Native Writes: Remembering mom


As we look forward to Sunday, Mother’s Day, thoughts turn to the women who have been responsible for populating the planet. Even test tube babies need mothers.

It’s no surprise the mitochondrial DNA from the mother is stronger than that of the father. Even a tiny bone chip or a tooth can provide the identity of someone missing in battle and recovered after many years, especially if mom has made a DNA donation.

I was fortunate to have had my mother until I was in my early 50s. She had been bedridden and had many medical problems when God called her home, but I miss her.

I think of the days that are gone. I am glad my sons got to know her and am sorry my three grandchildren didn’t.

Some mothers never miss a concert, ball game or school play and baking dozens of cookies for class parties. Mine was that way and I have been, except for cookies, unless someone considers blackened cookies a delicacy.

Mine continued her interest into the days when her grandsons were in high school. She was cheerleader for the Moose when a game between basketball players and alumni was held to raise funds so the band could travel to Mexico City.

Many of their contemporaries remember “Granny.”

My mother was a character and she worked at it. If her thoughts fought to get out, they won the battle and many an ear was “blessed” with her opinion.

She had her nickname before she had grandchildren, picking up the moniker when “The Beverly Hillbillies” flickered onto the TV screens. Guess why.

Small and scrappy, she was filled with more than enough energy.

By the time her first grandson was born, she had mellowed some, but she was willing to take road trips to experience new things. His brother arrived and she was still good to go.

When the third and last grandson came along, physical issues slowed her down, but she gloried in having a morning cup of coffee and welcoming the sunshine.

When I scoffed at the fact she was getting a GED, she shoved the practice test in front of me. An honors high school graduate, I flunked.

Today, thanks to mom, I have great respect for anyone who earns a GED.

She attended college and earned her degree after age 65, an event featured on the front page. Later, work with a senior volunteer program took her into a home where two widowed sisters drank whiskey and watched soap operas.

I first scoffed at the idea alcoholism was an illness. I mean, I enjoyed a drink or two, but it wasn’t my life.

When experts tell us alcoholism is like an “allergy,” an inborn trait, I believe it. My mom’s first drink was her downfall.

However, whatever she was into at the time, she was truly into it.

Even with all that, I miss my mommy.

My sons miss “granny”

And the grandkids roll their eyes when I tell them what I think about fads and trends.

Sunday will be Mother’s Day as well as my birthday and I will again thank God for the gift of life.

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