“A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.”
Washington Irving
Mother’s Day Delayed
This is a little late, but I have been musing on it since Mother’s Day. Our pastor gave a sermon on that special day, speaking about his own mother and her many wonderful qualities.
It started me thinking deeply about my own mother. My mother died suddenly in 1993 due to a brain aneurysm that the doctor was not able to operate on since it was so deep-seated. She lived with the thought of it for many years, probably thinking of herself as a ticking time bomb. She was a tough woman who seemed to weather (far better than I think I would have) an uncertain path.
But as I sat in church the thought popped in my head—how would I describe MY mother if someone approached me with that question?
Well, I have mulled this one over and I have to say I would reply that I viewed my mother as a mixture of Mother Teresa and our own Southern vixen of literary fame, Scarlett O’Hara. I know that sounds totally incongruous, but in that petite body of hers there dwelt just such a juxtaposed woman.
Mother Teresa? Yes. She was always taking in every stray animal or person needing to be fed, cared for, or in the case of people, the ones who just needed a kind deed, a shoulder to lean on. I observed this from the time I could start to figure out this person who was caring for me, cooing to me, and loving me through all the days of my life. She was a feisty lady, so to liken her to Mother Teresa might astonish some of you out there who knew her. But still waters can run deep and I can assure you there was a kind and caring woman in my life from the day I was born.
She led by example, always teaching me that I must be a lady, be kind to others, stand for something, and not let people run over me as I was prone to do at age 5 or 6. I was such a weenie because I was still trying to gel and needed a gentle reminder not to let every neighborhood child take my toys away, or talk me into some adventure that might lead me away from the sanctity of my yard without permission.
My mother had psychic abilities, because if I had some scheme afoot, she always managed to warn me of it, before it had even taken a firm hold as a true idea of mine. She always seemed to stand between me and calamity. It’s kind of annoying when one is young, but oh, so comforting when one is grown and can look back and see some of the small and large mines that were dodged due to Mom’s ability to head off disaster.
My mom loved to cook and every day we saw her uncanny ability to take what was in a sometimes bare pantry and work her legerdemain to produce a meal. She squirreled away recipes on various pieces of paper and my daughter and I kept those because we hoped to replicate her culinary abilities. I remember holidays especially. The whole house could, on any given day before a major holiday, smell of citrus, cake, chocolate, coconut, meats roasting, bread baking or perhaps just a hint of vanilla would hang in the air.
My mother was tiny compared to my father, but we never really doubted who was the boss. She could herd us like Rowdy Yates of RAWHIDE fame. And like the followers of E. F. Hutton, when she spoke, we listened. I always thought she was like a small firecracker, carrying a payload of TNT that would surprise us if we didn’t heed her words.
She was a nurturer, caring for both her parents as she saw them through old age and their respective deaths. There was no job too awful, no task she wouldn’t undertake to make them comfortable. I myself had benefited from her caretaker side when I contracted polio at age seven. It’s really overwhelming when you reach an age thinking you can take care of yourself but then find that you’re back to square one, not being that independent person you had become. But my bet is that your mother, like mine, would have stood with you through ANYTHING for a lifetime if need be. So it was with mine as she nursed me back to a stage where I could walk again and function as a whole person. Moms—what a gift from God.
Now about that Scarlett O’Hara comparison, let me assure you it was there. She was born in the South, giving her a leg up on Life, because as we all know here---that “helpless” stance is just a facade of many women here to "lure you in" only to be pounced upon by someone with panther-like qualities if you wronged or crossed them. She did not pounce often, but when she did it was to protect and defend and she was an awesome force to behold. And come to think of it--she did so love a red dress or hat.
My mother loved her family of eleven brothers and sisters—the “tribe” I call them. As an only child the mystery of so many people dwelling together in one house was magical. As I grew to know them all with their various personalities I marvel that it was done without a murder or two. BUT, take on one and you had ten more with whom to contend. So she had excellent training for the world.
As she grew older she mellowed just the tiniest bit, but she still could get her way, for few dared to argue. For instance, when I was first married and was getting established in my own home, she would give me $20 every week as “mad money” for the little things I might need. As I grew into bigger and better jobs she continued this habit. As I was pulling in enough to be comfortable I assured her I was okay, but still she found a way to foist off the money. She said I could be Ted Turner and she would still give me at least $20 every week. I loved her for that—not for the money—but for the tiny ways a mother shows her love.
I was able to have my mother serve as day care for my daughter and that was the greatest gift she ever gave me. Each day I went to work, knowing my daughter was safe from all harm, and under the loving care of a woman who would quite literally “take a bullet for her.” Peace of mind about your child is the most important thing as you face working and being a mother yourself.
I wrote in another blog entry about my mother’s sudden death. If I had only known she was hours away from that death of course I would have stayed and held her hand. But for all we knew it was an ordinary day. I still thank God that the last words I uttered to her were, “Love you, gotta’ run, bye!”
So, I parted from my mother for the last time, but I shall see her again in heaven. How will I know her? She will be the one talking to everyone she meets, followed by a herd of loving animals and looking all beatific like a Mother Teresa while she sports—if she has a choice—the most beautiful red heavenly garment, looking a lot like another Southern woman I once read about.