Mother’s Day, 1994
So you think you knowHow to wipe your own noseYou think you knowHow to button your clothesYou don’t know shitIf you hadn’t already guessedYou’re just a bump on the log of life,Cause mother knows best
— Mother Knows Best , Richard Thompson (1991)
All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.
-Abraham Lincoln
It’s always hard on Mother’s Day, as it probably is for most whose mothers have long passed. It’s an unfortunate fact that most of us experience our parents’ passing at some point so my bit of sadness is no greater or different than that of most other folks.
My Mom passed away back in 1995 at age 63. It’s hard to believe that it has been so many years now and that I’m now several years older than she was when she died. Hardly a day goes by that the thought of her doesn’t enter my mind in some way. A memory of her movement, her voice, her good and bad points– they are all set off by suddenly noticing how deeply they are all ingrained in myself. When I am walking, I see my mother walking. When I am angry, I see her anger.
For me, it is often a day filled with regrets for words, both said and unsaid, and actions. Regrets for not speaking more words of love and appreciation. Regrets for speaking words as a selfish child that may have unknowingly hurt her. But, like most days, these regrets fade away and are replaced with only the memory of her– a simple yet complex woman to whom I owe all that I am or hope to be, as Uncle Abe said.
A Hard Past (2006)
When I am sitting alone in a pensive mood, I see her sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of tea and her ever-present Camel cigarette, in absolute stillness with a thousand-mile stare. I often wonder where she was in her memory in those moments. That look is one that makes this piece from my 2006 Outlaws series, Hard Past, forever remind of my mom. It’s not a flattering painting but it captures what I consider to be a poignant and important aspect of her.
She was an interesting case. As I said, simple and complex, a mass of paradoxes. She was battle-hardened from what I can only describe as a hard life, one that gave her an extraordinary toughness that was well-known to those who knew her. But she was also fragile and generous to a fault. Uneducated but highly intelligent. Stubborn but always willing to change. Deeply private yet still loved parties. Loyal and surprisingly fair-minded and principled.
She was also funny and loved to laugh. I often felt that my job as kid was to make her laugh. I think that is where I first realized that laughter was love.
I wish I could have seen her live into old age–it would be wonderful to sit with her once more and have a cup of her coffee. Ask her all the questions that went unasked, to say all the words of love and gratitude that should have been spoken but went unsaid.
But life is like that, leaving us a handful of memories that leave us feeling both empty and full. While it is often bittersweet to look back on them, it’s been good doing just that this morning.
Most of the above was pulled from earlier Mother’s Day posts. The painting at the top was one I did in my earliest days of trying to paint, one of the few of mine that she ever saw. I had been showing my work publicly at the West End for only a few months when her cancer was diagnosed. She never got to see my work hanging in a gallery or museum. I think it would have made her very happy.
This might not seem like the most sentimental of Mother’s Day songs, but I like it and, for this morning, that’s all that matters. I think Mom might have liked it since it has a driving beat– she loved to hear a drumbeat. Plus, the lyrics like this might have brought a smile from her. Hope so.
So you think you knowHow to wipe your own noseYou think you knowHow to button your clothesYou don’t know shitIf you hadn’t already guessedYou’re just a bump on the log of life,Cause mother knows best
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