Thanks, Mom

My mom, Uralee Dorman, died last Thursday after surgery to repair a weak, damaged heart. She was 76. It was quite a blow to my family.

Mom was sedated in the days leading up to surgery, so my dad, Howard, my brother, Joel and I didn't get to speak to her. We didn't get that movie moment when we gather around her bedside in the gauzy light to say important things.

But really, who does?

I do have a column, however. So in this space, today is mother's day.

Some thank yous are in order.

Thanks, mom, for showing us that every underdog needs a champion, whether they're stray cats or dogs in need of a home or little kids in need of a hug. You even stuck up for the violets in our front yard, sitting in the middle of the purple patch to keep my dad from mowing them.

You'll be glad to know dad mowed around them this year while you were in the hospital.

Thanks for your enormous generosity, for spoiling your grandchildren with endless little treats and serving those desserts bigger than our heads and for all the checks tucked quietly into our hands when you knew things were a little tight. Your generous love could not be contained, even in those four-foot tall gift bags you filled to the brim at Christmas.

And thanks for showing us you can never have too many holiday decorations.

Thank you for not letting us forget that we were once little kids ourselves, even if it was a little embarrassing. Like all the times you told people how I looked out the window one morning at all the dandelions and yelled, “Look what God did.” I cringed in my cynical snarkiness, secretly grateful for a reminder that wonder should never cease.

Thank you for having our backs. Sure, you got plenty ticked when we ignored your advice or discounted your perspective. But God help anyone else who hurt us or didn't give us the credit she thought we deserved. I had to stop complaining to her years ago about bad edits for fear she would open up a telephonic can of motherly outrage at one of my bosses.

Thank you for showing us the value of loyalty. Lord knows how many buses you rode, ball games you watched, uniforms you washed and late dinners you made while being married to a coach for nearly 53 years.

Thank you for worrying. It made us crazy, at times, but hearing your little voice in the back of my head, forcefully outlining the worst-case scenario, has probably saved me from trouble more than once.

Thank you, mom, for being a dedicated keeper. Seeing those boxes with nearly every damn thing I ever wrote puts a lump in my throat.

I sure wish you were here to read this one.