With every &8220;holiday&8221; that rolls around, I think to myself, &8220;How is my mother going to make it?&8221;

After my dad died on Jan. 18, it has been one special occasion after another &045; their anniversary on Jan. 31, Valentine’s Day, my mom’s retirement party, her birthday, one month since he died, two months since he died, and so on.

Now, on Sunday, it’s Mother’s Day. Given, it should not matter as much. Since I’ve been old enough to talk, I’ve said &8220;Happy Mother’s Day,&8221; and since I’ve been able to write, I’ve signed the card. Of course, dad spent more years getting it or driving me to get it than I’ve spent getting it myself.

And, every year, he signed it along with me. He loved her, and he wished her Happy Mother’s Day, too.

Valentine’s Day was never big for them. They didn’t do anything special, usually. But Mother’s Day, we would always go out to eat or something, just to celebrate.

When I was in grade school and playing soccer, we were usually at a state tournament. That was fun. Mom enjoyed watching me, and dad enjoyed coaching. I just loved being with my family. We were always close.

When I was in college and living in Jackson and them in Tupelo first and Birmingham later, then I would drive home that weekend to be with her. We’d get up and go to church and then go out to eat. The card, as is the occasion with any holiday, was planted at her place at the breakfast table.

Since I’ve been out of college, I do not remember missing a Mother’s Day. I’ve been in Jackson, Natchez and now Houston, but I still make it back home.

This year, though, I won’t be going home. I’ll be headed to Orange Beach, Ala., to our condo, a place my dad loved to go and relax, a place we now closely associate with him.

It will be strange &045; just as her birthday was, just as her retirement was &045; to celebrate without him there.

But, we will. She’s my mother, and she’s been a great one. As for my dad, he wouldn’t want us to dwell on his absence. He would tell me to make it about her, and so I will.

One thing I told her after my dad died was that I knew he would go first. I knew this because I knew my dad could never have lived without my mother. He was a strong man, a proud man and a determined man. But when he hurt, his pain ran deep. Losing his wife would have been too much for him.

&8220;I knew that it would be you and me,&8221; I told her. My mother is a strong woman, stronger than my dad when it comes to matters of the family.

She can take the pain, the hurt, the loneliness. She’s a mother, after all.

She’s seen her son grow up, marry and move on. She knows what it’s like to let go &045; whether it be that first day of kindergarten, moving me to college or watching me walk down the aisle &045; my mother has been grace personified as time has taken its normal toll on our lives.

To say that any of us has &8220;adapted&8221; to my dad’s death would be a lie. We may never. But my mother has trudged forward, wading through a jungle of taxes, insurance claims and other legal matters.

She’s helped plan and carry out retirement parties for her friends. She’s gone to the hospital where she spent so many nights with my dad to be with a friend who found a lump in her breast. She’s picked up a friend from that same hospital and sat with her at home after a surgical procedure.

My mother has picked up and moved on like only a mother can do.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, and we celebrate our mothers’ lives and their triumphs.

I love you, mother, and so does dad, watching above and knowing that our family is in good hands &045; yours, God’s and his.

Sam R. Hall

is publisher of The Times-Post. He can be reached at (662) 456-3771 or by e-mail to

sam.hall@timespost.com

.