Reflect on importance of mom

Mother’s Day is coming fast. It got me to thinking about the moms I have had. First was the girl who gave birth to me. She was young and beautiful.

She lived with her parents. She had a job at Mom Peyton’s carry out. There was a measure of independence. She could take the bus downtown or to her girlfriend’s house. Her bed-ridden grandmother lived around the corner and down the block. We went there often. All I remember about my great-grandmother was that she always insisted I was Freddy and that my Mom had thrown Diana into the ocean. It always upset me.

Mom’s aunt Ida lived within walking distance. She was nice. There was a tapestry of the Last Supper behind her couch and a big ceramic dalmatian in her living room. In later years, I would take my grandmother to visit as a present to them both.

The two eldest  of Mom’s brothers worked at Phillip’s swimming pool down the other block and across the street. She often visited the pool but never swam. Instead she would buy a malt or an ice cream cone to share with me. She wore saddle shoes, skirts and ribbons in her red hair.

When we moved to the country, Mom lost that independence. Her only jobs were occasional baby sitting and the one or two years she spent harvesting tobacco. There were no real friends within walking distance. Public transportation didn’t exist. Her beloved father died. That mom was increasingly angry, stubborn and lonely, like her own mom was.

After my world turned upside down she got married to the guy who lived on the corner. She had two beautiful boys. She gained a friend or two from the church. She was happy and courageous. There were no more ribbons in her hair.

Her boys grew up. Her mom died. The farm was sold and she moved to a cookie cutter house in a small town. At first she was active and participated in senior activities offered locally. As time went on she grew increasingly frail. She was no longer able to climb into the senior van on her own. Her world shrank to old westerns on TV and home health care. Hospital visits became more and more frequent. Her best friend passed away.

Through all the loneliness, her children tried their best to take care of her while leading their own lives. She lost two of her grandchildren when they moved to Arkansas with their mom, victims of a divorce. Her great-grand kids lived in Texas. She only saw one of the three in person. The others were known only through photographs and letters.

Eventually, her heart gave out and she passed on, leaving her aches, pains and fears behind.

Through the years I was blessed with two great mothers-in-law. They were both good cooks and good women. They each had their own stories. One was from Kentucky. She took me up narrow mountain roads to meet her relatives. The other was from Missouri and took me shoe shopping. One baby-sat my daughter, the other filled her grandchildren’s mouths with whipped cream. One took me to the church basement to help with the annual fish fry. The other took me to upscale restaurants. I was not privy to either of their histories, except for snippets that they shared.

Those were my official moms. There were plenty of other women who were my temporary moms. Most of them were only mine for a few minutes.

There was Phila, a foster mother who taught me to paint. There was my third grade teacher, Mrs. Reed, who told my mom that I needed glasses.

There was the home ec teacher I disliked who taught me to make bread and who got me a summer job baby-sitting. There were countless others whom I don’t remember, but who made a difference.

Mother’s Day is coming fast. Chances are, that you don’t know all the people your mom has been.  She did the best she could with what she had. I hope you take a moment to reflect on all the moms you have had.