Apartment is cleaned up. Laundry is going. Coffee is on. Running clothes are on too so that I’m motivated to workout after writing this, before I run off to work.
Life’s been hectic lately. A good hectic at times and at other times, exhausting. More emotionally than anything. But finally feeling like I have a moment to sit and write.
I wrote most of last week about the mom’s in my life. And while Mother’s Day has come and gone and this was to be my post on Sunday .. my 100th post .. I’m actually thinking my mom would appreciate that I’ve been trying to take care of some other obligations and things that needed tending to, before taking this break. Plus, she’d appreciate, I believe, the fact I’ve done nothing but think about her and what was important to write about her now for over a week.
There isn’t a day though that goes by, I don’t think of her and wish I could pick up the phone to actually call .. she was and will always be the woman who became not only my mom, but also eventually my best friend.
Those of you who are a daughter or who have one now .. can imagine it wasn’t always that way.
“I don’t have to listen to you! You’re not my real mother ..” I remember saying to her more than once when I was growing up.
I’m not sure what she ever said or expected of me that warranted that response.
But I remember saying it. And regretting it then and now with everything I have. How often we say things, especially as children, we wish we could take back. Thankfully I had the chance to make amends for that and any other trouble I may have caused her in her far too short a life .. over and over again. I did my best anyway.
And even though my mom isn’t here to walk me through how she might handle some of the parenting issues I am now blessed and challenged with .. I believe I have some wonderful insight, hindsight and foresight .. as my daughter tries to get away with some of the same.
Back to my mom.
I may be looking at this through rose colored glasses .. but I don’t think so. And even if I am, I don’t care.
Here’s what I remember of my mother:
She went by A. Eileen because she hated her first name. And she never wanted anyone to know it was Agnes. But I kind of like it. Family name. She was born in Maryland but raised in Madison. Her own father, Paul died while she was very young of tuberculosis. She ended up with TB because of it. Scarring her lungs as a very young child. She was lucky to have survived, herself. But it would eventually make her more vulnerable apparently, to the cancer that took her life. She grew up in both a single parent home and when my grandmother remarried at one point, from everything I understand, in an abusive environment. She attended Business College. Met my father in a soda shop on Madison’s east side. Married and moved to the small town of Poynette where she .. and they would live and work and raise our family, most of the rest of her life.
Our first home was tiny, but from what little I remember of it, she made it a home. Totally 70’s decor. Sweet flower beds around the house. Lilies of the Valley out the front window I still remember the smell of them as they would bloom each spring. A play set in the backyard. She was always very proud of how things looked, including herself. She wasn’t a workout queen. But she was slender, always kept.
And despite the fact she wore little other makeup, there was always bright pink or red lipstick that went on.
She was simple. Didn’t need much. Her closet was minimal. I stood looking at mine the other day and even now, mine is half the size it was a couple years ago (in part because I keep most of my work clothes now at work because I have no closet space in my old school apartment) .. thinking about how I would like to get down to a wardrobe the size of the one she had. Life. More Simple. I love the thought. And I am going through my own things little by little doing what I can right now to minimize. (How and when did we as a society ever go from something four-feet wide being enough to closets the size of an efficiency apartment being the norm?)
She was a wonderful woman with an infectious smile .. and a laugh that seemed to be heard around every corner. When she was happy. When she was stressed. When she would hear us say things we shouldn’t .. knowing the consequence was coming.
She was stern, yet vulnerable. Beautiful. Outspoken yet often quiet, introspective and kept to herself. She was helpful. Had great penmanship. I love how she wrote her name. Is that silly? Whatever. She was hard working. Always wanting to pitch in to help wherever it was needed but knowing when it was time to rest and ‘just be’, as well. She was all about family. And community where she could. Volunteering. Getting involved. But she was equally good at hiding out and tending to her own well being .. and that of our family.
She preferred my dad do the cooking, she’d do the dishes or get us to do them. She and my dad both worked hard. And in turn, expectations of what we could do and how we could pitch in as a team were high.
Especially as we got older. Older .. interestingly enough, meaning probably my dear daughter, about the age you are now.
During the summer and on weekends especially, mom wanted a clean house. With or without company coming. We were expected to keep our rooms clean, have the laundry done and folded, vacuuming done, floors scrubbed with a rag – not a mop, have the lawn mowed, weeds pulled, the garage swept out, toys put away and whatever our other jobs were, done. We were expected (ahem .. encouraged strongly if we ever wanted money of our own, ever) to work on top of any of that. We mowed neighbors lawns. Had paper routes. De-tassled corn. Babysat. My first ‘real job’ I’m pretty sure was at the flower shop/convenience store in town, where my mom would go everyday for her Pepsi and Hershey’s candy bar for a break from work. It was right across the street from her office.
Work. Then play.
Which we were given a lot of room to do as well.
(I had written a bunch about that, but thinking I’ll save that for a post all its own. The importance of play. And another .. about having a job when you’re young. Both are so important, I believe.)
In having many expectations of us, we were also given a lot of freedom to mess up. Figure things out on our own. And reap the rewards of being good and doing well, earning trust. Or suffering the consequences of not making wise choices. And grounded. For like .. most of my high school years. All were gifts that helped us both grow into the people we’ve become. Like us or not.
Mom loved to travel. But hated to drive (flying wasn’t an option back then on a budget). And she was terrible about reading maps. One of my fondest memories though is of her, wherever we would be, in the passenger seat with the map.
My dad would say to her, ‘Where next? Where do we turn next?’
“Well, I think .. here,” she would say. And she would almost instantly start laughing.
“You think there?!” my dad would say getting frustrated.
We ended up in places we should not have been traveling on more than one occasion because she would break down in a fit of laughter and tears and not be able to even read the map. Ultimately ending up in the drivers seat while our dad tried to navigate us out of a mess.
I hear her laughter everyday ..
.. as I glance at the photo I took of her on one of the last road trips we would ever take together.
We were in Montana. And while at this particular moment we weren’t lost, we were laughing.
The photo reminds me each day of her simple nature, her appreciation for life and finding beauty in the everyday little things, for exploring .. but also in coming home again. And in being with family.
Love and miss you.
“Let there be more joy and laughter in your living” – Eileen Caddy
(A quote not my mom, but apparently another wise Eileen.)