Mary’s Morning Musings | Late Mother’s Day Reflections
Hi pals,
I know — long time, no write. I apologise. I have begun, paused, and restarted a few Mary’s Morning Musings over the last couple of weeks, but never quite finished any of them. Again, sorry about that. But I appreciate you all, my loyal MMM gang here, for coming back for more anyways.
To catch up any of my new friends here — I like to write these “pieces” called “Mary’s Morning Musings” in one time-bound setting, with really no plan at all. I started writing last year, and it’s really been moreso in an experimental (dare I say artistic) effort to build confidence in “public writing.” If I’ve piqued your interest at all, feel free to read some of my musings from the fall:
- Mary’s Morning Musings: 114 Days in London
- Mary’s Morning Musings: More distracted musings in strategy class
PS. I don’t edit much — just go with the flow and see what comes from this stream-of-consciousness writing until time’s up. One thing you may notice is that I generally write when I am procrastinating AF.
Today (tonight) is no different.
For context, I’ve just returned from an early morning train ride from Paris to London after five fun-filled days in Paris (+ the outskirts) at the MBA Tournament (MBAT).
Think: summer camp t-shirts, grown ass adults, and former athletes trying to relive their “I almost made it” glory days. (Note: this^ isn’t judgment. I 100% found myself in the mix).
On top of this super fun “summer camp,” I spent the last two ish weeks traveling about in Malta and Morocco during my MBA program’s reading week (aka ~spring break). The tldr there is: a boat party with a saxophonist, Mary’s first “big” poker tourney, tagine in Marrakech, starlit summits, and a lot (talking 14+) meat sticks.
She’s living the dream people, living the dream.
When I first started writing this musing — at the airport on the way from Malta to Morocco — it started off as a self-addressed love letter. I had attended an Evening with Elizabeth Gilbert for my April Mary-date, and my primary takeaway was: write yourself love letters. Apparently, she does it nearly every day, and it’s helped her through the lightest, brightest, darkest, and heaviest of days.
So anywho — God knows we’ve had all of those days — so I thought why not.
What’s top of mind for me right now is Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day was yesterday, and I both thought about it and didn’t.
I didn’t think about it too much because 1) I was quite occupied with a French day at Disneyland Paris, but also 2) because “every day feels like Mother’s Day..” That’s not meant to be read in a poetic way. I’m not even sure exactly what I mean when I say that.
Let me try again — via anecdote.
I recently went to a JP Saxe concert with my bud, Abhi, and learned then that JP also lost his mother in the last few years from cancer. Yesterday, JP’s Mother’s Day post (below) quite resonated with me:
Nearly every day, I reflect about my Mom — in the trinkets I have around the house in her memory, on my phone wallpaper, in moments of deep stress when I crave maternal advice.
The only thing I think about on Mother’s Day — is how I wish I could yell (literally scream from a mountain top) how everyone should buy their mom flowers on Mother’s Day, or call, or write a card, or spend time together on a couch — whatever. Just show love in whatever her love language is.
On the topic of this love letter, the “me” I want to write to is this one below— Mary 2019 with her Mom (Aries), on her last healthy Mother’s Day.
2 0 1 9 — oof, can you believe it?
It still feels impossible to remember a life — or anything — before Mom’s passing, before caregiving, before the life shift.
Anyways here goes — so the scene is Napa, and you and Jer (brother) plan Mom a trip to Napa for her bday/Mother’s Day.
Mary 2019,
I know you still remember the light fighting before her flight back home. I know you have zero memory of what you fought about, but I know you remember Mom apologising for whatever it was — kissing you on the forehead before she stepped out of the car to catch her flight.
You’re like her in a lot of ways. Resilient— like super fucking resilient. A force. (Obvious). Yet still soft. Empathetic. You’re a bit more fragile than her, but maybe the hardness comes with age. Like her, you’re a little dreamer and adventurer. Fearless (for better or worse). Some of your best qualities you got from her.
Mary 2019, it’s been five years (somehow), and I really feel like I don’t remember you at all. But I can still thank you for a lot of things — I am very thankful for how hard you worked — for the vigor that flowed through you as you chased every dream known to (wo)mankind. I am thankful for the risks you took, the bets on yourself, the faith you upheld.
Frankly, I am still trying to find myself back to you — though, as I mentioned — it is really hard to remember much about you. It’s hard to tap into the wide-eyed, optimistic spirit that seemed ever flowing. Sometimes, I wonder if I need to look back towards you — maybe?
When I think about you, like now, it’s hard to not get a bit teary-eyed. The “five-years from now” highs I’ll disclose are: you do follow your dreams, you move abroad, you get the job(s). Shit, you even get a dog. You still live a life aligned — but just in a shattered and reglued kind of way. Kintsugi.
I really don’t want to break the lows to you lol, but just know — you are resilient. You are your mother’s daughter. You never take a day for granted. You never leave without sending love.
In a couple of years, you may start to forget who you are. Amidst the chaos, survival mode, heartbreak. But what I can tell you — is that the light does shine through. The clouds separate. In just a few years, you do get to summit the mountains — of course, singing all the way down. You do things like dance on a boat among Maltese fortresses. Watch Frozen in French (understanding a few words here and there).
This part’s funny (and you could have predicted it) — but you actually get to a point where you’re ironing on numbers for grown women’s first basketball jerseys. Over time, the plot gets really fun, I promise. You learn how to snowboard, you find out you’re gay hahahaha (that one still gets me) — and you meet people who appreciate your softness, speedy speech, and overthinking tendencies.
Writing to you has helped me realize that you do find yourself to me, and in many ways, I find myself back to you — to the lightness, not quite the wide-eyed ness, but to joy, peace, and surrender.
Brace yourself,
Mary 2024
***Times up***
PS. I am aware that few of you reading can actually understand my highly ambiguous references. But thanks for reading anyways.
Have a good one. Until next time.
Love, Mary
