My Mom

 

Today marks twelve years since my mom left this earth.

Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago. Other times, it feels like yesterday.

I still remember standing beside her as her bright crystal-blue eyes slowly turned gray and her soul slipped away. I told her it was okay to go, that we would be okay, and to fly high in the sky and be free.

And in many ways, I don’t think she ever really left.

I’ve seen her in butterflies, rainbows, a sudden breeze on a still day, and even in a quirky little stick bug that appeared out of nowhere. Some people might think that’s silly, but they didn’t know my mother. She had a way of making her presence known when she was alive, and I believe she still does.

She was funny, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes very intentionally. She would say the most inappropriate thing at exactly the wrong moment, then whisper, “Don’t laugh.” Of course, I would laugh. Then she would laugh. Before long, we’d both be trying to compose ourselves while receiving disapproving looks from everyone around us.

That was my mom.

She was the oldest of four sisters and a cousin that was more of her baby sister. Women with fire in their veins. They were independent spirits, women libbers, before there was a name for it. Hippies hidden inside corporate women. They loved each other fiercely, traveled together, laughed until they cried, and remained best friends throughout their lives.

My mom was the first of the sisters to leave us. In many ways, I think it left the others a little lost. One by one they followed, except for her sister Shelbie, who will celebrate her 90th birthday this July 4th.

But if there’s one thing my mom knew how to do, it was celebrate.

Every holiday was an event. Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, April Fool’s Day, May Day.  It didn’t matter. If it appeared on a calendar, she found a way to make it magical. There were decorations, traditions, laughter, surprises, and a feeling that life was something worth celebrating.

Family was at the center of everything she did.

She experienced heartbreak through miscarriages and the loss of a baby, yet she poured all that love into the children she raised. My mom and dad built a family rooted in love, loyalty, and showing up for one another.

Their own love story was something straight out of a movie.

My mom was dating one man. My dad was dating another woman. The four of them were headed out on a double date. My dad got out of the car to pick up his date, and while he was at the door, my mom slid into the back seat behind him and told her friend they should switch.

And they did.

My mom married my dad. Her friend married the man she traded him for. Both couples stayed married for more than sixty-five years.

Life wasn’t always easy for either couple, but they stayed the course.

My mom taught me many lessons during her lifetime, but perhaps the most important was fairness.

She taught me to look at both sides of a story before making a judgment. To remember that every person carries burdens I cannot see. To never dismiss someone because of their race, religion, lifestyle, or circumstances. She often said you had to walk in someone else’s shoes before deciding what you thought about them.

Those lessons have stayed with me my entire life.

She was always creating something. Sewing. Decorating. Rearranging a room. Planting flowers. Working in her garden.

Cooking? Not so much. I inherited that trait from her.

But I also inherited her love of creating and her need to make something beautiful almost every day.

One of the greatest gifts she gave me was her love of nature.

Our house was always full of animals. Dogs, cats, birds, fish, guinea pigs, you name it. Later came horses, cows, chickens, and ducks. There was never a time in my childhood when animals weren’t part of our family.

But she taught me something even more important than loving nature.

She taught me how to notice it. Not how to rush through it on the way to somewhere else.

How to walk with it. We would stop and hug a tree and feel the vibration and life it was giving, we put our  feet in a cold stream and watched a butterfly move from wildflower to wildflower without saying a word to each other.

She showed me how tuck daisies into my hair or make a clover bloom chain. To lie on my back and look at clouds until they became castles, animals, and cartoon characters. Those lessons shaped the person I became.

My mom was also strong-willed. No one ran over her.

She stood firmly in her convictions and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. When she was angry, everyone knew it. But she also believed in working things out. She forgave. She moved forward.

One memory stands out.

Someone once told me something terrible about her. For a moment, I questioned whether it could be true. When I asked her about it, she looked me straight in the eye and told me she absolutely did not say it.

Deep down, I knew she was telling the truth. The accusation simply wasn’t in her character. Why someone would say such a thing still bothers me until today. 

She didn’t speak to me for nearly a month afterward, which absolutely devastated me. Then one day she called and said, in her very direct way, that if I wanted to believe lies about her, that was my problem.

That moment taught me something important. My mother was many things, but she was never dishonest.

When I moved away at twenty-six years old, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Leaving my parents and the family that loved me felt impossible. But she understood. She and my dad had spent years moving from state to state because of his career.

Every time I returned home, no matter how old I was, I became her little girl again. The familiar smells, fresh flowers from her garden on the tables, music playing, artwork on the walls. And her smile.  I was home.

Like most mothers and daughters, we had our struggles growing up. We didn’t always understand each other. But time has a way of softening rough edges and revealing deeper truths. Eventually, we became best friends.

Looking back now, I wouldn’t trade her for anyone.

She was tall and beautiful, with piercing blue eyes and legs that seemed to go on forever. She never looked her age. She carried a childlike wonder throughout her life and could strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. The grocery store a waiting room, a walk through the neighborhood with one of her dogs. By the tie she left that person, they were good friends and stayed in touch until the end

And maybe that’s what I miss most. Not just her presence, but the way she moved through the world, with curiosity, humor, kindness, and wonder.

Twelve years later, I still miss her.

But when I look up and see a bird fly overhead, I think of her.

When a swallowtail butterfly lands nearby, I think of her.

When a breeze stirs the trees for no apparent reason, I think of her.

She’s not here in the way I wish she was.

But she isn’t far away either.

And somehow, that brings me comfort.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for teaching me how to love people, how to notice beauty, how to laugh at myself, and how to walk gently through this world.

I’ll see you again someday.

Until next time, be kind to each other….and call your Mom.

xo

Cindy

Philippians 1:3