My parents. It was mom's last Christmas.
Today is the 13th anniversary of my mother’s death. Even so, I haven’t been without her presence, really, because Lucille Suzanne Levesque Meagher is with me every day.
She is with me every morning as I make my coffee, smiling at me from a small picture frame my sister Kim gave me for Christmas one year.
I see her in every coffee cup I leave scattered around the house as she used to do. When we would come home from school, we could trace her path through the house by half-filled coffee mugs scattered here and there and forgotten in the hustle of raising a large family.
She is with me whenever I look in the mirror and see her face looking back at me.
Mom and I, about 23 years ago
She is with me every time I rant and rave that I will never find my keys, my glasses, my gloves, my hat, my watch. I can hear her saying my name and shaking her head that I never learned to put things down in one place. When I find them—and I always do—I always thank her.
She is with me whenever I leave the house and I hear her ask me: “Now, where are you going? When will you be home? Do you have enough gas in the car? Do have enough money?
She is with me every time I read a new mystery. Would she enjoy it as much as I did? What would she have thought of the plot, the characters, the author’s writing?
She is with me every time I visit the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I see her driving up to my Cambridge apartment in her red Toyota Corolla, dressed for a day in the city. I see her walking through the galleries with me on a Members Only Day, as we soak up culture. I see us sharing our favorite paintings before we have lunch in the museum’s restaurant (with a glass of wine, mais oui!).
She is with me whenever I write a letter or a note as she shares with me her talent for a gracious turn of phrase. She is with me whenever I write. My mother, for whom English was a second language, was her most eloquent on the page. Her letters and her cards revealed an unrivaled gift for expressing herself.
She is with me when I enter my dad’s driveway and see her standing in the kitchen window preparing dinner for her family.
She is with me every time I open the family cookbook and make one of her recipes.
She is with me when I go clothes shopping (rarely!) – a passion she shared with my sister Beth. I picture her as I leave the store, pulling one more item from a rack and persuading me to go try it on (the last one, she always promised).
She is with me whenever I entertain, as I set a beautiful table, arrange flowers in vases, make my home warm and inviting and prepare a delicious meal.
She is with me every time I visit my aunt and cousins in Canada. I hear my mom and my aunt catching up, switching from French to English with ease depending on which language fit their thoughts better.
My Aunt Jeannine and Mom
She is with me every time I serve a meal, whispering her mantra in my ear “presentation is everything” as I artfully arrange food on the plate and carefully wipe away any errant drips before bringing it to the table.
She is with me every time I sip a glass of wine, most especially if it is Chardonnay.
She is with me every time I smell Estee Lauder’s Beautiful or Swiss Performing Extract and remember drinking in the fragrance of Mom as I kissed her goodbye or goodnight.
She is with me every year the lilacs and the peonies bloom, two flowers that she filled her home with every spring.
She is with me every time I see a spider. They were good luck to her and she never killed one. Neither do I. Now that she is gone, that is how she comes to me when I need her encouragement, her guidance, her help with making a difficult choice.
She is with me every time my family gathers because to her family was paramount. It mattered more than anything else in the world.
My family in 2003 (Photographer: Rose Martin)
She is with me whenever I move out of my comfort zone for that is exactly what she did when she fell in love with and married my dad, a Navy pilot. She left behind her family, her country and her language to begin a new family, embrace a new country, speak a new language and every three years to pick up and move and make a new home for all seven of us until my dad retired.
My mother's engagement picture
She is with me in my heart forever and always. No, even longer than that.
Gay Geiger Hughes is a good example. In last month’s interview, you learned about Gay Grace Mobile Tea Truck, the only tea room in the country on wheels. The truck gave her a chance to fulfill her dream of having her own tearoom without the huge expense of outfitting a brick and mortar location.
Photo courtesy of Ken W. Kiser
