My girl and the dress
Today, my daughter is wearing a dress that my grandma made for me when I was her age. So yeah, at the ripe old age of five, she’s going vintage. When I showed her the dress, I wasn’t expecting her to want to wear it, this classic little number with a ribbon of lace around the neck—how could it compete with the Frozen dresses or Cinderella T-shirts? And yet, the story of my grandma making clothing for me somehow won out over Anna, Elsa and the Frozen fashions.
Then there are stories of my mother and me; how we would go shopping, drink tea, take a walk on the beach, save fallen birds, get drenched in Florida storms. Even the simplest memory delights my daughter, who now wonders “What does Grandma do in the clouds all day?” I answer, “All of the wonderful things she never got a chance to do when she was here.”
My daughter and I will never have one of those photos of my mom, my daughter and me—three generations happily smiling for posterity. But my mom is still so much a part of our lives. It’s almost as if, in every photo of my daughter and me, Mom is perched there right behind us, whispering her stories into our ears.
And so this Mother’s Day, I will whisper back “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” Because she is with us through our memories, our values, our laughter and even our behavior (the times when I say “Oh no!! I sound just like my mother!”).
Mother’s Day is all about celebrating our mothers and their mothers forever—after all, their love is endless.