My Mom was a
faithful Christian woman. She loved her
God, she loved her husband, she loved her children and grandchildren and
great-grandchildren. She loved her job,
she loved her church, she loved her friends, and she kept her promises. She was a teacher, a high school counselor, a
pastor’s wife, a musician, and a loving mother.
She was one of those rare people that left everyone she met better off
for knowing her.
I was the last of four siblings; my
brother and sisters have a lot of stories about Mom that I don’t remember
because they happened before my time.
But I have so many memories of her that I will always cherish, and those
are what I want to share with you all today.
When I was little, Mom was this sweet,
soft-voiced presence with loving arms and very big hair (it was the age of the
beehive hairdo, and Mom’s would compete with anyone’s!). I remember her singing in church, and I
remember falling asleep during Dad’s sermons when I was very young with my head
in her lap. I remember going on family
vacations with her and Dad and her mother, my grandmother Laurie Gill. We went to Big Bend where she had to endure
skunks getting into our tent; we went to Mesa Verde where Dad hauled me up one
of those big wooden ladders to some cliff dwellings, with me holding on for
dear life and Mom following behind, promising me that Dad wouldn’t let me drop
(for the record, he didn’t). When I put
my knee through an ten gallon aquarium in fifth grade and sliced it open to the
bone, it was Mom who came home and found me with my leg wrapped in a bloody towel. She picked me up and carried me to the car to rush me to the ER!
I
remember that Mom ALWAYS made sure I went to church. Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday
night, unless I was sick, she brought me there, usually sitting right beside
her so she could keep me in line. I
remember how unfair I thought it was that WONDERFUL WORLD OF DISNEY came on
Sunday nights, right at church time, every single week, and I NEVER got to see
it! One time, “Dr. Doolittle” was going
to be the Sunday night movie. In those
pre-VCR, pre-cable days, if a movie came on television, you’d better be there
during its runtime or you just missed it!
I begged Mom to stay home, “just this once!”, on Sunday night, so I
could actually see the entire movie.
Mom looked me in the eye and said:
“Well, son, if Doctor Doolittle is more important than Jesus. . .”
Really, Mom? You just had to go there!
Because I was so much younger than my other
siblings, by the time I got into junior high they had all moved out of the
house; my sisters were both married and my brother was off working in the Sinai
– which meant I had Mom and Dad all to myself!
That was pretty much fine with me.
I got a lot of things during my teen years that Dwain, Clinta, and Jo
rarely got to see. Fresh fruit around
the house, for one thing. Mom said they
didn’t even try to keep apples, oranges, and peaches in the house with four
kids at home, because the fruit would disappear as quick as it came in the
door. But with just me there, she and
Dad actually got to enjoy a peach (every now and then!).
Then there were the pets. Mom was NOT an animal person, and she was
deathly afraid of snakes. How she
produced a child like me is still a matter of some debate in our family; I’ve
been fascinated by my little legless friends as long as I can remember. But I was NOT allowed to have a pet snake
until I was an adult with a place of my own, no matter how much I begged! However, as if to compensate for that, I was
allowed to have almost any other pet I wanted.
Over the course of my childhood, I had tarantulas, lizards, a baby
alligator (well, technically a caiman), a raccoon, and more dogs and cats than
I can remember. Mom endured them all; and
then she even got into the spirit of things and brought a dog home when I was
in 8th grade. Dad and I hated
that dog; it was the dumbest thing on four legs – and to make matters worse, Mom
named it “Genius!” (That wasn’t what we
called him.) Eventually Dad and I took
“Genius” arrowhead hunting and kind of forgot to bring him back; Mom made us go
back and get him!
After I graduated and moved out, Mom
and Dad really enjoyed the whole “empty nest” thing, especially after Dad
retired from the ministry. They traveled
all over the country; they did bus tours; they bought an RV; Dad fished and
hunted, Mom read books and crocheted and they both enjoyed playing dominoes
with friends and attending gospel music concerts.
When
they were at home, we had the best family gatherings. Dad would fry fish and Mom would make dessert
and set the table, and we’d eat and play croquet on the lawn and break out
Yahtzee or dominoes, you name it. Mom
and Dad’s house was family central! Dad
loved pulling the grandkids around on a little trailer behind his riding mower,
while Mom walked behind just in case someone fell overboard.
When
my Dad fell and broke his hip in 2012, he never did get his mobility back and
wound up going into a nursing home. What
was supposed to be a short visit for rehab turned into a five-year residence,
and Mom came out there to sit with Dad every single day – except for the one
day every two weeks, when she went to get her hair done (Mom hated having
frizzy hair!). Even as dementia stole my
Dad’s mind a little bit at a time, Mom was there, by his side, day in and day
out, right until the very end. After we
buried my Dad, Mom turned to me and said: “I made my vows, and I kept
them.” Few women have honored their vows
as completely and unselfishly as she did, and my Dad loved her and cherished
her for it until the end of his long life.
But
after Dad was gone, Mom was determined not to waste the time she had left. She told me: “I’ve had to turn down one
invitation after another for five years, from here on out, if someone asks me
to go somewhere, the answer is yes!”
And
go she did! She went to Rangers games
with my brother and his family, she went to visit her great-grandkids, she went
out to eat with family and friends, she even came out to hear me announce an
Eagles football game, sitting with my wife on our rickety old wooden bleachers.
In
January Mom’s doctor asked her to go to the ER because her blood counts were
low. After a week of testing, we got a
diagnosis no one ever wants to hear -terminal cancer. At Mom’s age, there wasn’t a lot that they
could do. She moved in with my brother
and went on hospice care. But even
during the last months of her life, she remained cheerful and upbeat. She crocheted blankets for her fellow cancer
patients, she watched the Rangers in every game they played right up to the day
before she died. We had a wonderful
family gathering for her 87th birthday just one month ago; we all
went out to eat Mexican food together and had a birthday cake and took a couple
hundred pictures of Mom with all our wonderful extended family. Mom told me she never really had any pain
from the cancer, even as it reached its final stages.
She
told me right after she got her diagnosis: “If this is my road to heaven, I’m
taking it. And you, son, are NOT allowed
to question God!”
When Mom used that tone of voice, there was only one correct response: “Yes, maam!”?
Two
weeks ago, Mom’s condition began to decline drastically. We all came and spent as much time with her
as we could over the last week or so, knowing her journey was nearing its
end. That last morning, Mom held out her
arms and said out loud: “I see you! I
see you!”
Denise
asked if she was seeing Dad, and Mom told her “Yes!”
Then
she said: “Are you ready to go with him?”
Mom
said “Oh, yes!”
And
then she did.
My
Mom was a faithful Christian woman to the very end.
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