The Memorial Candle

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that you didn't have a good sense of humor?"  That was my son's response to another attempted joke that had fallen flatter than a pancake.

"No, she said I was funny and that I had a good singing voice  And see, she just let you know."

We all stared at the flickering light coming from the memorial candle. It was six years ago today that my mom passed away, and she was now inches from where I sat, weighing in on our conversation.

I have been told throughout my life that my mother ruined me. You see, she thought I could do no wrong. I was the brightest, the most handsome, the best athlete, the most wonderful son. And despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, she made me believe all of that was true.

Thus I have wandered through life with misconceptions about so many aspects of my being. My mother laughed at my bad jokes, marveled at my ability to (not) hit the right notes, applauded my less than perfect academic performances (and ignored my unending capacity to apply less than all of my efforts to achieve) . In short, she instilled in me a confidence that from the outside looking in was based on an image that existed only in her mind.

I loved my mom for a million reasons, but maybe the most important one was how she made me comfortable in my own skin. I am light years away from perfect and have spent a lifetime revealing my inadequacies. But she allowed me to make mistakes along the way, feeling badly about where I came up short, but not necessarily less good about myself.

She gave me a good heart, a good moral compass and an ability to love without borders or boundaries.

And yes, my sense of humor and my singing voice may both be off key. But don't tell that to the candle sitting next to me. For if you speak ill of this beloved son next to this flame, you may get burned.

You see, a mother’s love can never be extinguished.