Even still, a mother’s love lingers

Quote that says:

I recently lost my grandmother to leukemia—her love, wisdom and friendship, like a thread of gold in my life, now gone. I miss her home and the welcome of her front door. I miss her handwriting and the curve of her script on scraps of paper left like love notes on the kitchen table. I miss her words of wisdom and all the ways in which they undulated, hardening with sternness only to then soften with grace.

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We all have memories of the mothers we love and lost.  

When comes the grief, all the memories and the missing, we think of their silhouettes and the way they took up space in the kitchen where, so often, they stood and leaned over the stovetop stirring, always stirring something. We think of Christmases past and gifts gathered under their tinsel trees. We think of Easter dinner and candy baskets lovingly filled by their giving hands.

Raised by our grandmothers, mothers and mother figures alike, we think of their steady mentorship and unrelenting presence. We recall the practicality of their daily routines, the sensibility in their style. The hands laid and prayers offered up when we were sick in bed. Food on the table even when cupboards were bare.

Soon, the calendars will turn and tell us Mother’s Day is here.  

Soon, the calendars will turn and tell us Mother’s Day is here. We’ll buy flowers that will fade and send quick texts, soon to be forgotten. Then, we’ll do what we always do. We’ll fold back into the same grocery lines, school pick-up lines, and work deadlines—the recollection of our celebrations all blurred and buried beneath everyday life.

Not too long ago, I came across a pile of keepsakes that my grandmother kept over the years. Clippings of newspaper articles featuring me, my elementary school photos, cards I’d written to her over the years and the like. In this pile of keepsakes, I found a photo of myself within a DIY frame (made by yours truly) on which I wrote in attempted script:
 
Love Rachel + Buddy with love
Homemade
To Grandma
Happy Mother’s Day

After all those years, my grandmother had kept this nearly illegible, scribble-scrabbled keepsake. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old when I made it. Yet, here I was, holding a piece of treasured love and legacy enduring, still, for over two decades in the making.

This Mother’s Day, I want all the homemade, DIY-crafted cards.  

It got me thinking about how, this Mother’s Day, I want all the homemade, DIY-crafted cards—the kind you wouldn’t dare throw away, no matter how unaesthetic they may be.

This Mother’s Day, I want to get and give gifts that endure. I don’t need the next new gadget or luxury eye cream for my dark circles. I don’t want another potted plant to place beside the lamp on my already overflowing desk.

Instead, I want moments.  

I want memories. I want mementos written out on scraps of paper. I want the everyday ordinary. Fruit and toast with a side of sausage and some tea, and a card signed by two boys still learning how to write their names.

I want candid snapshots of us, even when I’m unkempt, slouched and swallowed up in shirts two sizes too large. Because while the photographs might not be the most flattering, they may someday be all my children, and my children’s children, have of me. This Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about all future Mother’s Day. Even, and especially, the ones I eventually won’t be here for.

I’m thinking about how I want my children, and my children’s children, to have every tangible reminder that I was here, our life was shared and our love was true.

Even still, a mother’s love lingers.  

Already, memories of my grandmother fade away. The silhouette I remember fades dimmer and her chuckling laugh echoes a little more distant with each passing day.

Even still, a mother’s love lingers—in the cards she sends and in the cards she keeps. In her recipes scribbled on index cards and in the photographs of every unruly, ordinary moment.

This is what I’m choosing to believe this Mother’s Day and everyday. That, loss may come, but love will linger. And, truly, the greatest gift in life is the gift of love that lingers.

Rachel Marie Kang is the author of "Let There Be Art" and "The Matter of Little Losses." She writes in poignant prose on themes of culture, art and faith. Rachel lives in the New York metro with her husband and two sons. Find her work and words at rachelmariekang.com.