Gloria sat at the reception desk. I was in the next cubical. I was young and impressionable — and also eager to make one. Of course that youth made me think that I could do anything, and I suppose that’s why I gravitated towards Gloria — she was also a believer. Some of it was a bit fantastical, like the aliens building the pyramids and ghosts stealing her underpants while she slept, but that didn’t deter me, because she also said things that made complete sense to me — like when I would come to her in near defeat, telling her that “they” told me a certain project couldn’t be done. Her reply was always this, “Well, then you’ll make two.” And I always did.
I mention it now because France doesn’t celebrate Mother’s Day on the same day as the United States. It’s a few weeks later — this Sunday to be exact. Of course Mother’s Day is hard for me. I miss my mom so much. And now, I not only have to get through one day, but two. Even saying it, I see Gloria’s smiling face, and I have to join her. Of course it’s hard, but we were built to do hard things. To live the unlivable, bear the unbearable, and believe ever in the unbelievable. And I do!
So on this Thursday before, I change my mind and think, not that I have to, but that I get to! And if ever a mother deserved two holidays it would be mine. My heart may feel the squeeze of all that love, but I will celebrate. Twice.
