Love

 

I love when my daughter Emily visits us in Queens. When she comes from Boston, she stops off to hug her mother-in-law Ginny in Manhattan, walks down Broadway to get to Zabar’s, a culinary paradise. She knows just what to buy for our lunch; the bread, bagels, olives, lox, cheese, salads and rugelach, all will make a scrumptious repast. 

It is Mother’s Day. Bittersweet. The memory of another Mother’s Day is never buried in my mind. Sometime ago, perhaps ten years ago, my husband and I went to the theater on 42nd and 10th to see Neverland, a play about Peter Pan. When the play ended and we walked a short distance from the theater, I felt faint, my knees gave way, and I sat down on the cold concrete. I had not actually passed out, but a knowledgeable women asked me a number of simple questions, my name, address, etc. to see if I was coherent. Fortunately, I was totally lucid and fortunately, we were directly in front of an Urgent Care Facility. After a number of hours and a number of tests, they determined my issue was related to an unhealthy spike in my blood pressure. Years later, future medical care led to my carotid artery surgery.

This past Mother’s Day was a happier one. We are a healthy family and a happy family with Emily’s visit and lunch together on our patio. We are all enjoying the spring blossoms and the spring nesting season.  Before we begin our lunch, Emily helps unpack my Mother’s Day gift of an exquisite blue bird feeder and large bag of bird seed. We hang the feeder which has been prepared with the nuts, raisins, millet and corn. As we sit down to our Zabar lunch, the robins, sparrows, wrens and finches are taking turns at the bird feeder windows with their Mother’s Day meal.

As a nonagenarian mom, I love and treasure each of Emily’s visits.

Ethyl Haber