A word of advice to everyone: if you can’t remember whether or not you called your mother, you didn’t. But what about when your mom doesn’t remember if you called? And it has only been five minutes.

My mom turned 90 in November and is of solid pioneer stock. I really cannot remember a day when she was sick. She was active, played golf until she was 88, even occasionally broke 100 from the red tees. A little over two years ago she had a heart arrhythmia event, blood pressure dropped like a rock, and she fell like a pine tree onto a concrete walkway. Did not break anything – except her front tooth. That annoyed her completely because she had just finished paying for the cap on that tooth. But there was a severe concussion, but over time mom has had more moments of forgetfulness.

Last week, I was on the way to visit mom in the Mt. Dora area, when my sister called telling me to meet them in the ER at the hospital. Routine blood work showed her to be severely anemic, her resting heart rate was quite elevated, and she was pointedly confused. There had already been signs of increasing forgetfulness, episodes of confusion, and the slow erosion of easy access to memories. Now, it was more severe.

Mom hasn’t lived with her siblings in more than 70 years, still it is disconcerting when she has moments when she asks, “Do I have sisters and brothers?” In time, her granddaughter Julie became “that girl who lives in Salt Lake and just got married.” That’s Julie. She remembers there is another granddaughter, she’s married too, and she lives somewhere up north. That would be my niece Katie. Mom has two other grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. They don’t come up much these days.

Me? There’s good news and bad news. The bad news is sometimes she doesn’t remember I am her son. She thinks I am a cousin and wants to know how my mother is. I just answer the question. Sometimes, I am not even a cousin. That’s the good news. I am “that well-mannered, good-looking young man.” But most times she knows who I am. Although the whole being a priest thing seems to throw her off. My mom is Mormon. So she wonders why I haven’t met someone to marry. I just tell her I have been busy. Maybe next time I will take someone with me and introduce her as my wife. Just kidding.

But it is still a good Mother’s Day. By the time you read this we will have already gathered at mom’s house. Maybe I will be the cousin, or the young man. I am pretty sure I will mostly be her favorite son (being the only son has its advantages). But all the while, I am aware that in the moments when we are not recognized it doesn’t mean we’re forgotten. Holding a hand, a kiss, a story, a familiar voice, and laugh. It all makes a connection. Amidst the frustrations, the anxiety, the concern, and the uncertainty, there is always an opportunity to love. And that is the deepest calling of a parent, a child, or anyone who would take on the name Christian.

Happy Mother’s Day, mom