The first sigh,
the first smile, the first recognition that you are a significant person in
this little person’s life; the first clutch of a toy, the first step, the first
solid food, the first word ( “giggie” for dog, “owa” for cat); the first Mother’s
Day, Father’s Day, Christmas, birthday, Halloween and Easter; the first day of kindergarten;
the first soccer/basketball/baseball/lacrosse team; the first day of high school;
the first car, the first girlfriend, the first college graduation, the first
job and the first business success.
I
relish these events, noting each one on my calendar; I share them by phone with
grandparents, aunts and uncles; I reflect upon them with a photo, and more
recently, I relive them via a Facebook post or a text message.
Today is another
first. The first Mother’s Day in 26 years I will spend without my son, Ian
Clarke MacKenzie.
He died on July 16 2016, in an accident that should have
never happened. But then, when are accidents planned?
In May 1991, Ian
was in utero at about 20 weeks, and in that way, he joined his father, Bill,
and me on a trip the island of Kauai. I count that as my first Mother’s Day.
One year later,
we celebrated in Southern California at brunch with family at a restaurant on Newport harbor. By the next May, 1993, Ian’s brother, Alec Hugh, was a 3 month
old. We had a double celebration!
My mother died
in 1995 and the first Mother’s Day without her, which also always falls close
to her birthday, was difficult. Since then, I have been able to celebrate and
remember my mother, Jane Hite Reilly, on two days, very close together. I have always
held her in my heart as I shared this special day with my sons, basking in the
love of being a mother of two active, vibrant, mischievous, creative,
intelligent children.
I have
experienced the first birthday, the first Halloween, the first Thanksgiving,
Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day and Easter without Ian. Each is accompanied
by its own loving memory.
The first Mother’s
Day without him? I was totally unprepared for the emotion this day has brought.
I am thankful
for the rich memories I have of Ian. There are more than I can count. I am sad
that I no longer have him to hug as he comes home from work and to congratulate
him on a successful sale. I am sorry that I will not witness the growth of a
young man who, poised to take the world by storm, was also growing into his
role as a thoughtful adult with dreams of good things to come. I am sad that I
will not watch him as he courts and marries the woman he loves, and that I will
not one day hold his child, my grandchild, in my arms.
Hawaii. Ohana,
the Hawaiian word for family, is important us. It is why, when the boys were growing
up, we spent vacations at Kona Village Resort, a place that holds Ohana in its
heart. The Big Island of Hawaii is where Bill and I now go to find peace,
beauty, spiritually and simplicity.
Ohana. I am not without
Ian. I know you are with me but in a different, more spiritual way. I miss you mightily. I love you wholeheartedly. Remember when you realized you could order as many Cookie Monsters as you wanted at Kona Village? Oh, those, were the days...
I love you, Ian.
