Bestie jetted off with her hubs for an impromptu vacay to Maui – which is so un-Bestie like. She’s very methodical. I was happy to hear about the trip. Everyone should figure out how to bust out now and then.

I found out because she sent me a sweet card with a margarita on the front to tell me she left our coast for another and would be home soon. The 3D kind of card, where the glittery margarita takes center stage because there’s something glued behind it to push it off the page. She doesn’t even drink. But I appreciate her appreciation for my appreciation of a good summertime marg. 

My stomach kinda wiggled seeing the card and it didn’t have to do with Bestie or the vacay. I had to sit with it. 

It was the card.

Toward the end my mom’s life, living in an assisted situation, she took a card class. An art class of sorts where they made greeting cards. On my birthday or Valentine’s Day, she’d give me one of her handmade cards; she’d be a bit embarrassed. It wasn’t Hallmark or fancy. The facility van didn’t go to the card shop, and the one she could walk to didn’t have the right greeting.

I loved her cards.

I still have them and when the doodads fall off the little cardboard pegs like on Bestie’s card, the pop-up pretty thingies, I carefully glue them back. Then I replace Mom’s cards in a file with my other keepsakes.

I don’t think I was expansive enough about those little works of art from her. I’m sure I told her I liked them. I’m sure I thanked her. I’m certain I told her I didn’t care about Hallmark, but I wasn’t mushy. Mom needed some mush. She needed a hug and a kiss. She probably needed me to show them off while she shrugged in bashfulness. She needed me to be effusive. She needed more. 

By that time, I had no more, not even for myself. Looking back, even in the fatigue and haze of caregiving, I had a vague understanding that one day those cards and memories would be what was left, but I didn’t always rise to the occasion, and I wish I had. 

I’m sorry, Mom. I hope you know now I gave whatever I had. And I just love those cards, Ma.

Bestie, if you read this and think maybe you shouldn’t have sent the greeting or caused some pain because you did, you’re all wrong. Anything that helps me clean out my emotional closet and settle old accounts, even with a whisper to the heavens, is A-OK. More than A-OK. 

It’s how we move forward.