Wednesday, January 24, 2024
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Dear Mom (aka Mamacita),
I thought I would be curled up in the fetal position crying my eyes out when you passed. Not that I don’t feel like that but that just isn’t what is happening. As a child, you gave me the best you could give, to all your children. You worked with what you had and sought a better life always.
I will name a few of the treasured memories.
Fiddler on the roof on a Sunday afternoon.
“All my girls are pretty” as you ran your fingers ever so gently through my hair. White-flocked Christmas tree talks about “sex” on a king-sized bed accompanied by older sisters, and my first diary. Holiday condiment trays, siblings wrestling on the floor, and super-glue to repair the broken treasures. Flying Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and a home filled with family and friends, laughter, tears, and chaos and the “ran away gig”. Kids, lots, and lots of kids, some yours, some theirs and some of everyone else’s. Cooking for an army. Baking with love. Joy of family. Good times, hard times, stand together times around those we lost, fighting times, struggling times, and a few well-deserved whooping times.
Your spirit was like fire, eyebrow raised, but cool like the blue in your eyes with a piercing, cascading, light. Your fight, determination and persistence kept your family afloat, bathed, fed and safe at home. What you lacked in parenting skills you made up for in hard work. telephone operator, Volkswagen, food service and convenient store management, you work diligently to provide for your family. You held my hand so many times, as an infant, child, and teenager, and giving birth. Cared for me when I was sick, always sweet tea by the bed. The mornings you would gently wake me for school, tender voice, calling my name. Waking to the smell of French toast on a Sunday morning and pork chops that I could not convince you of my disliking. BBQ pork ribs the exception. You were my mom; you were there through so much of my life.
Oh, how I will cherish the many conversations where we solved the world’s problems in under an hour. Disagreed on politics and other global views but managed to keep the peace between us, sometimes. My heart always calling home, calling you. My model of strength, courage, and fire. You did good with me. So, no, I am not curled up in the fetal position because you taught me to stand, to be strong, to love, to laugh and to live. You gave me one last gift that I will cherish all the rest of my days… you waited for me. I made it there to be at your side, to hold your hand, to tell you how much I love you, how we all loved you. I got to pray over you and walk you to the doorstep of heaven while you crossed over into the hands of the Lord. And for one last time, you ran your fingers through my hair. Thank you, mom, for everything. I will always hold on to your memory and think of us holding hands. Until we meet again, always your baby girl, Deanna
I will leave you with a poem I wrote on Mother’s Day, years ago:
You stand sturdy, brave and strong when the storms batter against your ground. You have withstood some of the fiercest winds that nature can muster. Nothing has torn you down. Still, you stand with your light shining… reaching out across the miles to let me know that there is a home for me. You taught me to be prepared for the rough and tumbling seas that cast me about and weaken me. I see your light, embracing my spirit and reminding me of my home, all of which I come from. Reminding me of the inherited strength and courage. I know now that I will make it but will forever need your light to remind me of your love for me. I will always need you, Your Baby Girl, Deanna
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