Thoughts of My Mother...

07/15/2010

My daughter sent this to me this morning.  I think she gets this is how I live my life, and sent this as a reminder for her and to me confirming she will do the same.

Living in the Present

One day at a time,
This is enough.
Do not look back and grieve over the past.
For it is gone. . .
And do not be troubled about the future.
For it has not yet come.
Live in the present, and make it so beautiful.
That it will be worth remembering.

Not long after reading this I saw a commercial on TV showing a lady walking a path in slacks.  I have no idea what the commercial was for or about, but my brain almost instantly flashed a picture of my mother into my consciousness.  It was triggered by the slacks.  My mother never wore them that I remember, and I was fifty-three when she passed away in 1997.  In fact, I do not have any memory of her at all other than in a dress.  She called them “house dresses.”

My mother was a proud person, very proud.  She took great pride in my dad and in their near 68-year marriage.  She took great pride in her more than average children, elevating us to a level reserved for the spectacular.  She took pride in her Christianity and in her lengthy Christian roots.  She took pride in her own mother and father and her two brothers and three sisters.

I know she had pride in who she was and what she was about, though one would not guess it from her appearance.  She rarely wore makeup other than some very lightly applied lipstick.  Fashion was totally unimportant to her, but I thought she always looked nice and never unkempt or messy.

I believe she had great pride in her station in life; quite happy with what God had provided for her and her family.  She never had a job outside of the home, but did a whale of one raising five kids and keeping a happy home for my dad when he got home from work.

She wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, not even close.  She loved plain, country cooking.  She threw a slab of fatty meat in just about everything she did cook, and most of the time cooked vegetables beyond recognition and meat to the leather stage.  She referred to spaghetti and as nice side dish, and her idea of a truly great meal was a Filet of Fish Sandwich, an order of fries and a cup of coffee at McDonald’s.  I clearly remember her watching soap operas at noontime, and sitting on the sofa in our living room eating a slice of bread folded over a chunk of sharp cheddar along with some leftover morning coffee.

Those are fond memories of the lady who wrote beautiful poetry and short stories that I passed off as my own for school assignments.  The lady who dragged me to church every Sunday, but always had paper and crayons in her purse to keep my little brother and me occupied – meaning quiet – during the service.  She was amazing.

The last years of her life were a living hell, a test of her resolve, I suppose.  Thinking that softens the blow for me.  Perhaps this was her path to Heaven?  I do not know, but I know she is in a better place now.  And I know I miss those dresses.

And that is all I have to say about that…