HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

Today is Mother's Day and the little girl inside me wants her mommy. She'd like to snuggle up close for hugs and stories. She'd like to sit on the floor while mommy brushes her hair. She'd like to share a beer and talk about daddy whom she misses as well. While my boys celebrate me and my motherhood; and while I'm grateful to have children and grandchildren, today would be a truly happy day if my mother and grandmother could be present.

Somehow I never expected to become the eldest female in the family...matriarch is a word for someone far older than me. Somehow, I just expected my grandmother and mother to physically remain in my life forever, even knowing that’s not possible. My grandmother left us 40 years ago this coming December and mom joined her and daddy 22 years ago. By now, I should be accustomed to not wishing them Happy Mother's Day, but as I reflect on how they shaped my life, I only miss them more. I especially regret the opportunity to sit back and listen to the stories they’d tell me of their own lives. And, I’d apologize for not taking that time when it was readily available.

Grandma was there at my birth and continued to be a part of my life on a daily basis until I was 12 years old. Then, one day, she climbed on a plane and went to California to live with one of her sons. I have many wonderful memories of her during my first 12 years. She returned to Seattle after her sons in California passed away. By this time, I was grown up with a child of my own, but hadn't matured enough to realize how some things will matter later on and how sad I'd be that I didn't realize that then.

Grandma lived in senior housing just across the valley from my house. I could almost see where she lived. My mom and dad looked after her, taking her to the doctor, grocery shopping, out and about on other errands and transporting her to the various family functions and holidays. I helped with this when asked, but failed to take advantage of what my grandma wanted to and could give me. Instead, her stories of life in Tennessee as a child, a woman married to a man more than 40 years older than her, hardscrabble farming, raising five of her own children and 11 from the two previous wives (who both died) annoyed me because she repeated herself so often. Now, were she here and able to talk about how she never went home to visit her own family because 50 miles was too far to go, I would have a multitude of questions. When she began to repeat a story, I’d get her to enlarge on it. Unfortunately, my desire to know more is more than 40 years too late. I do so regret I didn’t have the patience, maturity and enough love to take advantage of what she offered with every visit and every phone call.

My impatience and lack of understanding also affected my relationship with my mother. I know a little bit, but not much. She hated being the only girl in a family of boys, hated doing the girl stuff when she wanted to go swimming in the river with her brothers. I know when her father became bed-ridden and she had to help with him as she had with her baby brother that she hated both him and the care he required.

It also had to have been hard to return to the coves of Tennessee with a bun in the oven even though apparently no one questioned the ring on her finger or the story of a dead spouse in World War II. Today, I would ask her about how frightened she had to have been, how she dealt with that, how she thought she would be able to raise me on her own. Plus, now that I’ve found my biological father’s family, I have so many questions about him, their relationship, his family, how they fell in love, how she felt when she knew she was pregnant and he was married…surely, it would have been a conversation that would                                                                                                                                                        now mean so much to me.

Mom never talked about much growing up, her years in Tennessee or her pregnancy. It was John who pointed out that whenever Grandma began talking about the times back then, Mom got up and left the room. Today, I'd follow her and ask questions about why she found this so painful. I'd coax her to take a trip with me to Tennessee both to visit the places she knew as well as to reap the stories she would share about those times. And, I’d want to know about her pregnancy and my birth…the real stories, not the ones she made up.

I’ve been back to Tennessee a number of times to visit my mother’s and biological father’s families. On one of those visits, I drove to Nashville, checked into the hotel and then walked to the Ryman Auditorium. I asked for the best ticket available for the Grand Ole Opry the following night. I didn’t care how much it would cost, and amazingly it was only $50. I did this in honor of my mom and grandma. I grew up listening to, and eventually watching on TV, the Grand Ole Opry with the two of them.

As I sat in the audience, I felt as though both women were close by. None of the performers that night were ones I recognized from the past. All were fairly young and new, but I enjoyed the music and comradery of them and the audience. Again, I would have had so many questions had we been able to attend together. When I left the Ryman, I felt both uplifted because I had been there, but also saddened because it was an experience Mom and Grandma would have relished and enjoyed far far more than me.

It's too late for me to revisit the past with my grandma and my mom. I’ve come to realize that writing this blog isn’t really about being about a widow. Instead, it’s short stories about my life before and after becoming a widow. With that realization, I like to think I’m providing answers and information to my sons and grandchildren should they, and as most children do, fail to ask enough questions before I join those who went before me. Some of these stories may be a single paragraph (not likely since I seem to be both verbose and have diarrhea of the fingers) while others may run on for pages.

I guess you could say this is my personal legacy. A legacy that would be much more informative had I the patience and foresight to realize that Mom’s and Grandma’s stories would become so very desirable, but sadly unavailable. Perhaps when they reach my age, they’ll be grateful I chose to take the time to make this record. Maybe they’ll be able to better picture me, Mom and Grandma…that’s my hope.

Happy Mother's Day to the women who came before me. Thank you for the gift of life, strength, determination, love and memories...memories that could be more complete but which I cherish nonetheless. Happy Mother’s Day to the wonderful women my sons married…they’ve both added so much to my life with their presence, support and especially, the gift of grandchildren.