Mother's Day | 04/27/2009 12:00 am

Ann Landers’s 'Ray of Sunshine' to Daughter Margo Howard

The bittersweet part of Mother’s Day is that many of us remember our mothers … but not with gifts or phone calls. We literally remember our mothers because they are no longer here. I want to share with you an odd story about my mother. And what you need to keep in mind is that I am not a believer in any woo-woo, mystical, otherworldly stuff. Here’s the story:

When my mother knew she was dying, she retired to her apartment in Chicago and very tightly controlled who could come see her. There were about a dozen of us during the last six months of her life who were invited for lunch, or for tea. She was under hospice care at home, although the nature of her disease (multiple myeloma, a form of bone-blood cancer) made opioids not totally effective. This meant that she was never without pain.

I offered to move to Chicago for the duration, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’d always tried to shield me from the tough stuff, and she wasn’t about to change — even in the face of death. Not only that, she would only permit my husband and me to come visit every several weeks. She explained to me that it took a lot out of her to be with people who cared about her, because it required a great deal of energy and effort to try to make them feel comfortable. She also told me that she wanted me to continue to be happy and have good times because, she said, “There is no percentage in being on your backside (only that’s not exactly how she put it) with grief and sadness.”

And so I accepted her diktat. We would do it her way.

I’d made a deal with her wonderful doctor that, when he felt the end was near, he would phone us and we would come. Alas, he was not able to pinpoint the time with precision. My husband and I were scheduled to fly to Chicago on a Monday, but she died the preceding Saturday.

On that Saturday I had a two o’clock manicure appointment, which always took half an hour. It was a gray, rainy, Boston day. Roughly halfway through the appointment, I took note of a burst of sunshine that lasted maybe four minutes. Then the weather returned to gray and rainy. When I got home there were two messages on my answering machine — both from Mother’s longtime No. 1 assistant, Kathy Mitchell. The first message said: “Margo, call me when you get in, will you?” The second was Kathy again, crying, asking me to call.

I knew.

I phoned her and said, “She’s gone, isn’t she?” The answer was yes. We just stayed on the phone, we two old friends, and wept. Then she told me the nurse believed Mother had died at 1:18. As I calculated the time difference between Boston and Chicago I realized that the sunburst had happened at the exact time of her death. It was as though she had been saying good-bye.

Although a scientist or a meteorologist would probably tell me to get a grip, a burst of sunshine always seems to me, now, as though my mother is sending her love and reminding me she is not too far away. What more could one ask of the sun?

Read more about: Ann Landers, Margo Howard, Mother's Day 09, Relationships

50 Reader Comments (so far…) Sign In or Register to comment

That is amazing! And not so odd…it seems that I’ve read a lot of stories similar to this. I’m thankful my mother is still with me…I’m not looking ofrward to when I become an orphan!

By Mary Catherine Headley on 04/27/2009 9:01 am

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Dear Margo,

What a beautiful way to remember your Mom. A burst of sunshine is perfect. It’s really no so odd you know. I smell Lilacs and Lysol (what a combination!) when there has been none of either in my Grandmother’s house which I now own. Just a little hello from over there, pretty neat I think. :o)

By Heidi W on 04/27/2009 9:07 am

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Dear Margo,

I came from Germany 42 years ago with my Military Husband a new baby and another on the way at the young age of 21years. Although no Family anywhere around and to make matters worse, did not speak a word of english. Yet, when I tried to read and learn to read, it was Ann Landers that caught my attention.

Your Mom has been such a "wonderful" part of my Life ever since then. She has taught me many of things through her Columns and I was a faithful reader of hers for all kinds of advice. My Family was inaccessible, yet Ann Landers in many ways took their place and the place of my Mom who couldn’t advise me on issues and child rearing problems, recipes cleaning solutions you name it.

I still have the original copy of "I loved you Best" and each of my three children got a copy once they went to College.

Thank you for "sharing" your Mom with me and all readers. I for one am grateful for her and I too celebrate her on "Mothers Day".

Happy Mothers Day "Dear Ann Landers"

By Rose Queen on 04/27/2009 9:22 am

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Rose:

Thank you for a great post! When I taught English in Japan, I often used Ann Landers and Dear Abby as well. The best way to encourage language development is to get the student interested in the subject and encourage communication. Plus, reading Ann Landers felt like having my mom in the room with me… no nonsense good old common sense! (PS My mom is a German too!)

Thanks again for a great post!

By nanchan u on 04/27/2009 9:55 am

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I too, have recently lost my mom. I was 18 when she passed and that was two years ago. I’m in college and last week I had to present an important project and I was extremely nervous and just frantic. I looked out of my window and what do I see? A cardinal, my mom’s favorite bird. But the story doesn’t end here. I looked under my bed and felt around for a hair clip and what should I grab that I thought was my hair clip? I rock (which is weird to find under a bed). I knew right then it was my mom trying to comfort me. See, she was in recovery and one of the things that helped her stay sober were her "worry rocks". She always carried about 4 in her pocket and whenever things got difficult, she would pull them out and start to stroke them. Also, she used to lend me her rocks whenever I had a big performance, test, interview, etc. When I was five, for Mother’s Day, we wrote poems and my teacher didn’t want to show my mom hers because I said my mom was as pretty as a rock!

Some may think it’s silly, but I think it’s just her smiling down and letting me know she’s proud of me and I’ll do great!

Thanks for your post. My mom passed of pancreatic cancer, and although she lasted a lot longer than expected, the pain is still unbearable at times. It’s good to know that other’s feel the way I do.

Happy Mother’s Day.

By Ashley M on 04/27/2009 9:52 am

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Margo,

I loved your story and I believe that sunshine was your mother. There are too many miracles and little incredible things that happen to all of us which don’t have a physical explanation. I think you should believe in that sunshine and hold it dearly to you.

I too was not with my mother when she passed away 2 1/2 years ago. I didn’t get a "sunshine telegram" as you did. However, 2 nights before she passed away (and I had seen her 3 days before), I was asleep and opened my eyes and saw a vision of my mother standing beside my bed. Not sure I was seeing "what I was seeing", I closed my eyes and then opened them again. She was still standing there. I didn’t do anything. I just went back to sleep. On Dec. 31, 2006 at 7:30 p.m. I received a call that she had passed away. I miss her terribly. Mother’s Day will never be the same for me. In keeping with your sentiment: "Happy Mother’s Day, Mama."

By M J on 04/27/2009 10:01 am

Margo, thank you for sharing that story. I believe that nature does speak to us. If not your mother saying goodbye, it was nature saying hello. Either way it brings you comfort to realize something larger than us was at play.

By Christine D. on 04/27/2009 10:11 am

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Dear Margo,

Your story made me cry, not least of all because I just came so close to losing my own Mom (she suffered a heart attack, but, thankfully, my younger brothers, who were upstairs sound asleep [it was still early in the morning] heard her and called the ambulance). My Mom is a young woman, only in her early fifties, and there had been no signs beforehand of the impending near disaster; I know how scary it is to suddenly face losing (and to lose…my father passed away about four years ago, also of a heart attack) someone who means so much to you, and I sympathize completely with those who have lost, or come near to losing, their loved ones.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful Moms out there, and my sympathy and condolences for everyone who can celebrate that day only in remembrance.

By Rachel F on 04/27/2009 10:25 am

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Thank you Margo, for such a heartfelt tribute to a wonderful lady. Your mother and your aunt have always been a big part of my life. My mother and I both read them. Now that I’m a mother myself I realize how precious everyday I still have with my mother is. This is our first Mother’s day when all 3 of her daughters are also mothers and it will be my most memorable. Thank you again for sharing your mother and for continuing her wonderful, witty work.

By Laura Kemp on 04/27/2009 10:33 am

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Here’s a very similar story, and I am a believer in the weird things in life. :)

I had stayed home one day, from work, to take a friend to the doctor. On the way back home, she requested that we stop at the local metaphysical bookstore, a place that she’d never cared to visit with me before. One of the many things they did was to take aura photos.

My friend kept telling me I should have one taken, and finally, after declining many times, I decided to do it simply to placate her. The clerk took the photo, pulled out the Polaroid-style photo, and waited for it to develop. She then pulled it apart to find… nothing. No photo at all. She took a second one, figuring the machine must have glitched. The second photo, upon peeling the halves apart, had the photo ON THE NEGATIVE, but not reversed, as you would expect. She stared at it for a moment, then took a THIRD photograph.

When the third photo was developed, there was a very tiny green aura around the sides of my head, and a huge "beam" of blackness (no aura showing) directly above my head. The staff tarot & aura reader took me to a back room and kept asking who I had on the "other side" that was trying to contact me. I kept saying there was no one that was close to me who had passed.

Flash forward a week: my mother calls to tell me that my aunt, with whom I was incredibly close, has been found dead in her home. They weren’t sure of the time of death, but it was clear it had been awhile. Upon doing the autopsy, the coroner ruled that it had been about 7 days since she passed away… sometime in the afternoon. I told my mother I could pretty much pinpoint the exact time, because that was the same day the aura photo was taken — and I knew who had come to tell me goodbye.

So take heart in knowing that there are many of us who’ve had similar experiences, some strange, some not - but all of them comforting to us as we go on with our lives. I, too, will miss my mother terribly this year, but I know that she’s out there keeping tabs on me and being my guardian angel.

By Kerri Ebright on 04/27/2009 10:35 am

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Thanks for this wonderful story. You brought tears to my eyes…

By romina quillin on 04/27/2009 10:40 am

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Your story and the replies brought tears to my eyes for a different reason. As my mother aged, she began to accuse me of all kinds of things, and say very ugly things to me. Unfortunately when she died, I had just had neck surgery and couldn’t even get out of bed, much less drive 300 miles for the funeral. I miss my mom, but I miss the one from long ago. She had fun with me and we shopping together, sewed and read Dear Abby and Dear Ann together. Thanks to you for carrying on your mom’s and aunt’s tradition.

By Maxine McConnell on 04/28/2009 9:14 pm

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Thank you, Margo for that wonderful Story. I used to read your mom’s column. And loved her stories. You are doing a wonderful job continuing her legacy. My hats off to you.

By Beth Cornell on 04/27/2009 11:18 am

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That’s lovely. Thank you for sharing.

By Trina O on 04/27/2009 11:30 am

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My mother passed away March 17, 2009. The wound is still raw, however she astonished all 5 of her daughters and her son, she donated her body to science. What a wonderful gift to give. Maybe they will find more information about how to cure emphysema, COPD, and a plethora of other problems.

My wish for all is to hold the ones you love close, forgive mishaps, and mend fences. We never know when it will be our time to go.

By Linn Lindner on 04/27/2009 11:48 am