Mother's Day

Another Mother's Day is upon us. I have to admit that for many reasons I kind of see this holiday through a bit of a haze. At times it is a dream-like haze created by the too-good-to-be-true image of motherhood I see between Kendra and our kids. They are so blessed to have her and so am I. She is awesome on so many levels.

At other times I have seen this holiday through a haze of confusion about what I should do with this day. I lost my mom on Christmas Eve, 1974. I had just turned five. I remember few things about her first-hand. Sadly, some of the images I remember are related to her death (on a side note, I hate open-casket funerals and I will not change my mind about that), others are tied to other eventful things- a car wreck, getting bitten by a rabid dog, the usual. I remember some good things, too. I remember thinking she was brave and funny. Some thoughts of my mom have come from stories others tell. I have heard how she dedicated herself to teaching young kids and was, frankly, a pioneer in working with extremely young kids in programs kind of like "Cradle Roll." Once I was even stopping at a church in Kansas and dropping off my own son in the nursery when I glanced at a plaque on the wall and noticed to my amazement that the room had been furnished in her honor. It was a rather surreal moment and further evidence that she was an amazing and much-admired person whose influence, though short, was a blessing to my life.

However, the plain truth of the matter is that many others stood in the gap after I lost my mom who also deserve credit for their efforts on my behalf (rather than blame for the eventual results).

My sister Vicki was about 12 years older than I. As such, she took on a great deal of the burden of raising me. One of the earliest examples I remember was on the day mom died. Dad called all of us together and told us she had "passed away." I had no clue what that meant, but things at the time were so crazy that I was pretty intimidated and waited until I could ask Vicki. My sister had the unenviable role of making me understand I had lost my mother. She worked very hard to get through high school and even take on a job when she could while still trying to have the life of a kid like she deserved to have. She would later suffer from the same disease that took our mom, but I think that in seeing the valiant way Vicki fought helped me know my mom a little better.

My Grandma Edie came to live with us for months at a time when I was growing up, too. I also spent all of my summers with her. Though she was only an admitted 4'10" in height (actually, I think she was 4'9") she was tough as a boot and a hard worker. She was a widow, but she ran a farm by herself and tended her garden with a single-shot 12 guage as well as a hoe. She never really understood why people wanted to do things for fun when there was work to be done, but she was true to her roots. She refused to let me call anyone old saying that they deserved the respect of being called elderly but she used to talk about needing to drive some old ladies to church (she was in her 80's and they were in their 70's). There are a million stories I could tell about her, but the only one that matters is that she was selfless and stood in the gap without hesitation. Her mind is pretty much failing her now, but even when she doesn't remember me, I remember her and am thankful.

Mary was a family friend. Her husband and my dad had gone to college together. She was another who very willingly stepped up and mothered me. I remember staying with them and playing with their cat Sergeant and their dog Schultz. I remember riding around town with her in her pristine 1965 Mustang. She was a class act in so many ways and I still think about her with fond memories but regret that my kids did not get to know her.

Next there is Carol. She is the only one mentioned so far who is alive or lucid. She and her family reached out to us in so many ways. They were friends from church, but more than mere members- they were ministers. I stayed so many nights at their home that it felt like my own home. My brothers and sister all worked for them in one of their stores at some point. They came all the way to Muleshoe for my wedding and I still hear from them from time to time. One memorable moment of my history with her is from the day I was baptized. She hugged me and cried over me with a pride I could not merely dismiss. I loved that feeling.

Finally, there is Colleen. She is now my step mother. She married my dad when I was a junior in high school. I remember thinking I was glad he was getting married so someone else would get his attention besides me and take the heat off. Thankfully, she has turned out to be much more than a diversion and has been great, not only for dad, but for our whole family. We are replete with quirks that probably do not fit into her mold of poise and refinement, but she has never let it show. I am thankful for her reputation of high standards of honesty and discipline and hope that she eventually rubs off on me. People who don't know about the "step" relationship say we look alike and they can tell we're related. That's just fine with me.

So, there you go. Perhaps this was a bit lengthy for a blog entry, but still woefully inadequate to give proper tribute to what each of these mothers has meant to me. But it would be a shame if I said nothing at all. So, happy Mother's Day to

Kendra
Wanda
Vicki
Edith
Mary
Carol
Colleen.

Thanks again.




P.S. Obviously, we're looking for songs about MOTHERS. Get after it.