Thanks for the Momeries

This one’s going to be tough.

Mom did exactly what I thought she’d do.  She waited for Cy to see her on Wednesday night, and then decided that she’d done all she had to do.

I got a call at work from Greg at about 3:20 Thursday afternoon, telling me that I needed to get to South Carolina quickly.

I wasn’t quite quick enough. 

At around 4:40, I got another call from Greg, this time telling me that there was no need to hurry.  She was gone.  The next twenty or thirty miles of highway were strangely blurry.  It was almost like there was water in my eyes or something.  Apparently, my phone also started to freak out a little bit, because people who called me had a very hard time understanding what I was trying to say.

Stupid cellular networks.  You’d think they could compensate for sobs.

So let’s talk a bit about my mother, who graced us with her presence for about 74 and one-quarter years before moving on to do whatever it is that we’ll all do eventually.

She was born on November 16th, 1935.  I can’t tell you a great deal about that day – or about any of the 11,004 days between that one and the one when I made my screaming, squalling, wrinkled and red entrance in 1966.  Neither can I tell you much about any one of the 16,133 days between that historic event and the one when she decided she’d seen enough of me.

What I can tell you is my overall impression of this lady who gave life to me and to my 4 siblings and who made life better for the last 57 years of my dad’s life.

She was short.  She loved my ex-wife a great deal, not only because my ex-wife is quite loveable, but also because my ex-wife was the only person in the family who was shorter than Mom was.  Even after my ex-wife put on her shoes, gaining that all-important inch that relegated Mom back into the “shortest” category.

She was a conservative to a fault, but she somehow managed to love me in spite of my failings in that area.   She knew that she couldn’t change my mind and I knew that I couldn’t change her mind and neither one of us gave a damn about that anyway.  She put humanity above republicanism, people above party, family above faults, and love above everything.

She was religious, although I honestly didn’t know how much until about 5 years ago.  I count that as a plus.  She worried about me and she prayed about me and she no doubt managed to mix those two things together; but she didn’t beat me over the head with her faith and she loved me in spite of my lack of it.

She was, as you may have deduced from my recent postings, not a lady with whom you’d want to tangle if she thought you were wronging one of her children.  I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to make things right for me against the odds on too many occasions to blow them all off as luck or pluck or general bitchiness or outright fear.  She stuck up for me (and I’m sure she did the same for my brothers and sisters) and won.

She was born with what I believe is referred to as “a tin ear” yet she still raised five musical children.  I heard her say many times (and I heard her sing a few times, so I believe her) that she only played the radio and the blender.  When I was young, she proved this countless times by playing the tune of the day while making cookies – by adjusting the speed of the cookie batter beaters.

Several years ago, she gave all of her kids a book containing a large number of the recipes that we’d all grown up with.  I don’t know how many meals I’ve made out of that book since I received it, but I don’t think I’d be exaggerating if I said that I’ve used it 20 or more times a year since getting it.

She reveled in my accomplishments and she gave me the benefit of the doubt on my failures, regardless of how big or how small each was and regardless of how I viewed them myself.  If I was ecstatic, she kept me humble; and if I was humiliated, she kept me proud.

I could go on for hours telling you all about what a wonderful lady my mom was, but most of you already know it – and those of you who don’t will no doubt think that I’m just getting caught up in my grief.  You might be right about that, but if you think I’m embellishing, then you’d be wrong. She was not a perfect person – but she set the bar for everyone else I’ve known.

So I’ll end this entry now.  Those of you who didn’t know my mom might know her a bit better now.  Those of you who did might know a bit better how I feel about her now.  The present tense there is intentional.  She’s gone, but she’s still Mom.  My feelings will never change.

Goodbye, Mom.  I love you.

 

TWD