Memorial Day

Our family has started a bit of a tradition on Memorial Day. The last few years, we have gone down the street to ] pancake breakfast for the Boy Scouts and then watched the Wayland Memorial Day parade on Main Street. I know it doesn't sound very exciting, but we have enjoyed gorging on chocolate chip pancakes and then seeing so many familiar faces parade by. 

This year, I wasn't able to participate in this family tradition because one of my oldest, dearest friends was having a memorial for his mother, Maureen, in the small town where I grew up.  Now, when I say "small town," I am not talking about Wayland "small town." The town where I grew up has a population of about 2,500. It is the kind of town where you know everyone (in some cases, a bit too well!) The memorial was a beautiful tribute to a wonderful woman – a woman that was like a surrogate mother to me for many years.

At the memorial, there was time set aside for friends to tell stories about Maureen and share letters they had received. I shared a story from when I was 12 years old.

On one of the first warm days of spring, Maureen saw me sitting by myself. She decided to venture into the funk of an adolescent girl. She asked what was bothering me. In typical girl style, I said I was depressed about how badly my knees looked in shorts. Maureen looked at me with complete sympathy and confessed that she, too, had always hated her knees. We shared a laugh about something her sons wouldn't have appreciated, and my dad definitely wouldn't have understood.

I described Maureen as a "surrogate mother"; that's because my own mother died when I was 10 years old. Maureen, and a few of my mom's other close friends, stepped in. Maureen carted me to Little League games, picked me up from skating parties, took me to feed my dogs when my dad was out of town and generally made herself available when I needed some fellow female guidance on life as a teenager.

The reminiscing got me to thinking about who would be there for my kids if something happened to me. When I got home today, my son excitedly told me about the two friends and their families that he ate pancakes with this morning. My husband told me how much fun the kids had playing while he chatted with the two other couples. We may not have a "small town," but knowing we are surrounded by wonderful friends means I have one less worry.