Yeah, so I was on a plane. With a cat. Facing a new job. With only two hours of sleep after yet another move.
Yeah, so my Mom knows I love her anyway.
Besides, we’re not big on any kind of holiday.
Yeah, so on the plane, I sat next to an 81-year-old very white Southern Belle artist named Blackie. And I wished her Happy Mother’s day.
But I forgot my own Grandma. She called yesterday. I was at work, in the middle of a shit-storm of huge proportions. I was excited to see the cell phone ring. I was excited to see that it was my Grandma, but I was literally inside of a two foot deep stack of paper, desperately wanting nothing more than to just light a match.
“Grandma!” I exclaimed, “I’ve been thinking alot about you lately!” We chatted briefly about her upcoming 90th birthday party. Then I said, “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go, I will call you this weekend. I’m buried at work.”
My grandma is notorious for her eccentricities. Two in particular are saying exactly what’s on her mind and hanging up the phone with never even saying good-bye.
“OK,” she said. I didn’t even see the next comment coming – she completely blind-sided me. Usually I’m in tune enough to kind of know what’s coming next. I just thought I’d immediately hear the click of her hanging up the phone. But then she slipped in this nugget without an ounce of pity in her voice – “I had a great Mother’s Day.”
And then the immediate click I’m so accustomed to. My mouth hung wide open as I heard the buzz of the dial tone.
When you’re 90, I suppose you can totally get by with this sort of comment. I’m sorry Grandma, but I love you every day, not just on that contrived, commercial, “Hey-let’s-spend-money-and-give-flowers-and-candy-lame-Hallmark-day . . .”
I’m glad my Mom understands. She taught me never to rely on Holidays. To share love in every moment.