Monday, May 10, 2010


Yesterday, mothers all over were treated to breakfast in bed, fancy Sunday brunch, or maybe just the liberty of sleeping in.  They received flowers, chocolates, books, and bubble bath.  They spent the day with their families; some at home, some out shopping, some at the movies.  They received phone calls, greeting cards, and text messages from children near and far.  Mothers remembered their own mothers.  Their mothers-in-law.  Their sisters, grandmothers,and aunts.

My mother worked.  No special day for her.  She went to church and then went to work at the nursing home.  She ate both breakfast and lunch alone.  She didn't even have dinner.  I called her last night at about 10:00 PM after her shift ended.  She was exhausted and hungry, but still as sarcastic and funny as ever.  We talked a little about random stuff.  Apart from the "Happy Mother's Day!" at the beginning and end of the conversation, it wasn't any different from any other phone call between the two of us.  We complained about our jobs.  We gossiped a little.  We gave updates on the week.  We hung up.

Brian didn't have to work as I had, so he was back home in Orem visiting his family.  He met them at church (late, of course) and after the meeting ended they headed home where the fighting ensued.  Brian asked if his parents would co-sign a loan for AMDA next spring, and they refused.  "Who says you're going to New York?"  "You already owe us money."  "Your credit is bad." And on and on.

Mother's Day dinner was awkward and strained.  And although his mother sent him off with plenty of groceries, new work shoes, and such (bless her soul) she would not support his efforts to attend school at AMDA.

It wasn't until he got back to our apartment that he noticed the $50 bill in his coat pocket.  He called his mother, who was confused about it.  She hadn't slipped it in there.  She called back later after doing some interrogating, and the culprit was Courtney.  Brian's 14-year-old sister had heard all the fighting over money and slipped in the cash.  "I would have given him more, but it was all I had."

Brian's eyes welled with tears when he heard this.  Mine did too upon the retelling.  I sent Courtney a text, lame as that is, telling her how grateful we are for what she did.  How great a person she was.  How much we loved her.  Her text back was simple: "No prob :) i love you too!  Just wanted to help"

So while mothers and fathers both get their respective holidays, I ask, where is the day for sisters?  When do we honor the constantly supportive and lovingly charitable sisters in our lives, who do for us what our mothers will not?

1 comment:

Miss Kayla said...

Awww!! That got me all fa-klempt!!


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