If you ever met my mama you know. You know the ultimate blend of kindness, disappointed looks and head shakes, never ending snacks, hot meals, and Debbie cakes for everyone, the giver of unsolicited advice, aka “pearls of wisdom”, undying love and affection for all in her wake, and devoted mom, wife, nannie, friend, sister, and daughter.
It was wild to me that at my 30th high school reunion, I had no less than 3-4 people come to me and tell me their memories of my mama, how she always had dinner for them, how she took us places, introduced friends to new restaurants, was our taxi driver, swim cheerleader, and snack giver. Not to mention how many Christmas ornaments she gifted to all of my friends that they still have to this day. She left an impression on all of my friends and classmates, that’s for sure. To think these folks still have ornaments on their trees from her blows my mind.
My ma had many varied interests, all of which I had an occasion to either enjoy or participate in or both. She let me tag along to bingo, to the casinos (an experience for another blog), to quilt guild meetings, she let me help with painting and selling things, she tried to teach me to sew (I’m not patient enough), and she included me in helping those less fortunate in our small community as well as in other areas of Appomattox.
A lesser known skill and passion she had was helping adults learn to read. I never was privy to whom she helped but she sure was proud of that experience. She loved reading, she gave me loads of books (some of which I still use in my classroom to this day that the kids LOVE), and she read to me for as long as I would let her. She always had a secret stash of special books hidden in her closet for me that she picked up here and there, and where my true love of Boober Fraggle, Richard Scarry and the little monster, Dr Seuss, and Curious George started. Between her, my grannie, and my brother, I learned to read fairly quickly and learned how to read to others with gusto. At this point now, I’ve probably read hundreds if not thousands of books to kids (with the voices, duh) and hopefully instilled that love of reading and of books in thousands of kids all around Appomattox and Farmville.
Towards the end of her short life on earth, she found a love of quilting. She jumped in headfirst and collected fabric, notions, copious amounts of thread and patterns, and converted my old bedroom into a sewing room. We spent many hours in there, cutting, pinning, piecing together quilts and blankets for everybody. She made receiving blankets just the right size in every pattern of flannel she could find for everyone we knew, if you had a baby coming, she was sure to make you enough blankies to get you through. The dentist got blankies for her babies, Chris and I got them for our kids, my best friend from college got them for her daughter who was the same age as my Felix, the neighbor’s grandkids got them too. That didn’t include the plethora of quilts she made. I have tons of them. She made them for me, for Felix, they made some together, she helped others finish quilts (which either Felix or I have), she did quilt square trades at the quilters guild meetings, she donated some, and the absolute most gorgeous one she ever made was one she did for my dad. She was sick with cancer at the time but pushed through to make him the most gorgeous, complicated mariners compass quilt. It was a pattern just for him, the boater, the fisherman. It was perfection. She got too sick to finish it, but her best friend came in, finished it, and gave it to dad for her. It’s a priceless piece that I keep on my bed every single day. Her quilts were a bit of her legacy. Not as much as her kindness, but they go hand in hand, obviously.
For now, I’m refusing to talk the C word or the absolute travesty that is her life that was gone too soon for us or anyone who knew her. Instead, I will sift through my memory bank for the good so I’m not so fucking resentful of the time I haven’t gotten in the last 16 years. This was part one of many that I plan to write as a tribute to her, for my son to have as a memory book of her, which honestly is why I started writing to begin with in some ways, and for me to not dwell in the bad but remember the amazing soul she was.
If I haven’t told you lately, cherish your mama, even through the flaws, as much as you possibly can. Maybe your mama is really your memaw, your auntie, your adopted mom, your bonus mom, your foster mom. Anyone who had a hand in raising you should be cherished as much as you can based on the experiences you’ve shared. I long for more days with my ma. Go love on yours and think of me, and everyone else in your life doing it without the presence of their mama.
And as always, love you, mean it. Thank you for going on this journey with me. 💜💜
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