AD MATREM SUMMO CUM AMORE
By mapark
Everything was ready. His dress uniform was spotless, from the bright shine on his best pair of black shoes to the polish on his cap badge. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror – and pondered.
When did all those grey hairs appear? The past year has been hellish at times, but I didn't think it had extended to my physical appearance.
He lifted his left hand to tug the wrinkles on his right glove into a seamless white span, and thought about all the things those hands had done in the past months.
Strong, but gentle… strong enough to do the often-heartbreaking job of rescue… and the more heart-breaking job of recovery of a victim of a fire. Yet gentle enough to help feed someone who no longer had the capability of feeding herself, or of taking care of personal grooming.
He flicked an imaginary hair from his left sleeve, then clutched it as his breath caught. He swallowed against the tears that threatened to disrupt the commanding image of the strength portrayed by a man in uniform… when the pain of her loss was still too new and raw to him.
Her hair was black, laced with silver, right down to the very end. I can't imagine how many of those silver hairs I caused… first, as a reckless child, then as an even more reckless teenager… and last, as a firefighter. Oh, she used to try to deny it, but I know she always worried.
He picked up a comb, and tidied the hair poking out from underneath the uniform hat.
She always got such a smile when I brushed her hair….
He blinked furiously, fighting the tears that were moistening his lashes.
Don't lose control. You can't fall apart now. Wait until after the ceremony, when you can allow yourself to turn into a human again. You need to be a robot now, who doesn't show that his heart is breaking into a million pieces. For God's sake, get a hold of yourself!
He snatched a piece of tissue paper, oblivious to the squeaks that emanated from the holder – another reminder of the tasks at home he'd neglected since spending every spare minute with his mother, giving her as much care as he could squeeze in around his work schedule and his own family. He dabbed at his eyes, then leaned against the sink, summoning the inner power that had become so much a part of his life the past months. A cycle of giving everything he could to a woman who was losing so much of herself… first, her independence as the injury claimed first her body and then, cruelly, her mind.
It took his mother's body fifteen months to die… but he'd really lost her fifteen months ago, when she'd broken her hip and found herself in a wheelchair, unable to cope with things at home any more. It had taken him months to find a special care home that had a space for her, and he had never been more grateful to his wife for all the support she'd provided to him while he came to terms with the situation.
He'd visited her every day that he could; at first, before the dementia set in, with his wife and children… later, alone. His wife was so amazing… she knew the emotional toll the visits took on him, and she eased his soul through her understanding and patience as he raged at the injustice of fate.
And now, it's time to remember the good things… and to focus on her amazing vitality, and her selfless last gift.
He sniffed deeply, took a slow breath, and straightened his hat. He picked up the letter again, no longer cursing the bureaucrat who had decided that Mother's Day would be the most appropriate day for this ceremony. His heart would still ache no matter what day on the calendar they chose; and now, it seemed fitting, somehow, that others would recognize the life and generosity of this extraordinary woman.
Dear Mr. DeSoto: The Division of Clinical and Functional Anatomy a the Faculty of Medicine cordially invites you and your family to the Annual Memorial Service to commemorate, with gratitude, the individuals whose gift has contributed to the advancement of medical education. Through the donation of your mother's body to our department, future doctors will be able to perfect their skills in the furtherance of their education. Our deepest sympathies are with you and your family during this time of loss.
A flowery scent intruded on his thoughts, and brought a smile to his face. He turned, lifted her chin with his gloved hand, and gazed into the eyes of his soulmate. He kissed her gently, then nodded. "I'm ready."
JoAnne reached up to trace her finger gently along his jawline. "I love you to pieces, and when we get home, we'll give you a chance to cry privately."
He clasped her hand in his. "No, when we get home, we'll have a proper Mother's Day… with you as the star of the show." He brushed his lips against her fingers, then released her hand. He crooked his arm, and she linked her elbow with his. "Did I tell you what Chris and Jenny have prepared for later?"
"No, you didn't," JoAnne murmured as they headed for the door.
"Good. They want to surprise the 'Bestest Mom on the Planet', and I wouldn't want to spoil it for them."
"Looks like there's enough room for two 'bestest moms', doesn't it?"
Roy smiled, and thought of a long-forgotten phrase from their high school Latin course that seemed to sum things up for this day.
"Ad matrem summo cum amore," he said, as they headed to the car.
JoAnne sighed, a smile of contentment on her face. "Amen to that."
Author's note: Once again, I've drawn from my personal life for this one, but I don't usually do that when I write – my imagination is twisted enough. My mom died nearly six months ago, and as this is the first Mother's Day without her, I just had to write something. I didn't know that the character was going to be Roy until the letter appeared; it could have easily been any other married character, but Roy jumped in. I hope I got the Latin right; I'm not really a Latin scholar, but I try. 'Ad matrem summo cum amore' (hopefully) means 'To mother with greatest love."