When I made a turkey sandwich for lunch yesterday, I had no idea how many memories it would evoke. I did what I always do after I'm done making a sandwich. I took a knife out of the drawer and I cut the sandwich from corner to corner to make two triangles side-by-side. Then I separated them and put a few chips in between. That's how my mom always did it when I was growing up—and cutting sandwiches that way now just seems natural to me.I can't imagine cutting a sandwich any other way—or not cutting it at all. I don't even think it would taste right. Mostly because the taste has a lot to do with the memories of a person who lovingly made huge sacrifices for her children. My mom had a little help from my grandparents and a neighbor when she raised my sister and I after my parents divorced when I was eight years-old, but she made more sacrifices than my sister and I ever realized. I don't know that because she told me. I know it because she kept us clothed, and fed, and in a nice house, and somehow she still gave us a little spending money—all on the wages of a secretary.
I rarely saw Mom do anything for herself. Instead, I remember her doing the dishes or trying to keep up with the laundry, or cleaning the bathroom. She was always doing something—usually for my sister and I. She'd read the paper at night and then the three of us would settle in to watch various television sitcoms or the "movie of the week." We laughed. We shared popcorn (the kind where you actually had to cook on the stove—I think it was called Jiffy Pop). We laughed some more. And more than anything, I felt secure—the way a kid is supposed to feel.
Mom waited until my sister and I were adults before she remarried. On the day of her wedding, my mind was flooded with the many sacrifices she'd made for us. She took her lunch to work every day—cup-o-noodles—while at the same time giving my sister and I money to buy our lunches at school. She gave me money for baseball cards. She bought me a tennis racquet. She bought me Steelers and Royals clothing. I didn't need any of those things, but she did it because she knew I wanted them. She was willing to forgo things she surely wanted, and probably needed, just because she loved me.
This weekend, as we remember our fallen soldiers who died so we could be free, and as we remember relatives who have preceded us in death, let's not forget to remember the living and the sacrifices they've made for us as well. We don't say thank you often enough while we still have the opportunity to do so. But this weekend, I'm going to tell my mom thanks. And then I'm going to tell her that I won't forget the sacrifices she made for my sister and I. And then, we're going to share some steaks or burgers at a family picnic and just enjoy ourselves—just like the old days.
