I love my mother because, no matter the challenge, she loves life.
I love my mother because she cooked gorgeous meals for our family every day, for years. I’d yell, Ma, what’s for supper? and bitch, Again? before we would sit down to eat, while that delicious food was her heart, warming the plate.
I love my mother because she throws a mean party. When I turned 7, she made sandwiches with cream-cheese icing and my peeps and I dressed up and ate in the dining room like grown-ups and she looked so glam with her black hair and smart suit and made us all feel so fancy.
I love my mother because she taught me how to fill my life with friends, and that your friends can be your family.
I love my mother because when I was little she refused to buy me trendy clothes or a pre-fab house for my Barbies. She’d put a plastic tablecloth on the kitchen table, cover it with junk and, make it yourself, she said.
I love my Mom because when I woke up in with a pimple honking the tip of my nose, she let me stay home from school. I tried to fake being sick but the thermometer saw right through me. My Mom said, sometimes we just need a day off.
My mother taught me to deal with anxiety and fear. She would force me to articulate what was scaring me and then ask, so, what’s the worst that could happen? I came to understand that outside of a natural disaster, I would most likely survive.
When I turned 40, my mother told me that the 40’s are great, but the 50’s are when you really begin to feel your power. She always makes me feel good about aging. She hasn’t told me yet what 80 feels like, but I have no doubt it burns the fire.
I love that my mother never complains about growing old. A couple of years ago, I was admiring her legs, when she lifted up her top, flashed her boobs and cried out, not bad for an old lady!
My Mom inspires some of my most outrageous characters and best lines.
At the end of the premiere of my first film, she got up in front of the audience and cried out: I’m Brenda’s mother and when she first told me she was going to make a film called WANKER, I don’t have to tell you I was mortified and didn’t know what to say to my friends, but now that I’ve seen it, I can’t believe how touched I am.
I love how my mother has embraced my in-house composer as her non-Jewish son. That she loves and fights with him. That she turned him on to chicken soup and matzo balls.
My mother taught me about choosing a good man and long-term commitment to love. To go through the ups-and-downs of life, kissing and holding hands.
My father died last year, in my mother’s arms. She gave him the best death he could ask for, and more importantly, she rocked his life.
A few days after the funeral, my mother looked at her reflection in the mirror and declared, Micki, the widow. When I cried, no, she said, that’s how people my age will see me.
Later that night, she announced: Brenda, I’m going to entertain. That’s when I knew she was fine. Not only would she survive her loving husband’s death, she would continue to grow and thrive. As it should be, she is alive.
In celebration of all things Mom, what do you love about yours?
FAN THE FLAMES
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