My Mom

Today I attended a RCC Women’s Brunch. It was delightful, filled with pink netting and pink tulips.
The ladies listened to the story of Hannah from the Old Testament who gave her only son to God. Hannah saw him once a year and brought a cloak that she made for him. A Mother’s Love.

After eating, many shared about their mothers. They missed their mothers very much. Memories of mothers who cooked, sewed, french-braided hair, were so much fun that they were invited to their child’s sleepover, gardened, were a fount of information, recipes and understanding. Mothers who attained ‘super-Mom’ status in being able to handle mother-hood.

I listened but did not share because of time constraints and the inadequacy of language. Sometimes words are not enough. Sometimes the tears flow as we think about the self-sacrifice that our Mothers made. How can you describe a mother who is stedfast in her faith, could be the model for the Proverbs 31 Mother and showed wisdom and understood the basic psychology needed by every mother.

A mother who knew that I was not dusting the hardwood floor on Saturday morning because I was captured by the current story book. A mother who intuitively knew I was not practicing piano when my toes danced on the keys so that I could read the current book lying on my stomach on the piano bench. A mother who sewed beautiful clothes for me and then wrote long letters/notes as to why I should not pile each day’s dress on the rocking chair in my room, admonishing me to hang them up. A mother who left the dishes in the sink and a note asking me to wash them when I came home from school, and when I didn’t, showed me the coveted Hershey bar hidden in the tea towel.

A mother who showed utmost patience when her daughter was asked to sort and wash potatoes harvested from the garden. Potatoes that were to last for the entire year. I looked at the pile of potatoes, and it seemed to grow into a potato mountain. Who could tell how big big was and how small small was, and then wash them ALL? She simply sighed when she came out to check, returned to the house to gather jars to can potatoes when she saw that I washed the potatoes with the water hose and peeled every one.

Yes, Mother had the opportunity to learn ‘the look’ with me as her errant daughter. She practiced and practiced until I knew with no doubts when I missed the mark — just by looking at the tilt of her head, and the dismay in her eyes. I felt as if I were the only recipient of ‘the look’, even though I am sure my two brothers also received the same attentive frown.

During her last days, Mom lived with us. Often our minister, Jack, came to see her. He perched his large body on the small wooden chair that she had painted white, attached decorative decals and added wheels to the legs. I sometimes wondered if the chair would hold. They talked together often and long.

Mom died in October 1998. Jack stood in the pulpit and talked about Mom. Although I was grieving and emotionally unable to concentrate, I heard Jack say, “And when Anna gave me ‘the look’….” I knew exactly what he was talking about. Jack had received the same ‘look’ that I knew.

The next day we traveled to Watonga, Oklahoma, for the graveside service. A young minister who knew Mom spoke. He did not attend the funeral service, but he spoke about Mom and added, “And when Anna gave me ‘the look’……

I should have known.

I miss Mom and am so thankful for her. My memories of her shaped my life. Thank you, Mom! Thank you for ‘the look’. I love you!

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