Gail L - Artistic Director, Bowen Island, BC

My mom always told me to imagine her with flowers. She would encourage me to see her taking care of her flowers and, in that moment to capture a mental image of her, because that is how she would like me to remember her after she dies. I think that it is a beautiful thing for mothers to nourish their daughters with a sense of themselves alone on this planet after their mothers pass. It really is so hard to consider being in this world without the woman who gave you life, so a bit of fortitude feels essential and appropriate. I love how my mother still takes care of me in this and many other ways even though I am now in my 40s.

Dodie W, Bob W - in Ottawa and Vancouver

Wanda on Mother's Day 2007. Taken an hour before she died.

Dodie W, Bob W - she wrote it, he submitted it, on their mother

Wanda Woodham, a charming, gifted and gregarious, Brazilian woman, died on Mother's Day, May 13, 2007, just one month less a day before her 93rd birthday.

She was fiercely independent, well educated and fluent in Portuguese, English, French and Spanish. She won a scholarship to attend an American university and obtained a degree in science in her second language.

When she shared her scholarship news with her family, her uncle expressed shock that her father was allowing her to go to the U.S.A.

First of all, her uncle insisted, good Brazilian families never allowed unmarried women to go anywhere without a male family member as chaperone and second, to go to the United States of America alone when everyone knew there were no virgins there, was just plain crazy.

Her father disagreed, saying that his daughter had earned the right to choose her own path and she had his blessing. This was unheard of in the Brazil of the 1930s.

In 1944 she married a Canadian and went on to become a high school teacher and later a school administrator and consultant. Her first child was born in 1945, her second in 1950. She lived in Canada for more than 50 years but never lost pride in her Brazilian roots and cultural heritage.

She died while at a special Mother's Day luncheon, with family and friends by her side. She was all dressed up in her best party attire. She was happy, smiling and waving to friends. While waiting for lunch to be served, she put her hand to her chest, turned to her daughter and commented that she felt peculiar. While holding her daughter's hand, she looked up, leaned back, and died.

A good life, a good death. Goodbye, mom.

Jane S - in Vancouver missing her parents and the woods of Ontario

My mother is sweeping the woods. Crazy as it is, the sound fills my heart. She is right outside the log cabin walls and ready to be greeted and teased. We arrived late and she is preparing Birch Rock for our first glimpse of water through trees, of the loon with its baby in the bay.

The woods look fine now, but together we remember the summer that caterpillars ate up all the leaves of the forest canopy, how she felt it was her own life being nibbled away at so quietly. She brags that she’s been out in the laser already and reports on the song she sang on the lake for any early swimmers who might have been listening. Rake set down, her arms lift as she sings it for me—“Oh he’s out with Kate and Jane, then he’s off to sea again, Ship Ahoy ... the naughty boy.” The wind might die down, she says, “So go now. Enjoy yourself.”

My mother is eighty something, and I can barely keep up. I absorb her encouragement and scoot out onto the lake, tacking and looking back at the hillside I dream of in winter. The lake wraps its thick and thin horizon around me, a flowing green arm that comforts and never holds me too tightly.

Once in my confused twenties, I sat fuming on the big rock until my mother squatted beside me, respectfully ignoring the heavy air around me, and she said, “I used to watch you four from up here, your perfect limbs in the sunshine. And I thought how beautiful, how perfect ... and how disappointing that you’d have to grow up and grow warts and get ugly.” She smiles, brushes the path, and leaves an opening for me. With my own babies, I have remembered this moment — remembered that joy is also sadness, that our comings and our goings are one and the same. We show one another the path, saying, “Go now, enjoy yourself.”

Steph C - mom of three

Years ago, when I was in my early twenties, I took off to backpack through Europe for a couple of months. My mom decided to join me for the last week of my trip so we could enjoy some mother-daughter bonding time in Paris. As we strolled through Place Vendome one day, Mom suggested we stop in at the Ritz Carlton for an afternoon drink. “Dad and I spent a lovely afternoon there last year,” she said.

I glanced down at my ratty jeans and hiking shoes and knew we didn’t stand a chance. “Look at me,” I protested. “I’ve been living out of a backpack for the last two months and I’m really not dressed for the Ritz.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said, trotting up the steps. “It’ll be my treat.”

We didn’t even get to the front door of the place before a security guard stopped us mid-trot and told us, quite loudly, that the hotel was “only open to registered guests.” My mom was absolutely stunned and I was doubled over in gales of laughter. Needless to say it was a memorable bonding moment – my mom just wishes I would stop referring to it as “that time Mom got us kicked out of the Ritz!”

Joyce P - singer/songwriter in Surrey, BC

I caught a glimpse of yesterday, another time and place,
I looked into a mirror and I thought I saw your face,
Your eyes were looking back at me, and somehow I could see
Reflections of a gift you gave so long ago to me…

Chorus: You gave me music, and it made me strong,
For when life was empty, I filled it with song,
‘Though our time wasn’t easy, we did all we could do,
But when you gave me music, you gave me you.

You used to say you couldn’t buy me all you wanted to,
Pretty dolls and fancy clothes, like other mothers do,
But when you played piano, and I sang harmony,
What better gift in all the world could you have given me…

When I was only 17 you simply went away,
I never saw your face again, I never heard you play,
So many years I tried to keep your memory from view,
But when I sing, I realize how much of me is you.

Janet N - Powell River, BC

For whatever reason, I have always had a bit of a travel bug, and so has my mother. When I was in about grade 10, growing up in Newfoundland, Mom and I made a pact that we would take a trip together one day. I hand wrote a little contract, we both signed it, and it found a place on my bulletin board and didn't move ... for a long, long time. If I remember correctly the contract stated The Trip would take place at some point before I finished high school.
Well, that was about 16 years ago and last fall The Trip finally happened! My mom and I spent an incredible month volunteering together in Vietnam. It is so impossible to describe what it is I carry away from it the most, but I do know I feel extremely grateful to have had that time - and all those experiences - with her. And if we can find a way to pull it off again, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Ruth M - actor and theatre educator in Vancouver

Poem written by my mother in 1982
I Am

I am one with the rest of nature

timeless

life-full

child of the centuries

mother of life yet unborn

I am the solid rock of the mountains

exposed

vulnerable

strong in the face of storm

I am the violent hurricane

lashing out

tearing down

I am the gentle breeze

caressing and

caring

those I touch

I am the curious chipmunk

shy and

bold

hesitating, advancing, exploring

scolding, chasing, playing

I am the young bird struggling

to fly

to experience

the freedom of fullness of being

I am the river

running deep

I am the forest pool

the fresh mountain stream comes spilling into me

I overflow - spill out

am cleansed and cleanse

I am Maureen

Amy W - writer, NYC

When my mother got her first job as a first grade teacher just after graduating from college, she used her first paycheck to put a down payment on a racing green MG convertible. In the subsequent 45 years, she has always owned a convertible, even as safer, more family-friendly cars came and went in our driveway and our family's garage. I think that years from now, decades from now, when I think of my mother, I will see her this way: behind the wheel, blond hair blown back by the wind, sunglasses on, cool, contained, and on the open road in a universal symbol of freedom.

Teresa L - freelance print specialist, Certified Life Coach, mother of one, grandmother of one

My mom was a homemaker until the youngest of her 4 children was all grown up. She was 50 years old at the time, with no previous work experience, but she started looking around for opportunities. The small city she was living in advertised for someone to start up a Volunteer Bureau. My mom applied for and got the job. She ran this organization for the next 15 years and, when she retired at 65, she was awarded the Woman of the Year Award from the YWCA.

Her organizational skills and love of people enabled her to achieve many markers that surprised even her: she got the law changed so physically and mentally challenged people were allowed to volunteer; she enrolled nearly every non-profit organization in the city into her program and matched volunteers to their needs; she established a program with the university so volunteers could obtain credits; she got good at writing proposals and got extra funding to hire more staff; she even hosted a regular local TV show where she interviewed both agencies looking for volunteers and volunteers who shared their experiences to encourage others to volunteer. She also volunteered herself while she was working full-time.

She was flown to a larger city once a year to speak on Volunteerism. She had become the Expert. She spoke on how to enroll volunteers and how to make sure that programs had benefits for volunteers. She loved parties and regular appreciation nights were always on the agenda.

After she retired, my mom took on the challenge of heading up the Volunteer Program for the Seniors’ Olympics. She first decided what different areas were needed, then enrolled volunteers to head those areas and empowered them as decision makers and leaders. That was the first year in the history of the Seniors' Olympics where they had to turn away interested volunteers because they had too many.

My mom, at 50 years old, went from unemployed with no experience to being a leader in her community. I’ve always said: ‘If she can do it, we can do it.’

Sylvia L - to her mother who died of colon cancer

OH ANGEL, MY GUARDIAN

YOUR EYES OPEN WIDE

THOSE OF A CHILD

A VIEW THROUGH THE WINDOW

OF YOUR SOUL, THERE INSIDE

I WALK TO YOUR BED

THE YEARS SLIP AWAY

MEMORIES FLASH BY ME

ALL THE WORDS NOT SAID

TIME, IT GOES QUICKLY

MINUTES, HOURS, DAYS

YOUR COMFORTING WORDS

VANISH IN A HAZE

SPEAKING SO CALMLY

YOU ACCEPT WITHOUT FEAR

THE FUTURE AWAITS

OF ONE I HOLD DEAR

THE FACE OF AN ANGEL

A HEART SO PURE

NO THOUGHTS THAT ARE EVIL

OH, WHERE IS THE CURE?

A LIFE THAT WAS TROUBLED

FULL OF PAIN, YET THE LORD

AWAITS ‘ROUND THE CORNER

IT IS TIME, STRIKE THE CHORD

YOUR SPIRIT WILL DANCE

YOUR BODY AT REST

THE SOUL OF A SAINT

WILL FLY WITH THE BEST

OH TAKE ME WITH YOU

EACH TEAR THAT I SHED

I LONG TO BE NEAR YOU

I SLEEP AT YOUR BED

FOR IT IS WRITTEN

AT THE END OF TIME

THE CHOSEN FEW WILL INHERIT

WILL IT BE MINE?

QUESTIONS I ASK

AS THE TIME DRAWS IN

YOU NO LONGER CAN ANSWER

I STARE AT MY SINS

OH GOD, HOW I PRAY

AS YOUR EYES I DON’T SEE

OH GOD, HOW I HOPE

AS I SING, SING , SING

THE TIME IT HAS COME

YOUR EYES I DON’T SEE

LIFE HAS BEEN TAKEN

I AM LEFT HERE, WITH ME

TIME, IT GOES QUICKLY

THE PAIN IS STILL HERE

BUT YOUR SPIRIT’S WITH GOD

AND YOUR LOVED ONES ARE NEAR

EACH STEP THAT WE TREAD

EACH THOUGHT WE THINK

OUR HEARTS RISE TOWARDS YOU

WE ARE THERE IN A BLINK

FOR GOD, HE IS GENTLE

OUR WISHES HE HEARS

OUR LIFE MAY BE SHORT

BUT OUR SOUL WILL HAVE YEARS

THE EYES OF AN ANGEL

OUR HEADS WE WILL BOW

THE PRAYERS OF A MOTHER

SHINE DOWN ON US NOW

Veronica H - Pam's 3rd daughter, Arizona writer and mom to two girls

My mother, Pamela Tiger, was part of the first senior class to graduate from Pequannock high school in New Jersey. In May 1960, the senior class initiated skip day, heading to their cars instead of the cafeteria at lunchtime. Those who had cars packed as many friends as they could into their vehicles and headed to the barn.

That afternoon in May, Pam was driving her boyfriend’s car. A hot car set up for drag racing. While sitting at a red light next to a fellow classmate, Pam heard the other guy rev his engine. She knew he wanted to show off. She decided to give him a run for his money.

When the light changed, Pam stepped on the gas, too. This was her first drag race, and it was up hill. Pam played it cool and shifted whenever the other driver shifted. And Pam Tiger won the drag race up Butler Hill on the inaugural senior skip day for Pequannock high school.

Sarah H - actor in Vancouver

Mum's Cookbook Cover with all the boats and houses we lived in!

Shelley K - Coquitlam, BC, engaged to be married, mother to cat Jimmy .

One evening many years ago, I called my Mom to complain about work. As soon as she answered, I dove in, rattling on for over an hour. My Mom just listened, letting me vent. When I was done, she jokingly said “Just another day in paradise!” A few weeks later, I came across a fridge magnet with that exact phrase. I sent it to my Mom in an envelope with no return address. A few days later, my phone rang… and all I could hear was laughter. I knew that Mom had received my package. It’s been our motto ever since.

Winnie H - actor in Vancouver

I never thought my mom and I had much in common until we both got older. Now I understand where my silliness and my sense of wonderment come from. She has become much more understanding and apparently, according to my many cousins, is the only aunt on Facebook. I didn't think we were that much alike until my very conservative and Asian mother left me a message to guess where she was and to call her on her "cell phone". I called her and she was on her way home from a wrap party; she'd had her first acting role in a feature film. Yes, from her first audition ever. Oh mom...

Nadine P, a single mother in Vancouver, BC

When I was six years old, my mother contracted encephalitis, while
travelling around the world filming a made-for-television travel
series. As her brain started to swell, she began acting erratically,
and then fell into a coma that lasted several months. One day, as I was
visiting her in the hospital, a doctor told me that if my mother
survived, she would likely be a vegetable for the rest of her life. You
can't imagine how I felt, picturing my poor mom transformed into a
carrot.

Luckily, my mother proved the doctor wrong, and now, twenty-five years
later, keeps herself busy growing vegetables and teaching kids karate.