Mother's Day

I stood behind Cary, jumping up, waving my arms, trying to get Owen's attention as he shared his big news, “Mama, I’m going to wake up early to wrap up your secret presents; the bowl and necklace, and then Daddy and me are making you a surprise French toast breakfast.” He gets it from me. I have a hard time waiting for big celebrations. And today was a big one: Cary’s first Mother’s Day since our beloved Errol died. We’ve been dreading it for some time, but that didn’t stop it from getting here.

Owen was true to his word and woke up especially early to fete his mother, because he knows even better than I do, what a great mother he and Errol have. Had it not been for Cary’s strength, energy, optimism, brilliance, hope, tenacity, and love, Errol would not have lived a third of his three and a half brilliant years.

For this diminished Mother's Day, we did many of the same things that we did last Mother’s Day, just without Errol. We rode bikes in the morning, Owen behind me, on the tandem, and Cary on her bike with an empty child’s seat – Errol’s seat – behind her. I’m glad Cary couldn’t see herself, but I know how much lighter her bike was, and that she felt every ounce of Errol’s missing weight.

We rode to a baseball field and the whistling wind began to bend the trees. We threw our frisbee around our little family triangle and then, as the wind built, we threw our Frisbee up, up, up, into the wind which sent it right back to us, again and again. Owen always says that Errol is the wind, and I wonder if he thought Errol came to give his mother a visit on her special day.

We tried to celebrate this bright windy day, but every time the trees would bend and sway, we all thought of Errol. I remembered Errol in loving arms, on his grandfather's boat, out on the shimmering water, the sun beating down, and Errol smiling and smiling, full of joy with the wind on his face.