Tuesday Tumble - Our Mom

Mom was born on May 8, 1921. . .



. . . A very very long time ago - and no picture is posted because of computer problems - his PC has a problem and my MAC has been dropped so many times I finally damaged the CD drive so couldn't load the software yet to scan a photo in. This photo, however, represents her love for the ocean. Her dream was to live on the beach - but in Florida - so the sand would be a different color than this Washington beach, but it was the water she wanted to hear. She made it to Florida, but never made it to a house on the beach. Whether it was just Murphy's law jumping in, the powers to be, or that she never pushed herself toward it, I'll never know for sure. . . but she still lived her other dream -- stay at home mom for her children, golfing often until the bottom fell out of finances. As she got older she lived vicariously through us. But neither she nor I see that as a bad thing like so many others do. Living vicariously is still living because you still feel, speak, think, and hear. Yes, two senses may lose out a bit, smell and taste, but in many vicarious experiences they are both included. And living vicariously still allows emotions. . . and living emotionless is not truly living, is it?

Enough of that, I could tell you she raised me with good moral values, she did. I could tell you she was the woman who would give you the shirt off her back, she was. I could tell you she had a sweet side, she did. I could tell you she suffered most of her adult life from major depression and prescriptions only helped some, she did and they only did. I could tell you she was there for my dad when he had Alzheimers until she could no longer handle him, she did.

When she died, I spoke at the memorial service - not of all that - Most there knew who she was as a human being, I did not need to tell them. I told them three of my favorite memories that showed different human sides of her -- and yes, had I not had others with opinions, the photo on display would have been a huge picture of her clowning one day when we were younger, in her dark glasses and sticking her tongue out, her permed hair (that year) a bit frizzy and bleached from the sun and constant golfing. It is not a flattering picture at all, but it was a human being human, just clowning around for the camera. Some involved thought it was disrespectful, so I didn't, only from respect for them -- but I did put it on notes sent out -- yes, I did.

For the memorial, Lina and my brother, Bill, made a collage of photos of Mom's life. It was fun to see the photos. Leon and I took a different approach to flowers, buying small flowering plants and arranging them as though it was a small garden planter, leaving them behind for the church to give to people who needed a smile that week. Mom loved gardening, never did a lot, never had the money for flowers often, but when she did she planted them.

The three stories will come during the week, one at a time, not long stories, but I don't want to cram them in as one long read. One involves bravery, so to speak; one involves breaking "rules" to have a moment's fun with her kids; and the other one, I honestly at this moment cannot remember, but I will. When I get really tired or frustrated or upset, my mind clamps down and refuses to budge until it is good and ready, and it is not ready, but there is a third story I want to share. I leave you with this memorial to her:

Doesn't matter what else Mom did right or what she didn't do well, she gave me the one gift no one can ever take away -- what everyone needs the most, no make that two gifts:

I never felt unloved, not one moment of my life and she never made me feel like I should be anyone than who I was, even when she didn't agree with my choices.

Thanks, Mom.