Neville Frankel

Post-Mother’s Day Thoughts

This is being posted on the day after Mother's Day for a reason.

Mother's Day isn't just a day or a date. It's not just a pretty card or even an organic, homemade, original one-of-a-kind card. It's not a bunch of roses or peonies or tulips or all of them wrapped up beautifully together and tied with a bow. It's more than taking Mom or Grandma or Aunt Josephine out to lunch and presenting her with a corsage. It's more than a phone call on Mother's Day morning or afternoon, although even a call on the eve of—or the day after—Mother’s Day counts.

Of course, it is all those things. But, from the perspective of age, a day named for mothers takes on a different framing. One broader and more generous.

It's to celebrate mothers of small children. And mothers of teenage children and young adults and grown-up children.

It's to celebrate grandmothers who help to take care of the next generation, whether the children they take care of are by blood or by choice.

It's to recognize the unbearable pain of mothers who've lost children.

It’s to acknowledge those women whose contributions to the next generations are other than having given birth.

More important, a celebration of mothers and motherhood and mothering, of nurture and care and sustenance, shouldn't be—and in most cases isn't—limited to one day of the year. For those of us who have been the beneficiaries of good mothering—by women who might or might not be mothers—appreciation takes place on a daily basis. Mother's Day is celebrated in hugs and kisses, in glances of appreciation, in thanks for childcare and pickups and birthdays and caring. In the advice and counsel and wiping away tears. In spoken and unspoken thanks for meals prepared. In appreciation for simply being there, being available and caring.

On this Mother's Day, let's make sure that whatever we do to show our love and appreciation is just the first day of the rest of the year.

Pictured: my Mother and Godmother.

I write because…

My mother, Betty Lilian Frankel, died on March 23, just a month shy of her 98th birthday. The date of her death was my father's birthday. The common wisdom in the family is that Mom loved watching her great-grandchildren and wanted to stay around until she'd watched them grow up and marry, as she did for most of her grandchildren. But my father had been waiting for far too long since his death in 2021—and after a marvelous marriage that lasted three-quarters of a century—he grew tired of waiting for her and came down to get her on what would have been his 102nd birthday.

Betty was an exceptional mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, and we were fortunate to have the benefit of her love, wisdom and humor for so long. She has been the mainstay of my life for so long that it's hard to believe that she's gone. Even in these days of longer and longer life, having one's mother for 77 years is quite an accomplishment.

There's an ancient piece of wisdom that claims that we don't really attain adulthood until our parents die. Those close to me say that explains much about my behavior. I tell them I feel so much more mature than I did a week ago. Of course, the real test will be to see whether I am able to maintain this newfound maturity, or whether I will relapse and return to childish things. Only time will tell.

Mom, may you rest in eternal and well-earned peace.

I have just sent the final iteration of galleys off to my publisher. We are trying to make the manuscript completely error free, which is more difficult than it seems! LOL!

Another amazing day at The Farmers Market in CA. So happy not to be in the heavy snow in Boston!

Egghead in front of UC Davis library.