A Word About Our Mothers

For the May issue of AMG, the writers decided to celebrate their own
mothers, and share a poignant moment between the two of them. Below are
small glimpses into the lives of AMG writers Sarah Cushing, Stephanie
Bolmer, and Deepti Dhir and their mothers.

There for me
Sarah Cushing

The time between my mother and I that I
remember to be the most special wasn’t a
happy time, but a time when I needed her
the most. Three weeks before my high
school graduation I was diagnosed with
cancer. What I remember the most about
my mother during this time was her
constant presence. From every doctor
appointment to treatment session to
emotional meltdown, my mother was there
with me and for me. She was there to ask
questions, advocate on my behalf and hug
me when I—and often, we—cried.

The wonderful thing about my mother during this time was that she didn’t
try to hide her feelings from me and be strong and stoic for my benefit. She
let her vulnerability seep through while still managing to have a strong
spirit as well as be completely present throughout my diagnosis and
treatment process. Through this, my mother showed love, and that we were
in this together.


Tea, Cake and Lemon Tarts
Deepti Dhir

I never realized how much my mother and I bond over food. Thank you
mom for these appetizing memories.

Sipping a warm cup of chai, and savoring a small slice of cake at teatime,
my mother stole a break from her hectic day to watch the newest Bollywood
hit, featuring all the up and coming stars. I sat next to her, and we laughed
over the cheesy dialogue, far flung lyrics, and uncanny dance steps to
another Hindi movie flop.

My mother chose between Tutty Fruity ice cream, a lemon tart, and a
strawberry swirl at a pastry shop. I cautioned her about the unappealing
look of her usual picks, and gave subtle reminders of past ordering
disasters, offering her a sure winner in the chocolate mousse. She ordered
the strawberry swirl. Terrible. “I should just let you order from now on,”
said my mom smiling, and I smiled back giving her a bite of my chocolate
mousse.

Road Trip
Stephanie Bolmer

I slammed the trunk of the rental van with a bang.  The last of my things
was miraculously crammed into a deceptively roomy space.  This was the
third time my mother and I would make the eight-hour drive back to my
college together.  There’s something about the open road that opens people
up. I asked about her youth; I wanted to hear about a young, laughing
version of my mother.  But, she didn’t go to college like me, and she
couldn't confide in her mother, like I could.  Instead, she worked in a
blouse factory when she was twenty.  Mom spilled her soul and her pain on
the highway that day, and we cried together, the oldies music we both loved
weeping along in the background.  That day, more than ever before, I
appreciated what a gift my mother was giving me through her sacrifices and
hard work.  I’ve never forgotten that ride, or the friend that I made that day.

Scrubbing Floors
Sarah Chaisson Warner

My mother and I sat on the couch ferreting through the massive quantities
of paper that came with each college acceptance letter. That Saturday
morning, I was determined to decide where I would spend the next four
years of my life. As we sorted through the financial aid papers and absorbed
the information at a dizzying pace, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the
pending cost of my higher education. My family was not wealthy - in many
cases, we were scraping by.

My first choice was the most expensive and had given me the least amount
of financial aid. The other schools were showering me with financial aid as
if it grew on trees, but I knew that I didn't belong there. Sensing my
pensiveness, my mother looked at me and said, "You go where you want. I
will get a second and third job scrubbing floors to put you through college if
I have to." And when I looked up and met her gaze, I knew that she wasn't
being metaphorical - she meant it.