wind that folded Mom’s gingham apron up against my leg. Short black pants, white anklets and white shoes complete my outfit. Mom wears a half smile and we both stare intently into the camera. At this time in our lives, my mother looks the picture of health.
It’s weird, but I think of her more around Easter than at any other time. The holiday beats her birthday or the day she left for good, so I’ve tried to figure out the reason why.
Today is Good Friday but holidays begin weeks ahead of time in our stores. Bunnies, Easter clothing and baskets, and candy have been around a while and I’ve had time to think about Mom and why she comes so strongly to mind now.
The first Easter I remember was when our little family lived behind the tavern on the highway as you come into Sheffield. Sis must have been asleep in her crib when the knock came on the door early that Sunday morning. Mom told me to close my eyes and turn away. She opened the door, murmured something to the visitor, closed the door and told me to open my eyes. She was holding a basket with more candy than I’d ever seen.
While I looted the goodies, a neighbor was outside hiding money and more candy all over—in bushes and around the yard. For me that first Easter set the standard for all those that would follow. It must have made an impression on Mom because she saw to it that no matter how tough times were, her girls were going to have an Easter basket every single year.
The last year of her life when Mom could no longer get around without assistance of some kind, she somehow found someone to bring baskets to the house while we were out. She spent a lot of her time sitting at the kitchen table, so she wanted to make sure the baskets were close when she told us to find them. We had to hurry, though, because their hiding place that last year was in our oven, and that was when a pilot light was always on. Melting chocolate might be messy but it was still delicious.
It’s been almost 40 years since Mom’s been gone, and that long since sis and I have had an Easter basket. It doesn’t seem right to buy our own and none of them would come close to the ones we got from our mother anyway.
The photograph described at the beginning of this piece was sent to me last year by some new-found family from my dad’s side. I scanned the picture into the computer then transferred it to my Nook e-reader. Every day when I turn on the Nook I get to see Mom holding me close and it makes me smile.
I wish you all a happy Easter.
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