My mom worries. Constantly. Clinically. Pathologically.
Me? Not so much. I’m more the “Let’s cross the bridge when we come to it; what could possibly go wrong?” type of person.
But my mom’s mind constantly scrolls through each family member. Who’s on a plane that could crash right now? Who has a doctor’s appointment or medical tests coming up? Who’s short on money? (That’s always me.) Who’s changing jobs? Who hasn’t responded to a text promptly? Is she overstepping by sending that email about her concerns? Is someone upset with her? Is she being too pushy?
I don’t know what my mom would do if she stopped worrying. She’d have to take up a hobby.
But I also don’t know what the rest of us would do if she ever stopped worrying about all of us. Sure, we all roll our eyes and tell her how insane she sounds at times, but we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves.
Case in point: Just the other day, it was my nephew’s birthday. I only got one text from my mom reminding me to call Jack. One text. Usually, those come every two hours until she receives confirmation from Jack that he did, indeed, hear from Aunt Mandy and Uncle Stan.
I actually texted my mom around 9 p.m. that night and asked if SHE was OK, as I had only gotten that single reminder text about Jack’s birthday. I told she was slipping.
My mom, of course, texted me back that had made the mistake of BELIEVING me when I had texted her that morning that I would call Jack from the car while I was driving up to Marathon.
I, of course, forget to do that, instead zipping up the Keys while listening to a political podcast.
But I did call Jack around dinnertime and we had a lovely chat.
But the absence of my mom’s worrying had become worrying to me.
What the hell had she done to me? This is NOT the sort of quality that should be passed on from one generation to the next. But then again, there are plenty of positive things my mom (and dad) have passed on to my brother and me — and for these I am forever grateful.
So, here goes…
Mom (and Dad), THANK YOU. Thank you for…
- Making us write thank-you notes. Handwritten ones. That’s a sign of someone who was raised right.
- Making sure we had full-time jobs every summer from the time we turned 14. Those jobs on the Ocean City boardwalk gave us our friends, permanent memories and a sense of importance. We had to call out sick for ourselves, cash our own paychecks and set our own alarms. That has made a huge difference in our adult lives.
- For checking our homework in grade school and quizzing us before tests.
- For showing up at every field hockey, basketball and softball game, and for getting up at the God-awful crack of dawn to take me to early-morning practices and ALWAYS ensuring my uniform was clean.
- For understanding how important those new jeans were before a high school party.
- Most of all, for never stopping your worrying and for never letting me doubt for a single second that I am completely, thoroughly and unconditionally loved.
Happy Mother’s Day to the best in the world. I love you, Mom.
