Mother’s Day has come and gone and it still hurts not being able to wish my mom best wishes face-to-face with a card and flowers on this special day in May each year.

Mary Joanne Morgan died in 2001 after battling emphysema brought on by smoking. She was just 73.

My mom was a special breed of woman, rearing 10 children to adulthood and touching the lives of many of her grandchildren before succumbing to the disease. She was gentle but tough and kept her brood in line while my dad missed out on many of the day-to-day occurrences of raising children while he hit the road for work during the summer months.

When I look at old photos of my mom and dad, I see high society. I see movie star good looks from both of them and lives filled with happiness and adventure. I see nobility in their faces despite the struggles they faced raising a large family on one income.

Their generation was of smoking, drinking and socializing without limits. I remember countless times we’d all pile into the station wagon and venture to one of our cousin’s homes in Coon Rapids or Bloomington for a Saturday full of fun and excitement. Little did I realize, there were probably numerous times my father should not have been driving, but by God’s grace, he got us home safely every time.

I remember my rebellious teen years when my fight for independence clashed with my need for being cared for. My mom always supported us kids in our decision-making as we aged knowing most of us would most likely come home with scraped knees and bruised egos — and she would be there in consolation.

I remember the Sundays when mom would alert us kids to the living room to watch the Vikings during football season. Or the times I’d see her lounging out on the patio with a book, listening to Herb Carneal call Twins games during the summer.

I remember the smell of perm solution on days when my mom would have our neighbor ladies over to get themselves all dolled up for their hard-working husbands. I remember the rhubarb from the garden and the coupon-clipping she’d endure to save the family some money.

I also remember the time my mom sold my dad’s table saw without him knowing so she’d have some moolah to go play Bingo with. Ah, good memories.

I remember, too, the countless times Terri and I would stop over to see her in her later years, and she’d drop everything she was doing to pay close attention to our big news we wanted to share or to just catch up.
I so miss those days.

So to you folks who maybe don’t see the value of celebrating Mother’s Day the way it is intended, think again. One day she just might not be around for that healing ointment of love, care and concern.