Over this past Mother’s Day, I got nostalgic about my mom. Oh, not the sad stuff, but the positive energy that made her who she was. That streak of bad girl in me that I so know came from her and continues on in my own daughter. So, as the current “Dowager Mother,” I used my power for a little respite, a time for me to sit on the deck, feel the sun, relax and think about my mom.

When I was a pre-teen, Mom and I had a…er…difficult relationship. We fought all the time. I remember once standing at the top of the stairs, with her yelling up to me and me yelling down to her. I figured I was safe since she wasn’t mad enough to come up the steps to get me.

But I was soooo angry. Over what? Who knows? But I needed to call her something horrific, something that worked with her name. And all I could get from Margaret was…Maggot. Oh, yes, I did call my mother a maggot.

She stopped, her eyes got wide and she went into another room. Figuring that she was getting the candlestick to kill Miss Debbie in the Conservatory, I ran into my room and locked the door. What I did not know was that she was laughing. Her nickname became Maggot…or Maggie, for short.

When we’d be out in public and I really wanted her attention, I’d bark, “Maggot!” Trust me, she was the only one who turned around. Okay, many turned, but she was the only one who responded.

I also remember coming home on the plane with her after she’d gone for a liver transplant work-up. She was so ill, it was very obvious; but we had our little bubble. We talked and laughed. I held the barf bags as she puked. We were enjoying one another. When the plane landed, it was difficult for Mom to exit the plane. One of the stewardesses got on the intercom and started chanting, “Go Maggie! Go Maggie!” They cheered her as we finally made our way out. Mom died six months later and donated her frequent-flyer miles to charity. It was a moment.

Mom and I shared a twisted sense of humor. We were at a greenhouse one time, buying plants and supplies for the gardening season. She looked at me and pointed to a woman a couple rows over. I had never seen a woman that well-endowed. Truly, how she stood was a miracle of modern science. I looked at my mom as she said, “Look at those loppers.” I shushed her and said, “Hush, she might hear you.” Seems I was the one not using the indoor voice, as those around us giggled. My mom was laughing so hard she had to catch her breath. She pointed and explained that loppers are a garden tool used for pruning and that the lady had a really big pair in her hand. Needless to say, we would often comment on loppers.

For us, the worst part of her care was the pesky complications that would arise. For someone like Mom, who suffered from liver failure, those complications included having lovely yellow skin and eyes, retaining fluid in the abdomen (sometimes 14 liters or more), dementia, vomiting and internal bleeding. I mean, they were soooooo inconvenient. She was getting sad that she was beginning to actually feel sick, as she really had not felt sick until she had a couple of internal bleeds. I told her to forget it and that we would find a win somewhere in all this. We decided to name the side effects—Beatrice, Mergatroid, Brunhilda, etc. It was silly, I know. But it was much more fun to ask, “How was that annoying Brunhilda?” than to say, “How’d your lab tests go?”

My mother was afraid to die alone. She was a nurse, and she’d seen and helped people die, so she knew what to expect. Frankly, that may have been the problem, who knows? But I promised her I’d be by her side, that she was not going to go on alone. While we had to move into the hospital, as opposed to staying home, I gave Mom her last Mother’s Day gift; I held her hand and stayed with her from her admission to when I left without her.

This may seem sad, but it's not meant to be. I am so happy that she and I took on her disease and saw it through to the end together. We’d always taken on life—and sometimes each other—but we always did it together. Our motto was: “No well-behaved woman ever changed history.”

In recognition of the bond I had with my mom, I gave my daughter a silver bracelet with our motto engraved on it. I can only hope she lives by those words.