In Honor of My Mom

I’m finding it hard to fathom that my mom has been gone from this earth for 10 years. My life is so different than it was 10 years ago. It’s hard to remember the feeling of what life was like when she was just a phone call away because that season of life was several life seasons ago. And just that fact alone makes me want to run back to the memories in my mind and just for a few moments try to bring back those feelings and try to live in that place. But, life has moved on in such beautiful ways too. Six babies whom I’ve called my own have passed through my heart- the two I birthed, the one we lost, and the three we’ve fostered. We’ve moved twice and dad moved next door. I know you’re still here loving in the way you do from heaven, but doing these seasons without you is hard. I thought I’d try to capture a few stories that reveal who she was to me.

My earliest memories are getting ready for school in the morning. She would lay out my clothes and gently wake me up. She was a doter. She doted on everyone, but especially on my brother and I. We were always running late. She would brush my long hair and I would cry and yell. She was always in a fuss that her clothes had wrinkles (wrinkle phobia, my dad called it), her hair had “boinga boingas,” or she was going out in public looking like “something the cat dragged in!” When we had company coming, which was often family, she would still clean the house from top to bottom.

I’m not sure when it stopped, but at least through first grade, we’d all say prayers in our bed, then she’d tuck me in and I’d ask if she’d sleep with me and she’d lay down next to me for a little while.

She noticed that I was always putting on shows with my friends and cousins, so when the community theater was putting on a production of “Oliver” she encouraged me to audition. I was in third grade at this point. I remember practicing for the audition with my mom many times and then when the time came and she took me to the stage, I was the most scared I’d ever been in my life up to that point. I remember my stomach being in knots and wanting to run away, but my mom told me I could do it and gave me a gentle nudge into the room. After being an orphan in “Oliver” I fell in love with theater.

I remember walking into her room one day and she was holding a picture and crying. It was very rare that I saw my mom cry. She didn’t like to show those emotions, even though now I know she held a lot of pain and grief. I asked her what was wrong and she quickly dried her eyes and said she was just missing her mom today. She lost her mom and her brother in her twenties, separately but both suddenly and unexpectedly. She got to know her dad and half brother as an adult and cherished those relationships that were hard fought. She had friends who were like family and she had her sister, my Aunt Marian. She missed her family and friends in California terribly. Back when it was expensive to make a long distance phone call, she would savor those precious moments when she got a call from someone there.

My Aunt Marian deserves her own section in these memories with my mom. Gosh, she had so much love to give. She never had children of her own and so the children in her life were loved with an intensity that’s hard to explain without sounding like I’m exaggerating. My brother and I were lucky enough to be some of those children. My mom and aunt were the two most selfless people I know…sometimes to a ridiculous degree. When making decisions neither would say what they really wanted, because they were trying to guess what the other person wanted. It would go back and forth and in the end probably neither person was doing/eating/seeing what they preferred! When I went to her apartment after she died, “artwork” I made 20+ years before and pictures of me and my brother were everywhere. It is a special thing to be loved like that.

My mom was part of a Catholic charismatic community in her twenties. This was just one of many things that I learned about her when I, myself, was an adult. But I do remember her singing in church. Our small town church did not have a big choir and even fewer instruments, but some of my earliest memories of being at church is looking up at my mom with her eyes closed and her face towards heaven with a smile on her face that made her look like she contained some secret joy.

When we were racing out the door to school and mom wasn’t taking us, she would holler, “where’s my kiss?” and we’d have to pause our racing and give her a hug and kiss.

A pretty regular after school routine was sitting on the kitchen counter while she’d be getting dinner ready. I remember having many conversations with her sitting on that counter. But, I also remember her asking what I did at school and my short answer would just be, “same.” So, I’m not sure how to remember my memories correctly from my childhood perspective. We must have talked about a lot of things sitting on that counter, but I also remember seasons of not talking or sharing much either.

As I mentioned, there were many things I didn’t know about my mom’s younger life until later. I found out she lived in a charismatic community when I joined a charismatic group in college. I found out that she was a camp counselor and had some powerful experiences going to camp when I became a camp counselor. It’s funny isn’t it, that someone’s presence can influence you so much without them even sharing out loud the experiences that had become a part of them? That reminds me of a memory of being at a physical with our family doctor. My mom brought up that she was getting a little concerned that I wanted to be involved in everything-all the clubs, sports, band, job etc. Our family doctor just cracked a little smile and said, “I think that’s genetic.”

My mom got really into American Idol during my college years. She could tell you all the details of each singer’s story. She would get so attached to her favorites, even though they were all her favorites. This one is from a small town, this one started out so shy, that one went through some tragedy. There were times a phone call home meant hearing 20 minutes of updates on American Idol singers.

My mom was a worrier. She could go to the worst case scenario faster than anyone I’ve ever known and it wasn’t just one worst case scenario she’d imagine- there’d be multiple! She probably could have been diagnosed with OCD too. She loved the show “Monk” and I always laughed at her that she loved it because she related to it. So, when I had felt a calling to volunteer in a third world country, I knew I was going to have to have a really difficult conversation with her. I went over and over how I would bring it up and what I would say to try to ease her worries. When I finally did, it was a moment that stands for me as strong evidence for how solid her faith was…she didn’t even try to talk me out of it. Instead, she said, “ok, if you’re sure this is where God is calling you.” I know she had immediately thought of all the horrible things that could happen to me in a violent country, but she was willing to risk even my life, if that’s what God was asking. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to offer my life and hers to God.

Her pregnancies in the 80s were very high risk and she was advised to terminate. She bravely chose life for my brother and I. Fast forward 30 years and there have been many medical advances including actual genetic testing for our specific condition. I got my genetic results and we found out that the genetic condition that had taken the life of all my relatives was only discovered in 2005, and therefore was not actually the syndrome we had been previously (mis)diagnosed with…and this one has additional risks during pregnancy. My husband, mom and I came home with our heads swimming with all the new information we were just given. The relief of great medical advances was replaced with the fear of the knowledge that the pregnancy was even riskier than we had thought. My husband made some comment about worrying about me and my mom calmly replied, “we have to trust God.” She didn’t mean we have to trust that the worst won’t happen. She had lost 4 family members to this syndrome. She knew the risks better than anyone. Her trust was that God would be with us, that he wouldn’t abandon us. The day of my c-section, we kept getting delayed. We arrived in the morning and didn’t even go back for surgery until afternoon. Then they kept us in recovery for longer than anticipated. When they finally wheeled us out and her first grandson was put in her arms, she burst into tears.

I want to keep going with these memories, but it won’t be the 10^th anniversary much longer. Like anyone, my mom had her gifts, her idiosyncrasies, her moments that shaped who she was. I was blessed to be her daughter. I know you are here in your special way loving your grandbabies and whispering your guidance. Love you Mom.