A Mother’s Decision Becomes A Fond Memory

Mother’s Day is upon us—an occasion that may have you thinking about candy, cards, brunch, and flowers. I, on the other hand, have been reminiscing about a car ride…

To get to my grandmother’s house from my childhood home was easy, and I knew every inch of the route:

Up Jackson Street and right on Winter Avenue, which you followed until you met the fork in the road. Veer left and the road wended past fairytale houses—one with a tennis court, one where I would later take horseback-riding lessons on a roan named Cokie (so called because his favorite treat was Coca-Cola)—and at the corner of the landmark pink house, turn right. Follow this road around the swamp and at the first eastside driveway past the ancient tree growing in the middle of the road, turn right. That was Grandma’s. It hardly took 10 minutes to get there and we went there often.

Late one afternoon, we were headed for Grandma’s, but my mother took a different route. No pretty houses, no curving road; all right angles through foreign neighborhoods. I’m sure I asked her why, and probably more than once, but I can no longer remember the story she concocted.

On our way home late that night, Mother drove the regular route. And halfway in, our car lights illuminated what she hadn’t wanted me to see: a dead dog.

Mother muttered something like, “I thought they’d have picked that up by now.” I started crying.

Mother said she was sorry I had to see the dachshund like that. She’d noticed it earlier in the day, hence had taken the long route to Grandma’s with me. I was inconsolable.

Author Susan Chernak McElroy understands. Her mother had told her early on that she’d outgrow her “craziness” over animals. But years passed, and when McElroy tried to write a tribute about her dog—crying all the while—she was ashamed by how strongly she related to her pet. She had come to believe it was, in her words, “a profound indicator of my lack of maturity.”

The truth is that we don’t outgrow the bond. We either deepen it by acting on it—McElroy writes books about it now, some people go into animal care or conservation. Or we hide it—“in-growing” it, as it were. But the bond remains a defining element of our identity and character.

Decades have passed since the dead dog incident of my early childhood. I can still see that dachshund lying on the pavement. And I still marvel at the effort my mother took to spare me the experience (and, no doubt, to spare herself the aggravation of a sobbing child).

Though my mother did not share the deep bond I had with animals, she acknowledged it and accepted it. For this, I’m grateful.

I’m sure my mother sacrificed much for me in my lifetime and went the extra mile for me in all sorts of ways. But the day that she drove the literal extra mile is what I’ll always treasure as one of her greatest gifts to me.

[Pics are types of critters (besides the typical birds, cats, dogs, and horses) I’ve had relationships with, though not the specific ones I knew. Photo credits: box turtle from U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service; bunny by susang2; piglet from New Dawn Farm Sanctuary; octopus by Dave King.]