Today is Groundhog Day. It's not exactly a holiday, but it is a day that we in the US take notice of because of the tradition of waiting for that famous little critter to poke his head out of his subterranean home so he can tell us if winter is about over or not. Then we wait for the next six weeks to see if he is right. What's interesting is that we have to wait that six weeks to know, regardless of everything.
February 2 has a special significance for me, for my family. It has nothing to do with the groundhog. Today is the anniversary of my mother's birthday. Had she not passed away in 2000, Mama would be 97 years old today.
Mother was a very special lady. I didn't always think favorably of her, especially during my teenage years, something that is pretty common, I suppose. But for most of my life she was the rock, the real glue of our family and a wonderful, warm woman. I could write a long essay about this, but that's not how I prefer to remember and honor her on this day. I just want to recall how much she loved us, the things she did to make our lives good, how she loved my daddy, and the legacy she left with us. Each of us came away with our own set of gifts, and I don't really know what my siblings recall and hold dear. But for me, it's as simple as knowing I was loved and valued, that she was proud of me, and that she had faith in me. Even when my decisions and actions didn't warrant her support, I had it.
She was a great mom. She was my friend. I miss her more than words can express.