Because I’m hopeless at sending gifts and cards for events/holidays, I am particularly grateful for the Internet. Now procrastination doesn’t have to be a deal breaker. I will admit that I spend a lot of time thinking of the cards or gifts I’d like to send, so it’s not like I really just forget. In fact, my husband will tell you that I can remember what color shirt he wore on May 17th, 1998, most likely :D
So, while I am really bad at sending THINGS to my loved ones when I want to let them know how much I love them, my mind and heart are certainly in the right place as I think of them. Since tomorrow, May 8, 2011, is Mother’s Day, I wanted to write a blog entry about my mom…and make sure she sees this, as do all of my “fans.” Hahahahahaha….okay, so maybe I’m a little delusional too. About the fans comment, that is.
I am the oldest of three living children. When I was two, my parents had a baby who died less than two weeks after he was born. I certainly wasn’t old enough to have ever known my brother Kenny, but as soon as I was able to understand that the thinking of the day meant that my mother was never allowed to hold her second child, even after he died, I’ve wanted to somehow turn back the hands of time to GIVE her those moments. Especially after I had children and crossed the imaginary line that makes everything feel more…well, just MORE. I defy any mother to watch “The Little Mermaid” and NOT cry during the scene where Ariel and her dad are saying goodbye to each other after he realizes that she really loves a human and has to leave her childhood home forever!
Let me tell you some things about my mom. She was six weeks shy of her 20th birthday when she got married to a man she’d only known for a few months. In all the years they were married (sadly, only 38 years when he died), I never doubted that my father loved my mother. He could really make her laugh. He used to hurt himself all the time, walking into things and such, and we all secretly believed that he really only did it and then reacted so outrageously because my mom would just go into hysterics. There is very little in life that can lighten the heart of a child like the sound of his or her mother and father laughing together.
By the time I was 5 ½, my parents had all three of the children they would raise to adulthood. I am not really sure what is wrong with me, but I remember that since birth I’ve been plagued by fear and depression. Having five children with emotional issues, I can only imagine that raising me must have been a challenge for my parents. After all, who comes to parenthood with advanced training in how to BE a parent of exactly the kind of child with whom they are blessed? I do remember that I expected that my own family would be just like the one in which I grew up, only better. Doesn’t everyone believe that will happen? Of course, that’s not what happened, but it doesn’t take away the feelings that my upbringing gave me, some of which I had then and some of which I developed later as I learned more about the upbringing of others and realized just how fortunate I had been to grow up where I did.
No one was abusing me. Not physically, not mentally, not sexually. I sometimes thought I had the meanest parents in the world, and I’m really GLAD. My parents were mean because they wouldn’t take any disrespect from me…a gift I all too freely tried to give when I was a confused, hormonal teen. They were mean because even more than my sense of morality, it was my fear of them that kept me from venturing into drugs and alcohol. I mean, what would they DO to me if I got caught?! They were mean because they took us on family vacations that often entailed hours of driving together to go hang out with aunts and uncles, grandparents, and cousins, no theme park to be found. They were mean because they made me go outside and play with the neighborhood kids instead of sitting in the house all day.
When I was very young, a local church sent people door to door, asking whether the parents would like to have their children be picked up on Sundays in a church bus and taken to services, then delivered safely back home. Thank goodness my parents were mean enough to say yes and send me. That clearly started me on the road to being available to recognize the fullness of the gospel when I practically stumbled upon it years later. But more on that in a few…
One thing I remember about my mom is her constant worry about her weight. Of course, I just thought she looked like a mom, and I never meant anything negative about it. I didn’t look at her and see her as she saw herself. That is definitely something she has passed on to me. I am very hard on myself, and my sweet Kristina actually chews me out quite frequently. “You are AWESOME, Mom!” I also remember that my mom smoked until I was a young pre-teen. I had no idea at the time just how bad smoking is, but I remember that my mom was ready to quit long before we found a church that helped us to understand the negatives of smoking. I believe, now, that her efforts were inspired and led the way to her being able to lead our family to accept the gospel.
I also remember that my mom worked my entire childhood (she just retired about five years ago, when I was a “young” 45). At one point in her career she was an eligibility worker with the county, and one of her clients was shot to death by her husband…right in the driveway of the elementary school in front of the couple’s children…and other kids, including my own brother. I think that is the first time that I became aware that my mom’s job couldn’t possibly be an easy one. Later she became the secretary to the dean of my class in high school. How cool do you think it is to have your own mom there all day…so when you “need” to ditch school, you can go get her to sign you out? But, again, there was that fear thing. I really didn’t ditch. I also remember that I really liked having my parents chaperone events I attended. It was great to feel like they were part of my life!
I remember being able to earn my driver’s license about two days after my 16th birthday. And then to have my very own car! Okay, so it was my parents’ car still, but I was its only driver! I still marvel that my mom and dad were willing and able to let me have that blessing.
One of my favorite memories is when I would come home after a dance or a date or some other activity. My parents had end tables in their room instead of night stands. I used to sit in my mom’s end table, telling my parents the minutia of whatever activity I’d attended, sure that they were in rapt attention because, well, THEIR lives were practically over, and mine was so danged exciting! It seriously never occurred to me that they didn’t care. I knew they cared. Even when we were struggling to get along, I never doubted that my parents were interested in me and, most importantly, they loved me.
One of the best gifts my mother ever gave me…and the entire family, in fact, was after we moved to Merced when I was 14. She had mentioned before we moved that she would really like to find a church we could attend as a family. And then we moved across the street from an LDS family. And while making friends, my mom also started asking questions that she’d never had answered before when she was growing up. At first I was a bit hesitant because I had very little information about the church. I remember attending the temple visitors center when I was about nine, and the only thing that I thought of at the time was, “Man, why haven’t I ever heard this before?”
While I had been actively involved in church since I was about seven, my family had only rarely attended any services. The only ones I remember are mass with my grandmother, who was cool enough to attend a Catholic church housed in a California mission. As my mother started asking harder questions, the neighbors offered to send over the missionaries. My mom accepted, and because my dad loved her, he agreed to sit in on the meetings. Like I said, I was a bit hesitant. Although I soon became involved in activities with the youth in the church as well as the weekly meetings with the missionaries, I found it all hard to understand. One friend asked me, “Why don’t you try going to a Christian church?” That was sort of like a shovel to the face because my initial response was, “Wait. I *am* attending a Christian church!” And then the distractions of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith and various things I’d never heard before just fell away, and I recognized that the church was about Jesus Christ. I knew Him. We had met, so to speak. And that’s when it pierced my very soul.
Because of my mom, I have a richness to my life that I could never have gained any other way. I would never have thought to take the steps myself. I have come to see the Book of Mormon as another Testament of Jesus Christ…it’s one of my favorite publications (I love the Publisher). I find joy in knowing that my family is and can be an Eternal family. Regardless of how broken a family can often seem, this life is such a small part of what we experience, and I know that we will better understand when we have God’s eyes to help.
I am grateful to my mom for picking my dad. I miss him a million times every day. And every one of those times I realize that it’s only a millionth percent of how much my mom must miss him. Ours was not a perfect family. But I meant what I tried to convey at my father’s funeral: I often felt bad for others because they weren’t part of OUR family.
My mom was my inspiration to follow the career path I did. She wasn't involved in the legal profession, but I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be like her. She had many clerical positions. I love telling people how my mom used to jam the keys on her typewriters because she typed so fast! My first non-restaurant job was at a law firm, and that began my own love affair that blossomed in my love in particular for court reporting. My mom can write pen shorthand, and I hope that I'm a feather in her steno cap.
I know my mom was a beautiful singer back when she was young. I haven't heard her sing in years, so I can't tell you whether she's still singing beautifully, though I do know that she loves music. Many of her grandchildren are musically talented, and I know she finds joy and pride in that.
While it isn’t my season to be a grandmother, I am so grateful to my mom for taking my biological grandchildren in and being the grandmother they deserve to have. When I feel particularly sorrowful over my loss, my heart sings with relief in knowing they are still being loved. No child should go through life without grandparents and/or aunts and uncles, family friends, people OTHER than their parents who love them and are proud of them. I’m glad that my mom and dad made sure I had that and that my mom, in turn, is making sure that happens for my grandchildren.
I love my mom. Because I’m her oldest child as well as her oldest daughter, our relationship has all the prickly parts you would expect. But I still smile every single day when I think about her. As an almost-50-year-old woman, I see more of myself in my mother every day. As you can imagine, that equally frightens me and comforts me. The more we see ourselves in our family members, the more we know we belong with one another.
So Happy Mother’s Day, Momma. I’m glad you’re my mom. I’m glad I’m your daughter. And Happy Mother’s Day to all the other mommas out there. You know who you are.
