Ode to My Mom

Today is my mom's birthday. Had she not died, Mom would have turned 56 years old. We certainly would have had a cake and ice-cream, and made unreasonable numbers of jokes about her being over the hill and closer to 60 than 50.

But she's not here today, and so it is a melencholy day instead of a celebratory one. Today as I was making my bed I glanced at the picture of Mom that I have in a big, plastic photo display above my headboard. You know how, when something's been in a certain place in your house for awhile, you stop noticing it? Well, that had happened with this picture, but this morning I re-noticed. My mom. Beautiful and smiling back at me. A little dab of white hair right in front, off to the right side just a bit. Comfy in a sweatshirt and turtleneck- her standard winter garb. Green eyes. Kind eyes.

Here are a couple of fond memories about my mom. Because whenever I write about her it's sad, and she wasn't a sad person.

Once when mom was about 4 years old, she was sitting in the living room, putting on her socks as she watched Howdy Doody. Her aunt (Edna, I think- mom had several aunts, none of whom I knew very well) was there and as she walked through the livingroom, she stopped, looked at mom's socks and started laughing. Mom, mystified as to the cause of such jockularity asked why her aunt was laughing. Aunt Edna simply replied, "Look at your socks!". Mom looked down at her socks, and as she later told me, "It was as if socks suddenly had color. I had two socks of the same style on- one red, and one blue." The Day Susan House Discovered Sock Colors.

When I was about 7 or 8, I vividly remember arguing with Mom about wearing a particular shirt. I have no recolection of the shirt now, but apparently it was my favorite then, and Mom had told me that I couldn't wear it because I had just worn it, and that I shoud wear something else. We went round and round, probably with me being maddeningly annoying about how the shirt was clean and it was my favorite and I really really REALLY wanted to wear it. (I was nothing if not tenacious) Finally, I remember Mom giving up and shouting, "FINE! WEAR the shirt. Wear it all week. In fact, just wear it until it FALLS OFF of your BODY, for all I care!"
As I sheepishly returned to getting ready for school, I remember contemplating the possibility of a shirt falling off of my body, how embarrassing that would be- especially at school- and wondering how many times I would be able to wear it and still skirt this frightening new danger. The Day I Won an Argument With Mom...Sortof

The autumn after my graduation from high school I left the farmland of northwestern Ohio and headed for the nearly identical farmland of northeastern Indiana, to start my undergraduate career. I was just about as nervous as one could be, short of actually developing an ulcer or having a panic attack. My parents and I shuffled our way through all the welcome weekend activities, designed to make parents feel more comfortable leaving their kids behind, and to make kids feel like they're not being left for dead as their parents climb back into their now-empty minivans and head home.
I was homesick, to say the least. In fact, I was not just your ordinary homesick, I was SO homesick that my whole dorm hall was aware that I was homesick. That's embarrassing. Anyway, before mom and Dad left to go home I had realised that I'd left Alfred, my cherished teddy bear, behind. This massive oversight was apparently made possible due to my incredibly anxious state as I pack a few last things and left my childhood behind. Mom promised to mail him the minute they got home.
In the meantime, I began crying profusely, and quite often. I had never been much of a crier, but that changed the second my parents' backsides disappeared through that Alpha Womens Dorm door. News got around on my hall that I'd left my teddy bear at home, and my wonderful new hallmates, perhaps in a desperate attempt to keep my from dehydration via profuse weeping, came to offer me several different stuffed toy substitutes, to help tide me over until Alfred arrived.
The next day I had a package pick-up card in my mailbox. Mom had spent some unreasonable amount (probably more than the worth of the bear) to overnight Alfred to me at college. Not because we were rich and had nothing better to do with $30. But because she was my mom, and she knew how important having someone to hold onto is, especially when life is hard. The Day Mom Came Through...Again.



Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.