We were living in Alberta at the time. My mom, sister and I had moved there from Saskatchewan following the sudden death of my father. It was our first Mother's Day in a different city--different province--and different life without our dad, and my sister and I wanted to do all we could to give mom a noteworthy celebration.
         We pooled our student-limiting resources and decided upon a small, pretty array of flowers nestled in a delicate teacup. Plans were made to pick up our chosen arrangement the following Saturday morning and take it home to surprise mom.
         Enter a multi-million dollar corporation. Our plans were dwarfed--literally--by a beautiful and generous gesture on the part of a huge company. The province's large telecommunications corporation was holding a Mother's Day draw in honour of its customers--and our mom won! Her prize? A massive, and I do mean massive, bouquet of flowers arriving the Saturday of Mother's Day weekend. It was as wide as it was tall and contained dozens upon dozens of glorious blossoms. The sheer size of the bouquet was stunning--as was the beautiful aroma of the fresh flowers. It was a gift without parallel.
         Enter two teenage girls…and our diminutive teacup with the little pink flowers. Our mom did exactly what you would expect a good mom to do. She expressed total and deep appreciation for the flowers we had given her. But it wasn't an act. It was heartfelt and genuine. Whereas the large bouquet was an architectural wonder and explosion of colour, she remarked that our gift demonstrated how well we knew she would like the pretty pink teacup adorned with the pink ribbons cradling the lovely pink blossoms. Pink--her favourite colour.
         My mom was younger than I am now when she was widowed. She had two teenagers to raise, a career to resume and a move to make. The older I become the more I am in awe of what she was able to do while coping with shock, grief and facing a future she didn't expect. I don't know the multitude of emotions she might have been experiencing. I can only imagine the idea of unexpectedly becoming a single parent must have made that Mother's Day surreal. How many other mothers had to face that day as bravely as she did? How many more will have to do so this weekend?
         Whispered plans and hushed giggles will be taking place in many homes and classrooms as children craft cards and gifts, and countless kitchens will be transformed into early morning work zones as children prepare breakfast to surprise mom. These are all precious events and traditions to embrace and cherish. But in many other places there will be scenes of a very different kind; mothers in refugee camps and war zones desperate to protect their children, children in orphanages and shelters desperately longing for mothers, and mothers everywhere who wish their relationship with their child was different than it currently is--for whatever reason.
         As we gather, celebrate, send our wishes, show our appreciation and express our love, let's also take a moment to acknowledge those who may have lost their mothers this year, mothers who have lost their children, and those who long to be mothers. After the flowers have been delivered, the hugs exchanged, and the meals enjoyed, think about someone who may find the thought of Mother's Day more than they can bear right now, and give them your time, your gentleness, and your understanding. Make an additional call, drop off another card, or make plans to enjoy a cup of tea with someone for whom motherhood takes on a whole different definition. That's my outlook.
