For my Mommy on Mothers' Day 2013

For my Mommy Amy Dunis Parks nee Maime Dunefsky (1917-1970) on Mothers' Day 2013

I remember how I sat on the floor at my Mommy's feet because I couldn't stand yet. And I remember how much I loved my Mommy.

I remember feeling wobbly just sitting up but my Mommy was right there, sitting at the sewing machine and wearing a long dress and I felt adventurous and brave. And I remember I loved my Mommy.

I sat in a conical beam of light that came through the same window where I sometimes watched the boats go by and I was mesmerized by all those sparkly specks of dust dancing in the light and I looked up when my Mommy said "Andrew?" And I loved my Mommy.

In her hand she held a slice of a tangerine with all the little strings carefully removed and she dangled it just out of my reach and I wanted "up" so I grabbed her dress in my little baby hands and with all my little baby strength I pulled myself up, climbing, climbing, one hand over the other, finally "standing" as it were, on my feet while leaning on her legs and holding on tight with both of my little baby arms. And I loved my Mommy.

And then she put the tangerine in my mouth and I toothlessly "bit" down and the juice filled my mouth and dribbled down my cheeks and all over my chest but I didn't care because I had barely tasted anything but my Mommy's milk before much less anything sooo sweet and it was sooo goood and I wanted sooo much more, more, more. And I loved my Mommy sooo much and wanted her more, more, more.

We did that over and over for what seemed like all day, one tangerine slice after another, while she worked the sewing machine with her feet on the treadle, one hand on the wheel and the other holding tangerine slices for me. Only for me. And I loved my Mommy.

And I would have loved my Mommy even if she didn't take care of me and hold me tightly when I cried and feed me from her breast when I was hungry and clean me up when I made a mess in my pants and keep me safe from all the scarey stuff and read to me and talk to me and coo to me and make funny sounds by blowing on my belly, both of us laughing, laughing, laughing...

The sweet juice kept coming and the light streamed through the window until she wiped my face and hands and belly with a damp washcloth. And even though I didn't like that washcloth I knew she wiped me clean because she loved me.

And I loved my Mommy. MY Mommy.

And my Mommy loved me.