Mostly Michelle Marie

My mother will be remembered for a great many things; having seven children and not drinking, smoking or sinning (in the more enjoyable vices such as sex, wild abandon and unconventional thinking) in any scandalous or salacious manner. She was a woman of faith, which both saved her life and nearly destroyed her. She was born into hardship, into a poverty of a kind I cannot describe, as I cannot even imagine. Her father was uneducated, but loving and wanting to provide for his family. Her mother was a tiny wisp of a ladybug in human form; her hands flitted to and fro as if she were directing a symphony. Just like a great conductor, her size belied the strength and command those petite little hands and dainty fingers held.

This woman, my grandma E, was the matriarch of the family and both her husband and twin boys recognized that. My mother was cut from the same cloth; her family was everything to her and she believed her role was to provide, protect and guide us all. This was her first thought in the morning and likely last thought before she finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. I won’t say it was Mission Impossible, but we certainly didn’t make it easy for her. She had bad days, days when I’m sure the weight of everything pressed down on her like an unwelcome walrus, sitting on your lap, crushing you without even being aware you’re there. She would cry in private, then straighten her shoulders, dry her eyes and splash some water on her face and put on her brave/happy mask. While crying, I can’t imagine what she prayed for, but I know for certain she prayed. She prayed more than anyone I had ever know and she never gave up on her belief that even her most heathen-like child would eventually return to their faith and ultimately, to God. Whether or not that has happened has yet to be revealed, but I believe she knows everything she could ever want to know and a few things she couldn’t have even imagined.

Death is a funny thing unless you’re terrified of it, then it’s no joke, no matter who’s at the mike. I have a relationship with Death that is odd, to say the least and unhealthy to say the most. I have been curious my entire life and my mother was one of those who encouraged learning but was a little less than pleased with the direction my self-edification took. Warlocks and witches, the shaman/medicine man. The crone and the sage; reincarnation, past lives, precognition, ESP, mediums and magic and oh my! I soon learned that there are some things you just should not share with your mother, no matter how much you love the shock factor of it all.

I guess that’s why I don’t feel as lost since she passed. She also battled with dementia prior to passing, so there were many stages of loss along the way. I couldn’t be sad when she finally did pass, or graduate as my dear friend Nelly (Devon’s great-grandma “GG”) preferred to say. I like that so much better. Passing is good, but graduating is even better! I feel as though she’s with me, in my memories and in the talks we’ve had at her kitchen table, in my car on the way to the doctor appointments and even when I was small. She loved teaching me how to bake cookies, banana bread and all manner of Midwestern cuisine. I also learned how to make do with very little and how to be happy when you have nothing of material value, but everything that money can’t buy. Unconditional love is a two-way street if things are to flow smoothly and loving someone is not in fact easy most of the time. Loving someone doesn’t mean they do what you say and you do what they say; it means you allow that person to be them, to be human. They can make mistakes and you can get upset, but you don’t stop loving them. When someone needs love the most is usually when you want to give it to them the least. They are punishing themselves for the mistake already, you don’t need to add salt to the wound. Add some love and see what happens; put yourself and your feelings to the side for a moment and truly look at the person. See them with fresh eyes and truly see the human, not the outside trappings. A beggar can hide a heart of gold beneath is tattered coat and a rich man can hide a heart of stone swaddled from the cold by his expensive wool coat. Do not judge, but if you must, don’t judge a book by its’ cover, which is to say, don’t judge someone solely by how they look or what they say. There is always more to the story and more that lies beneath the surface.

Happy birthday, Mom. You are with us all. Every kindness you’ve given is returned to you today in our actions as we honor you now and every day. I am the woman I am because of you, aside from the obvious carrying me for 9 months and birthing me, but most importantly because children learn by example and your example taught me self-respect, love, faith and family above all else. You were human and made mistakes, but those mistakes were born out of being human and out of love, out of the want for our souls to be safe and saved.

Your legacy of love lives on in your grandchildren, their children and on and on. Your eyes smile back at us and we see your spirit moving through the trees, riding butterflies and birds and bees to come visit us when we need you most. I find you in the quiet hours before the morning’s light, in the peaceful moments you used to pray each day. I hear you as the voice inside my head when I’m scared or uncertain, reminding me of who I am and who my Creator is and I remember my strength, my place in this world and my reason for being and becoming; to carry on. I am the daughter of a strong, beautiful and powerful Lion. Hear me roar, Mom. I love you.