Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Do you remember Christmas when I was about two or three? The church held a Christmas pageant for all of the Sunday school kids. I was too young to participate, and being a born ham, I was quite inconsolable. It was one of my first memories of the unfairness of life. I remember sitting on your lap in the back pew of the old church, sobbing. You cooed and soothed and rocked me. If grace had a lap, it was surely yours. In that hour you taught me the meaning of grace.

Do you recall when my little brother was born? The day you brought him home from the hospital, I brought an entourage of kindergartners home from school to see my new baby brother. You met me at the door with a firm "No!" That afternoon you taught me the meaning of boundaries.

And do you remember all of the dresses you made for Sis and me? I can't count the times I stood on a kitchen chair while you pinned hems into new skirts and jumpers. And when I rebelled at wearing another dress that matched my older sister's, you encouraged me to develop my own set of style. When I refused to wear starchy, stiff fabrics, you persevered through second trips to the fabric store. And you taught me the difference between "couture" and just plain "pricey."

Do you remember those winter days when I was in Junior high? We spent the afternoons ice skating, and you would welcome us home with hot chocolate. Then you set us to work, pulling taffy for Christmas candy boxes. You scraped hardened candy off the kitchen countertops and once, even the ceiling. Those winter days you taught me that tolerance is a virtue and not to sweat the petty stuff.

And do you remember my first love? Of course you do. He was so wrong for me. But I was in love with the boy, and so, you accepted him into our home as a member of the family. I never once suspected that you had such doubts about our relationship. You must have been in pain from biting your tongue. In those days, you taught me that parenting means allowing your chicks to learn from their own mistakes.

Do you remember my wedding day? It was hotter than Hades, and we had planned a wedding reception in the backyard. In those days, wedding coordinators were unheard of, so you served as wedding planner, caterer, florist, and even bridal gown seamstress. I don't know how I would have made it through the day without you. When I discovered that I had forgotten the clips for my electric rollers, and worked myself into hysteria worthy of Chicken Little, it was you who talked me off the ledge. You made a quick call to one of your friends to borrow some clips. That day you taught me the meaning of "grace under fire."

And six years later, when Daddy died...you taught me how to live with courage and say goodbye. Then it came your turn to transition from your earthly body. You held on much longer than you needed, allowing me to care for you, let go, and say my farewell. You taught me how to mourn.

Yesterday I was missing you a bit more--as I always do around this time of year. Driving to work I pulled into the mall and made a huge blunder. Where the mall entrance divides into a medianed boulevard, I turned down the first pavement into the oncoming traffic lane. Fortunately, no one was trying to exit the mall. But...I immediately flashed back to your last visit. I had been returning you to the airport in Vegas to catch your plane home when I turned into the same kind of divided boulevard--right into two cars trying to exit a shopping center. Forced to stop, those drivers had no choice but to back up into the parking lot to allow us to proceed. The entire time you howled with laughter.

Yesterday, as I caught myself turning down that one-way the wrong way, I distinctly heard your hoots and howls. And I realized...you've never really left me at all. And you've taught me that life is no fun if you cannot laugh at yourself.

Just wanted you to know.

Missing you a little less,

Me