Happy Birthday Mom

Today is my mom's 62 birthday. Or, it would be, had she not died of pancreatic cancer six years ago.

You always hear people talk about how their loved ones are "with" them. That concept has always felt pretty nebulous to me. I think if I whole-heartedly believed in heaven, it would be easier for me to digest the idea that my mom was physically looking down upon me from above, guiding me and supporting me, and generally watching over me. But being the non-religious and only moderately (and fairly newly) spiritual person that I am, I don't have that luxury. I've had to find my own way. My own definitions and indicators that my mom is "with" me. And what I've found over the last 6 years is that I feel like my mom is "with" me whenever I think about her. Whenever I'm reminded of the beauty and grace that was her. Whenever I miss her terribly.

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In the Spring, my parents would take nightly walks down to their neighborhood lake. (In Minnesota, every neighborhood at least one lake.) It was always inundated with Canada geese at this time of year, and while an annoying and messy disturbance to most, my mom loved them. She would bring her bag of bread down with her every night, patiently moving in closer and closer until they were totally comfortable with her, and then she would sit right down on the grass and let them eat out of her hand.

My mom was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer in February 2002. That spring, she still felt well enough for her nightly walks down to the park, so my dad would willingly accompany her, bag-o-bread in hand. One night, after the babies had hatched, she noticed a gosling that seemed to have a bum leg. It would hop around as best it could, trying to keep up with her brothers and sisters, but it definitely had a problem. My mom had spent her professional life advocating for people with disabilities, and this little one-footed gosling had won a special place in her heart. Night after night, week after week, mom and dad would walk down and check on the special goose. As the goslings grew and began to get ready for flight, my mom worried that the special goose would get left behind. She wondered if she should try to catch the goose and take it to a shelter of some kind so it wouldn't die. But sure enough one evening, they walked down to the lake, and the geese were gone. Every one of them. The next night they happened to catch the whole flock taking off together for their nightly flying practice, and mom caught a glimpse of the special goose -- flapping her wings with just as much gusto as the rest of them. She rejoiced!

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Tonight the 3 of us went out to the local model airplane flying field so DH could fly his planes. It is out in the country right next to a large lake. We used to go frequently, but this was the first time we've all been there together in at least 2 years. It was an absolutely gorgeous May evening in Kansas -- no humidity, 80 degrees, and not a cloud in the sky.

As soon as J got out of the car, she saw the huge flock of Canada geese that were munching on the fresh-cut airplane runway grass. We got our hot dog buns and walked slowly over to feed them. They were skittish at first, and wouldn't let us get very close. I noticed one goose who was sitting down off to the side. She was eyeing us suspiciously, but not moving away as the others were. I slowly tore off a piece of bread and threw it over to her. As it hit the ground next to her, she took off gracefully into the sky. I watched her fly away into the sun, and I noticed that she only had one foot. Her other foot was missing, as if it had been cut off right at the ankle. A special goose.

In that moment, under the gorgeous Kansas sky, on my mom's birthday, I could feel her smiling as J and I watched that goose fly away.

Happy Birthday Mom!