sarah eve kelly

Thirty years ago today, at the Lion’s Gate Hospital in North Vancouver, my mother almost bled to death. My father was waiting outside the room in his best powder-blue suit. He was dressed up because they were having their first baby.

My mom tells me about her pregnancy with reverence: infused with energy and happiness and purpose. She was twenty-seven years old. And when I came into the world, I almost killed her. That’s a tough thing to live with. I have, for thirty years now.

But all that to one side. On the occasion of Patte Jordan Huberman’s thirtieth anniversary of being a mother, I have this to say:

I am taking a doctoral degree at the University of Cambridge because my mom taught me not to be afraid to apply. (Also because she and my wonderful stepfather Irwin are helping considerably in paying for it.) I completed a novel which now has representation and will sell to a publisher because my mom believed in me, and she pushed and she pushed. I have never had a dream that was out of reach, never, because she taught me that no dreams are out of reach. There is nothing that I have now that I don’t owe completely to her.

So this day is her day.

My mom taught me to see everything that is around me. My beautiful brother John, diagnosed with autism, changed everything for all of us, helped us to see more and love more, but it might not have been that way. John’s autism might have ripped our family apart, but Mom’s guiding hand is on our shoulders – and on John’s too – and many of you who know me will know what a gorgeous and inspirational young man he is, how important he is to all of us, how he has shaped who we are.

My mom is saving the world. One word at a time, one patient at a time, one new lamp at a time. In Edmonton, Alberta, she changed the way that province cares for its disabled and for its elderly. She’s gotten into a lot of trouble for the work she’s done and the things she’s said to people who are seen as too important to be honest with. She fights for this world with both her hands. She has fought for me in the same way, and that’s gotten her into trouble too. No daughter listens to her mother all the time.

My mom is late for everything; it’s what comes of being caught up in moments. She’s bad at bureaucracy; she seems disorganized; it’s what comes of seeing everything around her. She pushes people and she fights because she sees the best in them, pushes out the best in them. She never does anything for herself, and that’s what I want to change on this day.

Most of you who know my mom know her as a nurse. It is a noble calling and the world of health care would not be the same without her, but that’s not all she is. She is also an artist. If I have any claim to writing talent, it is because both of my parents passed it down through their sinews to me. Everyone needs to see what my mom has written, and she needs to be pushed to write what is in her, because she won’t do it on her own: she’s too busy pushing other people, too busy helping everyone else. For my birthday this year, I have asked my mom to finish the children’s story she’s left sitting unfinished in her study for years. There is so much more that is left unfinished, and she needs her friends – and her family – to be to her what she has been to them, to bring out the best in her. It would blow you away, her best. But she’s not interested in her best; she’s afraid of her best. My mom, who taught me not to be afraid of anything, who thinks it’s wonderful that I’m at Cambridge at the age of thirty spending (a lot of) money instead of earning it because that is my dream. She has dreams of her own, and she needs a Patte to help her bring them to life.

Any milestone age is an excuse to take inventory, to decide what comes next. My path – for the next couple of years, anyway – is clear enough. I’m gonna keep spending money, reading about midwives, and in amongst that, hopefully publish a novel. But a milestone anniversary is just as good an excuse. So if you’re close enough to my mom to give her a shove, do it. It’s worth it to all of us. I wish I were close enough to do it – the phone works when I can get her, but usually her phone is under the passenger seat of her car.

From as maudlin a medium as television I find the perfect words to describe what I feel for my mom, on this day as on any other day (except when she’s up in my face about having curry and Diet Coke for breakfast). From an episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip: an interviewer from Vanity Fair asks a young woman, “How are you different from your mother?”

The young woman replies, “I hope in as few ways as possible.”

Happy anniversary, Mom.

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