My mom was awesome at
pretty near everything. At least that's what my brain holds on to. A few exceptions
include most things to do with fashion, and mastering even the simplest remote
control. Seriously, to the very end we
kids would beg her to cut her losses and let us control the remote.
Mom taught me all kinds
of stuff. Basics, like how to cook and
clean and sew. How check out a book at
the library when you wanted to do something you didn’t know how to do. How to garden. Paint. Budget. Hang wallpaper. Clean a room
ankle-deep in junk. What to do when you
run out of gas at an intersection. [I’m
pretty sure that was an accidental lesson.
Especially since she looked over at middle-schooler Leslie and said, “You
don’t need to bring this up with your father.”]
She taught me that being
a follower of Jesus is journey of errors and path corrections. That no one’s perfect and sincere apologies
are important. That there is never an excuse to treat someone or something weaker than you unkindly. That people are created in God’s image, regardless of how they look,
think, act, dress, smell, or speak, and that one should always be aware of
that.
Going into the woods with
Mom was always an adventure. She drew
our attention to the small miracles of God’s creation- the things you miss if
you’re not looking. A tiny flower. A mushroom (in spite of the hours I’ve spent
hunting morels, I’m still terrible at it).
The mark of an animal who had passed this way before.
Some of Mom’s lessons
changed my whole outlook on life. During
my sophomore year of high school, I had an art class with a girl who despised
me. She wasn’t in my grade and I’d had
no previous interaction with her, so I was mystified that she should seem to
hate me for no apparent reason. One day
I was telling Mom how, no matter how nice I tried to be to this girl, she was
still spiteful in return. Mom said, “Honey,
not everyone has to like you.” Wow. HUGE paradigm shift for me. What a relief!
This month would have
been my mom’s 63 birthday. The 10th
birthday since she graduated to heaven. It’s
strange to think that had she lived, she would be 10 years older than I remember her, and a grandma six times
over. I wonder if she would have had
grey hair? She wouldn’t have minded,
though. After losing her hair to chemo twice,
her motto was, “Any day with hair is a good hair day!”
I miss my mom. I miss getting to learn from her. Normal, boring lessons. Deep, profound ones. I miss running errands with her. And those days when we’d have lunch
together. Being able to use her as a reference for nearly any question. Enjoying a fire in the
fireplace when it was cold; sweating it out in the summer heat because Mom
always insisted that hot fresh air was better than cool, stale air. I miss laughing with her until tears started
forming in her eyes. I miss her
hugs. Being called Tall Daughter when
she needed something off the top shelf.
Calling her Shorty. Disagreeing
about music. Just enjoying one another’s
company. Knowing that she knew me better
than any other person on earth, and she still loved me without
reservation.
I think that last one was
the best lesson. If that's the only one I manage to learn, that'll be a win.
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