"You will always be my baby – no matter how old you are."

I arrived at Council Point Park fairly early this morning and the path was rather desolate and I saw not a single being: feathered, furry or otherwise, as I walked three loops on the “scenic side.  I was not distracted by the Relay for Life festivities in the other loop today, because as I cut through the parking lot to get to the entrance to the Park, the participants were commending the top teams that raised the most money for the American Cancer Society and shutting down the event ‘til next year.  It was quiet and peaceful and gave me time to muse about Mother’s Day and my mom while I meandered along the Park perimeter path.  I thought about the phrase above:  “you will always be my baby – no matter how old you are” because my mom uttered that phrase to me many times over the years.  Sometimes she’d write those words, or perhaps she penned a variation in my birthday card like “To my baby … - Love, Mom” while other times I’d come home to find a favorite treat in the oven or on the stove, and she’d say “well, it’s my baby’s favorite food isn’t it?”   Thinking about that phrase brings treasured memories and a tear to my eye as well.  As to greeting cards, over the years we kept all the greeting cards we ever gave each other.  Of course, Mom amassed more than I did,  for there were Mother’s Day cards along with the birthday cards and sometimes I’d give her little cards “just because”.  For example, she quit smoking “cold turkey” in May of 1985 after announcing “this is my last cigarette ever” having smoked two packs a day for over forty years.  So, each year on May 5th I got her a card and a little gift since she never went back on her word.   Whatever the occasion, we always stood our greeting cards on the kitchen corner cabinet for about a week or so, then the card was relegated into a large bag we kept in a living room drawer with all our special cards from over the years.  There were alot of cards.  There were alot of years.  And, even today, I cannot bring myself to open that bag now that she is gone, so it stays in the drawer.  Maybe someday, but not yet.  This is the fifth Mother’s Day I’ve passed without my mom … it is a little easier now to walk in the stores  without getting a lump in my throat as I go past the bouquets of flowers or cheerful potted plants with a “To Mom” hangtag on them.  I simply dodge the bakery aisle with the specialty cakes with frosting that features pretty handwriting  saying “Happy Mother’s Day” … but sometimes, something will pull at a heartstring and memories will come flooding back.  Memories and photos are good to have and very treasured as time marches on.  This photo above is a personal favorite – Mom and me the first day home from the hospital.  Miss you Mom.

Just sign me “The Sentimentalist”.

You can catch up on my blog posts before I started blogging at Patch by going here:  http://lindaschaubblog.net/