Mothers Are The Best

I had the best Mom. When I was a child, she always made a big deal out of our birthdays, Christmas, Easter, and Halloween. She sat and (happily) read the newspaper while I took ballet lessons. For years. She used to tell me I was her “best girlfriend.” Now that she’s gone, I realize how lucky I was.

She also had the best advice. When I moved to New York City and started dating, I used to call her and tell her how the dates went. She always wanted to hear all about them. She always asked what complements I got. Once when I told her a guy I just started dating said a couple of mildly abusive things to me—who told me he thought his mother was “controlling,” she told me “Never date a man who hates his mother.”

One time I remember my Dad elbowing me and pointing to my Mom as she told some story about something ridiculous that happened at the grocery store, which she “acted out” and embellished for theatrical effect. “Look at Mom,” my Dad said amused, still enamored with her. I only hope I will meet someone someday who thinks that about me.

I watched Film Director Francis Ford Coppola last year on Stephen Colbert, who asked him about the recent loss of his wife. Coppola said that since she died, he thought about what qualities she had that were wonderful, and he decided that he would “incorporate those qualities into his own personality.” It was his way he said, of “always having her with me.” That is the sweetest thing I ever heard.

I like to do that. I make an effort every day to make random strangers laugh. Like the cashier who is having a bad day and hasn't had a laugh all day. Or the elderly neighbor who looks like she’s struggling to get her groceries to the front door. I am not looking for approval or attention, I just like hearing someone laugh out loud. I get more out of it than they do. My Mom did that.

My Mom was also the eternal optimist. She believed in being positive, no matter what shit show life was presenting. “Keep moving,” she would always say, “that’s all you can do. Keep moving.”

My mother had a professional career as an opera singer before she met my Dad. She had a “theatrical”personality I always thought was delightful. She was truly fun. But she was never pretentious, never a drama queen, or “actressy” or a diva. She was super down- to-earth, and had the most beautiful speaking voice you’d ever want to hear.

Back when people had answering machines, people would call back and leave a message saying they had to call back one more time just to listen to her voice message. She should have done voice-overs. I miss hearing her voice the most.

She loved Maria Callas, Luciano Pavarotti, Patti LaBelle, and Adele. She liked watching American Idol and The Voice, and said she could tell in two seconds whether or not the person had a real voice. Her favorite was Adam Lambert.

I had a gay friend in high school who everyone was mean to just because he was gay, and he used to come over to our house just to see my Mom. She thought he was fabulous, and told him he needed to move to New York City to work in fashion, and that “your friends become your family.” So true.

Twenty years later, he sent her some free designer clothes from the fashion house he worked at as an executive. She loved that swanky coat. When she was a teenager, she worked as a “coat model” at Kaufmann’s, a department store in Pittsburgh. That was back when customers sat on a couch and a model (with great legs) presented the new coats, runway style.

One time I asked her if she regretted giving up her decade-long singing career, which was at a turning point when she met my Dad, (meaning that she would have go on extended tours in Europe). She said “I would have felt gyped if I didn’t get married and have kids.” She had no regrets. I have many.

My Mom lived a long life. My parents stayed married for 50 + years. They never fought, which is miraculous to me. “We had a lot in common,” she would say. (They both had Serbian immigrant parents, family was everything, they both valued comedy, and they were both hilarious.)

My Mom never tried to be funny, which made her funnier. When she turned 90, I took her to the Doctor who said “Your blood tests look great! What do you attribute your long life to?” And she said “Sleeping with younger guys.” Omg.

When we got home and I told my Dad, he said “That is a good joke.”

She also used to say “What do you care what people think of you? Especially people you will never see again?” That was so freeing, especially as a non-conformist tween and teen, and was the best advice you could ever give a child. Or an adult. So badass.

She used to call or text me every single day, just to see if I was OK.

But life goes on.

Keep moving.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the beautiful Mothers out there; Mommies, hot Mamas, MILFS, dedicated Step-Mothers, and sweet Grandmothers. We love you.