Let’s celebrate our moms on Monday. If you would like to join me in a celebration of your mother, create a collage to honor her and/or remember her and add hashtag #mymommonday and/or #mmm. It can be similar to #tbt or #throwbackthursday.
I created this collage in my writing and technology integration class.
This is an explanation of my dream room collage: “I wanted to share Pixlr collage I made in my technology and writing integration class. The writing assignment was to visualize our dream room. The professor read prompts for us to visualize our dream room. I tried to stay in the seaside room with the white sheer curtains blowing in the breeze, but I slipped back to Maxwell Ave.’s living room in Cheyenne where both my parents were sitting in their chairs — drinking coffee, smoking butts, and telling stories. They made me laugh. They were imperfect lovely people. They were mine. I miss them both, but my mother’s absence hurts the most in a way I can’t really explain.”
Here is a collage I created with old photos (the ones you hold in your hands).
Here is an excerpt from my dream room writing exercise:
In my dream room, my mom is with me. I can smell her breath as she talks to me — cigarettes and coffee and the taste of laughter on my lips. No one could ever make me laugh like she did.
My belly often ached after sessions with her in the kitchen nook. We’d chain-smoke and drink pots of coffee. She told me so many stories I jotted down in anecdotal notations, written zigzag and crooked across college ruled spiral notebooks. My mother’s stories are mirrors I can’t look into anymore. Too young, too selfish, too preoccupied to have written them down as I should have done. Instead, I long to go back and sit in the kitchen nook.
Recently, I have discovered a small cassette tape that was labeled “Mom.” I hoped it contained all her stories as I had begun to write (or tape record) her memoirs in the early 2000’s. Yet I couldn’t find a tape recorder. A friend from high school mailed me one. Sara knew my mom well from many weekend soccer trips on our traveling select team. In fact, Betty may have told Sara off; it was something that happened often. Betty sometimes could be difficult, but it can’t be denied, she was honest. She was born and bred in New York City.
The tape was empty. I could not hear her voice or her stories. I have been filled with sadness all week. I want to remember her dialogue, her cadence, her laughter; I want to recreate it, for it is gone. I do have her voice recorded on my digital recorder and from phone messages. One message I play often is quite simple. Just a voice message calling me about being sick. She says, “Hi. It’s Mom. Last time we talked you weren’t feeling too well and I was just checking on you. I hope you’re feeling peachy dandy. Love , Mother.”
So, come on. Let’s heal our grief together and/or celebrate our moms. If your mom is alive or alive in your memory or you want to reignite a fading memory — post a photo or make a collage, write a memory down, put some words together, or just remember her quietly.
#MMM #MyMomMonday. Let’s make it a thing. Pass it on.