I love being spoiled by my kids, but something's missing: a chance to hug my own mother
By Melanie Monroe Rosen"Mama, what did you used to do with Grandma Heather on Mother's Day?" asks my four-year-old as we sat down to brunch. Pause. Swallow. Breathe deeply.
"Well, we did lots of things," I reply. "We were lucky to have a lot of Mother's Days with her. Sometimes we used to take her out to brunch or make her a special meal at home… Sometimes we went to a jazz concert with her, since that was one of her favorite kinds of music…" I trail off.
"Jazz? I don't like jazz," he sniffs, and then turns to his dad to ask for the syrup. The moment passes without my dissolving into tears, a minor triumph for me.
The last Mother's Day I got to celebrate with my mom was May 10, 2009. She was in a rehabilitation center after several weeks in the hospital, following the discovery that her breast cancer had metastasized and necessitated a colostomy. Her illness aside, it was a
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