I know exactly what I want for Mother's Day.

I want to spend the day with my mom.  And I want her to meet my daughter.

My mom died almost eight years ago.  My daughter is almost four.  You do the math.  

I could sing her praises, but let me tell you just this:  you knew you'd actually accomplished something when my mom - teacher,  reader, avid New York Times crossword puzzle doer - would say in her special way probably the only phrase in her lexicon that was not grammatically correct - "Jennifer, you did good".

I remember thinking when my mom died that - ironically - she was the one I needed to tell me how to get through it.

It kills me she's never met my daughter.

For the first years following her death I managed to ignore Mother's Day with the ardor of a lonely single person fearful of Valentine's Day.  I shut out the FTD ads, avoided the card aisle at the drugstore, and sat out the brunch scene on the morning of. Eight months pregnant and on bed rest, I dodged the bullet one last time.  

When my daughter Julia was born I felt adrift.   How am I supposed to know how to do these things without my mom's advice?  I don't have any younger siblings to remember watching her with, I certainly don't remember my first couple of years, there are no home movies to study or baby journals to pore over.  Awake in the no-where land of the sleeping city, trying to get my colic-y child to rest, I had my sleep-deprived-tortured self convinced that were she only around, she would have the answer to soothe my baby that no-one else did.  

There were other people I could ask for advice (and did, believe me) -  my dad, my brother and sister and sister-in-law, my girlfriends who had done the mom thing before me, my dad's soon-to-be-wife, my mother-in-law - and their answers were always well meant, often good and even useful - but they didn't completely satisfy.  

I think it's not a leap to say that most everyone probably assumes that their mom is always going to be there to answer whatever questions they have.  I am as guilty as the next person - when she died I was still in the "why can't I find a guy who's not an asshole" question phase and the "can I make this career happen" question phase.  And after, I still had "is this the right guy" questions and "what do you think of my new play" questions.  

I was baffled about what to do for my wedding because frankly I had never spent my girlhood picturing that day;  I think in the back of my mind I had always thought she would plan it, and my husband-to-be and I would just show up and have a fantastic time.  I truly believe the wedding was ultimately the one she would have thrown, and although I know her spirit circled the room that night, I think there was a little hope in my heart I would somehow see her there, a magical guest.  

There were so many questions I just hadn't gotten to yet- there was no way I was ready to ask her the ones to which she probably had the most expert answers, the ones all about how you bring up a child in the world so they still want you to answer their questions when the torch is passed to them.  And maybe that's the thing - she hadn't passed me the torch yet, there had been no need yet.  But now, when I'd be quick to grab it right out of her hand,  she isn't there to pass it to me anymore.  

My daughter - veteran of some forty-odd plane flights already - tells me sometimes that we should get on a plane and go see Grandma Joan.  She questioned me at length the other night about why we can't go do that.  The only way I can answer her is to tell her I really wish we could too.

I've had a million questions in the past almost 4 years plus nine months of pregnancy that I've wanted to ask my mom -  but I think if I really got to have my Mother's Day with my mom and my daughter I wouldn't end up asking any of them.  I'd watch her get down on the floor with Julia, and Julia would show her her books and her dollies and my mom would read to her and teach her letters.  And later, she and I would sit side by side, maybe, watching Julia perform one of her spontaneous song and dance routines,  and she would turn to me and answer all my unasked questions at once with her one patented phrase - "Jennifer, you did good".



Jennifer Maisel writes for theatre, television and film while navigating the daily chaos with her husband and child.  You can learn more about her and her writing at   http://www.dogear.org/blogs/maiselj/.

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