Mom: Memories 2018

A Letter to My Mother: Memories

Dear Mom,

Eight years! Can you believe it has been eight years today that you met peace? Whew! Time really does fly, but yet stands till. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows what I mean. You do, mom. Remember? You used to say that when talking about Grandma, Aunt Dee, Uncle Dale, Daisha.  Now I know.

I’ve been thinking a lot this past year about what I was going to write to you today. Memories kept coming to my mind. Not really about me, but about you. Though many are my interactions with you, my memories tell a story about a caring, loving, and completely devoted mother (and probably your spoiled only child daughter). Here are a few:

First, let me start out by telling you that after you passed away I started remembering the discipline you dished out. The hard stuff. It was tough to go down that path so I didn’t go very far. It was mostly before we moved to Elk when I was 4yrs.That’s when my memories start anyway. But I remember being an obedient child. Very obedient. Well, now I know why. You scared the pee out of me.

I remember: When I was in kindergarten and so many of my friends had had a birthday party at school. My birthday is in March so I got to see many. Well, here comes March and you tell me that because of work you would not be able to make it. My heart broke. I was so disappointed. We went to recess that birthday day and when the whistle blew we all ran around the building and there was your car parked in front! I remember my elation. My heart racing. I ran into the building and you stood there with a big grin and arms open wide.

You know, I told this very story to someone just the other day. It meant the world to me. You meant the world to me.

That memory really embodies the rest of my life. You were there. Always.

I remember: I wanted to try out for cheerleader in 5th grade. I was tall and clumsy….and tall and clumsy. You encouraged me even though I could not quite remember when my arms were supposed to go up or out on what word of the cheer when practicing. “You can do it!”, you said when I would get discouraged. “You must atleast try. How will you know if you don’t?” You bought me a blue satin short outfit that had a shine to rival the twinkle in your eyes when you saw me in it. I went to tryouts and, because they decided to have more than last year not because of my skills, I’m sure, I made it! All because of you; because of your encouragement. Go Longfellow Lions!

That lasted a year. Then I found band!

I remember: When I wanted to join band in 6th grade. You encouraged me. “You can do it!” I knew nothing about music; couldn’t (still can’t) carry a tune. “You need to try it. You never know, you may end up being really good.”, you encouraged. I joined band, decided on an instrument, and told you we could rent or buy the clarinet. If we rented, it would be plastic. If we bought, it would be wood. A real “woodwind” instrument. You and dad got me the wood. I felt so special and appreciated it so much. Did you know that? Did I express my gratitude to where you knew? I hope so. I was so enthusiastic and practiced much. I made second chair by the end of 7th grade. I just couldn’t get past Lori Pena! All because of your encouragement. And thank you, once again, for making me feel so special.

I remember: When you took me to walmart to buy clothes for the first time. I was in Jr. High. Yes, Jr. High!  Probably because before then you bought all my clothes at boutiques like Lad and Lassie in Elk? Remember dragging me in there? I sure do. Then Anthony’s or to OKC to the mall? Clothes didn’t mean a whole lot to me but they did you. You told me it was because you were so poor growing up. You said if you ever had the money, you would buy the best clothes for yourself and for your child. I was a jeans and t-shirt girl most of the time much to your chagrin.

But, I digress. We are in walmart and looking at shirts. Why? Money issues I’m guessing. I was never privy to finances. You said you didn’t want me to worry. The boom had just busted.

I digress, again. I’m 14. I thought I needed a polo player on my “polo” shirt. Walmart had scorpions on theirs. “Well”, mom said. “This is what they’ve got.” I looked at you for a moment. You had a bright smile, gave me a side hug with one arm while perusing the shirts with the other. You said, “Look how many colors they have!”  Bless your heart. You tried so hard to sooth the fact I couldn’t have a Polo but just a Polo knock-off. But remember when I said clothes weren’t really my thing? Well, I meant it. Then I asked if I could get one in each color. You said yes.

It’s funny. I bought all my boys’ clothes at Walmart, thrift stores, and garage sales. How did that happen?

I remember: After I moved out I received a manilla envelope from you almost weekly. It usually had cut-outs from the newspaper or magazine of something you thought I would be interested in...Dear Abby, a recipe, new haircut pic, coupons, and always a note from you. When I had Zach it was... Dear Abby, how to’s for parenting, recipes, organization tips, coupons, and a note from you. When I got married it was...more parenting tips, children’s game ideas, recipes, coupons, marital advice, and a note from you. When I started homeschooling it was...homeschool articles and then the rest….and a note from you.

For years and years. One week after another a manila envelope. It didn’t matter if I saw you that week or not. I got one. It was so special. So so very very special. I’ve missed many things since you got sick. But those manila envelopes I truly miss.

Then you got sick. March of 2002 was when all those memories ended.  I was then the mother and you my child. I didn’t get to create memories for you like you did me. I’m sorry. I wish life had been different. I wish….

But I was given the opportunity to give back….to show the love, care, concern, worry, and yes, sometimes frustration. I did the best I could for the 9 years...almost a decade….most of my 30’s...that you were with me.

What it’s like to care for a mentally ill person...and it’s your mother...your friend and confidant, your….words escape me to really best describe our relationship. It’s too deep and personal. I can just say we were very close.  Then we were not. In the blink of an eye (it seemed) the other half of my relationship checked-out; devoid of affection or love. Or reality.

No more manila envelopes, no more taking all your vacation time to devote to your grandsons, no more wonderful birthday parties with the specialty cakes and friends and games. All this and more suddenly became so distant and more precious. All my ballgames you attended, the endless trips to the orthodontists in OKC and taking me to a new restaurant every trip to “broaden my palate” and let me experience what you “never got to do as a child” became something I all of a sudden cherished.  

I’m posting these few manderings on facebook. I know. You don’t like that. You are private. But most people won’t make it past the first paragraph. I won’t tell them about the time you…. Ha! Gotcha! Although Aunt Pam has told me some whoppers! But don’t stress. No one could ever tell me anything that would color my adoration for you. You are permanently placed on a the sturdiest of pedestals. You are my mother. You’re perfect in this child’s eyes. Forever and always.

Time doesn't heal. It’s a lie. Time just continues its journey down to forever-ville without a care in the world. I just have to decide how I spend this given time without you; my child; my mother.

Yours Truly.

Your One and Only Child,

Torrey
Jan. 29, 2018