Very, Very Short Mother's Day Stories

One of the things all humans have in common is this: everyone has a mother. There are loving mothers and angry mothers, artistic mothers and good cook mothers. We all know about neglectful mothers or possessive mothers, inspirational mothers. hovering mothers. happy mothers. unhappy mothers. funny mothers. sexy mothers. mothers who lived a long time or were cut down in their prime.

We challenged YourLifeIsATrip.com writers to tell us their Mother's Day tales in 25 words or less. But don’t let the small size fool you — at the heart of each of these very very short essays is a powerful story. So this is our gift to you--some very very short stories from the YourLifeIsATrip.com family. 

Mommy sandwich. Photo by Theresa Martell via flickr CCL.

1. Fragrances of Chanel No. 5 and face powder remind me of my friends' mothers.  The smell of bleach reminds me of mine. - Maureen Magee  

2. Loving, supportive, wise, funny -- my mother, who never graduated college, started teaching psychology courses at a community college in her 70's. That was the kind of person she was. - Fyllis Hockman

3. Mother is gone. But she left behind the stories of all the mothers who shaped us...to read, to question, to explore. Our stories. - Vera Marie Badertscher

4. Daughters marry; mothers gain a son. Sons marry; mothers lose him,” announced Meta. But when her son married me, she kept him and gained a daughter. - Andy Gross  

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Mama Mia, Indeed

words + photos by Melanie Fidler

My mom and I just got back from a mother-daughter bonding trip to Italy to visit my little sister, Jaclyn, who is studying abroad in Florence. We traveled hand-in-hand to Venice, Florence, and Rome in 10 days. It was the first trip we took, just the two of us. It was my first trip to Italy and I was happy to have my Italian mother with me.

We started off in Venice, a magical wonderland of masquerade masks, Murano glass, gelato, and romance. If only I was on my honeymoon! It’s an amazing place that almost seemed fake, like a movie set. Instead of streets and highways filled with car traffic there were quaint canals and waterways with gondolas and boats. We really did nothing all day but wander the streets, get lost, find our way, and eat, drink and be merry with the locals. I’m lucky to have had my mom there to experience such fine treats with me.

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My Mother, Who Had No Age

by Susanna Starr

We celebrated my mother’s birthday on Feb. 8th, but never really knew how old she was. She said that she was born in 1900 because it not only made her two years younger than my father, but was easy for her to calculate her age. In 1968, when my mother died, we did some of our own calculations and came up with something between 72 and 74, but of course didn’t know for sure.

Coming of age in New York’s Harlem, she expressed her independence by dropping out of school before she even entered high school and then taking a factory job, something not unusual at the time. In her early twenties, she opened her own retail shop with one of her multitude of sisters.

Education was never one of her goals but she was beautiful and was known for the way she dressed, spending more on her clothes then than I do now. Of course, I don’t have the interest in them that she had.

Marrying my father and settling down with children must have been difficult for her but she thought that was what she was supposed to do, especially since she had passed the 30-year mark and needed to make a move if she was going to do what was expected of her by her family and culture.

Her mood swings, her constant complaints about her life, her put- downs of my father, my brother and less, of me, were accepted. She was discontented about almost everything. Never knowing what was going to set her off, I retreated and tread lightly. Not ever being able to drive (she said she was too nervous), she was imprisoned in her own life.

Now, that I’m approaching that time of her last years, I’m a great deal more understanding of this woman, my mother, who never lived the life she thought she should have. Instead, although vastly different in temperament, I’ve done the living she never did……

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I Don't Want to Die, Mom

by Marla Finn

This July I turn 59 years old. If I live as long as my mother, then I am about to embark on my last year of life.

Mom, you were thequeen of selflessness.You gave up everything for everyone else. My deepest frustration was not being able to get you to see that your mother and sister were sucking the life out of you. Every day, on the phone, you’d try your hardest to get them to listen, think things through, and calm down. It NEVER worked. The medical profession says that stress can cause disease. It's clear in your case that it did.

I refuse to be done in from that kind of “love.” My dear daughters are at me daily with their emotional breakdowns about boys, mean girls, computer mishaps, school, jobs. But I’m not as good a person as you were, mom! I’m selfish. I hate being yelled at, even if only as a sounding board. I give advice and they don’t listen. I want to live longer than one more year.

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There's A Whole World Out There

by Eric Lucas

I was lolling in the bathtub reading a comic book (the Amazing Flash) when my mom came in waving a copy of the afternoon newspaper. “Russians Launch Satellite,’ blared the huge headline. I tore myself away from superhero suspense to listen. You should listen to your mom, right? It was October 4, 1957. I was 6 years old.

“You may not understand this, but your world just changed,” my mother told me. “Pretty soon people will travel into space. You could. There’s a whole universe out there.

“All you have to do,” she added, “is make sure those grades keep up.”

She used to work that into every conversation; in fact, until recently, she would occasionally resurrect her offer that, should I wish to go to law school, she’d pay for it. Never mind I have no interest in law school and I’ve enjoyed a 30-year career writing everything from hotheaded newspaper columns to, well, hotheaded internet columns.

Most of my childhood is vague to my recollection, but I remember that evening the whole world marveled at the news Sputnik I had circled the globe. A 6-year-old boy’s grasp of the world is pretty much rooted in baseball, bikes and Cheerios, so I can’t say I comprehended the fact the universe had just shifted. Did this make the amazing technology behind the Flash more likely? What about Superman? “Just remember this moment,” my mom admonished.

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A Difficult Birth

by Andrew Adleman

Her death is still as fresh as my birth. It was nine months ago, (her death, not my birth) and I miss her very much, especially on days like today. I remember her love and her singing Happy Birthday to me. I also recall the story she told of my difficult birth.

She was, of course, rushed to the hospital where she waited, and waited, and waited — in labor for 72 hours. I am not sure if mom was reluctant to bring me into the world, or if I was being extra cautious about sliding my pudgy baby body those last few inches to a new existence. Given my subsequent history, I’m pretty sure it was the latter.

Just as my mother had endured my birth, this willful woman endured her life, and mine, though not without letting me know that she knew what was best. To her dismay I did not become a Jewish heart surgeon (or even a Presbyterian foot doctor). Mom also put up with me marrying two non-Jewish women (not at the same time, God forbid), and gradually grew to love them as she loved me.

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