Ann Mehlmauer – one of the many “Mom’s” in my life. Not that she didn’t already have her hands full with 11 children of her own. Not one twin in the bunch. Even still, working full time at McCoy’s Market, she still had time for me, a kid from a house two doors down the street – and so many other’s beyond her very own.

I never called her Ann, except maybe the day of her funeral – she was always Mrs. Mehlmauer. Summer’s we’d run up and down Stearns Street, going into each other’s houses. Ours was among – if not the biggest on the street – because Dad had added on. There were 6 of us after all.

That family of 13 – plus the many of us who felt like we had been adopted in – lived wonderfully close to one another in less than 1,500 sq ft. Debi and I once had a hotel room nearly that large… for just the two of us.

Reconnecting with my buddy Mickey has brought back so many good memories. Last week he emailed me the above picture – taken in 1963 – the only known photo of everyone together and he wrote “the only person missing in this picture is you.”

I cried.

I do more of that now.  As you can see – we’ve grown to be old men.  But don’t let that fool you, we were neighbors, buddies, together for years.

Mrs. Mehlmauer made me my first fried bologna sandwich. I still remember standing next to the stove as the bologna bubbled up – I’d never seen anything like it. Asking her why their family ate bologna sandwiches fried and we just ate them cold, she bent down, with 11 kids of her own, wrapped me in her arms and said “Oh honey, It’s just because different people do things differently. This is the way I was raised.” Spread mustard on white bread and handed me a little slice of heaven.

Pretty sure I’ve never eaten a fried bologna sandwich that didn’t come out of that kitchen. Joan, Nancy, Larry, Mickey… someone was always feeding me in that household.

David and Ron have both been gone since the end of the 60’s. Many of us – me for sure – felt the deep cut of young death and loss for the first time and grief that seemed like it would never leave. Never has.

Learned last week that John, the oldest, passed away last year. John and I had become friends as adults. He would come by my office to talk, write me letters, send a check to the church at Christmas. This year Debi and I had been talking how the season had come and gone and we hadn’t heard from John. He was Home. The family is already gathering. I’ve grown more familiar with grief. Age does that…

Mrs. Mehlmauer was famous among all of the kids on the street for two big reasons; 1. We all did calculations on how many years she’d been pregnant. Easy math. 11 x 9 = 99 divided by 12. Over 8 years of her life pregnant. We didn’t talk about it around her but among ourselves… wow! 2 She was on an old Television show called Queen for a Day. We were convinced she was the most worthy candidate ever. I’m sure my childhood memory is wrong but I think she won a new washing machine, $500- and a mink stole. My mom always liked to say she deserved a whole lot more than just a mink stole! (and mom liked mink – even if it was just on the collar of her coat)

Like many other kids we grew up with, this picture will elicit both a tear and a smile; there they all are again… and look, George has got his finger in Marilyn’s ear! Most of all, there’s Mrs. Mehlmauer, who, busy beyond anything we could ever understand, still remembered our favorite foods, took time to love or scold us and sadly, after most of us moved away – went without a visit for years at a time by the kids she’d been a surrogate mom to, when she should’ve just shooed us out the kitchen door and back onto the driveway.

I said the final words over her grave. It was no where near enough. Thought of the many moments I missed if I’d only taken the time… not been so consumed with everything I was doing… she would’ve loved meeting our kids…

Most of us have someone who’s loved us and is still alive – a good woman who took the time to let us know we were welcome, without judgement, understanding that “different people do things differently.” Make the phone call on Sunday – the one you haven’t made in years – take time to visit in the afternoon and let someone know you care still, that you remember how they let you haunt the halls of their household and how you were held and shaped in love. That they made a difference. Say thanks. Tell them you love them. Be hugged again…

And if your mom is still living… take it from me – the divide is so great when they’re gone – beyond imagining… Their voice, smell, the soft strength of mom’s hand holding your own is something you never get again and struggle to remember as you find yourself entering your very own evening light. If you can, call your mom, fly to her, buy her favorite pie at Marie Calendar’s and spend the afternoon together. Life happens fast. Make the most of these moments.

Grateful. More than words can say… grateful. Not only was I blessed with the world’s best mom, I had the opportunity to share so many other mom’s. Their love transformed me… made me feel like I belonged in the family portrait – at home. I’m forever thankful for their love. Thankful for Mrs. Mehlmauer this Mother’s Day what a miracle she was. God is too good.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom’s! You’re all the very best to someone. Keep your kitchen doors unlocked and your arms open wide. The words you speak in love will be written across the hearts of all those you welcome in. Richest blessings with genuine gratitude from one of the kids down the street. Thanks for loving us all. We Celebrate You!