Folks, get your tissues out. I actually have one of my dad’s old handkerchiefs in my hand right now, and it, like my dad, is strong, sturdy, and reliable.

Many of you ask me why I never get fully angry in my blog and don’t speak unkindly of my children, even though they have certainly put me through the unspeakable. I’ve written so many times that the pain in lacerating, but it’s more than that and is probably best relayed through a line in one of the songs in Zack’s and my favorite Broadway show, Next to Normal. The line asks, “Do you know? Do you know, what it’s like to die alive?” Well, folks, I do know, because I do it every single day.

I am flawed and I have made mistakes, and I will share those mistakes with anybody who asks. I am not, however, vengeful or retaliatory, and if I knew somebody was in such harrowing and unendurable pain, especially at my doing, I would feel sad, sorry, and, quite frankly, ashamed.

So why then? Why do I still portray them as perfect, brilliant, and even heroic. Yes, they’re my kids, and I’m a mom, their mom, and I will always be here waiting for them, but why do I remain gentle, gracious, hopeful? I’ll tell you.

I do this for my grandchildren. I do this for Emma, and I do it for Marissa’s second daughter, whose name I don’t know, and I do it for Stephanie, whose name I learned in my mother’s obituary, and I do it for Alexis, Rebecca’s second daughter whose name I saw in a memorial donation they made to Temple Beth Shalom on the High Holidays. I do it for any other grandbabies I might have, hoping, just hoping, that one day, they’ll find me and want to learn about me. Maybe they’ll have questions about me and for me, and hopefully, I’ll still be somewhat young and mentally and physically healthy. The words, “Hi, Grandma!” will probably be restorative to this Deaf Darlene’s hearing, and maybe, just maybe, I will be able to live and not just exist.

But, to my hearts, my friends, my sisters, if something should happen to me before I can become whole and meet my grandkids, tell them about me. Tell them how much I loved them, how they were a part of my every day, even though I never met them. Please show them the blog, share pictures of me and stories about me, tell them about my sense of humor and that I showed up to life every day, even when it was nearly impossible.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who are blessed to be a member of the best club out there!