My Mom and Me

On May 23rd, my mother would have been 93 years old. I spoke to my niece Kristen about this, and she agreed with me that my mom probably wouldn't have wanted to make it to 93 y/o. I was born when my mom was 33 y/o (so yes, I will be 60 in November - bleah!!).

When she was 43, I was 10. She was the leader for my Blue Bird Group. She taught us all to sew and on our overnight camp-out, she ignited the best council fire ever with an emergency roadside flair. She drove me to Willowisp Town Club every summer morning at 6 AM for swim team work-out; she played tennis with another swim team mom while we practiced. .She used to clean house listening to "The Stripper" and "Mack the Knife.' She took me to see "The Red Shoes" at the Alley Theater. She introduced me to Jackson Pollack and the wonders of an ENTIRE ROOM of Frederic Remington's works at the Houston Art Museum. She played endless games of Pounce with me.

When she was 53, I was 20. She and Daddy came to visit me in El Paso where I was attending UTEP.. I locked my keys in the car - with the motor running.- and she walked in the Sambos Restaurant and then, came out with a potato, which she promptly jammed into the tailpipe - after a minute or so, the engine died: her comment? "Well, at least we won't use up all the gas!"  She told me that the thing she liked best about me was my kindness - a trait I equated with weakness.

When she was 63, I was 30. I lived back in the Metroplex then and saw her often. She and I went to a Neil Diamond concert for her birthday: Her comment? "Linda, he can eat crackers in my bed anytime!"  Although, she was older, it really never occurred to me that she would ever be gone. She volunteered at the public library and at the hospital. We played endless games of Pounce, and she initiated her granddaughters into the ritual of the game. She danced to Chuck Mangione and Harry Connick, Jr. as she cleaned house.

When she was 73, I was 40 and gone to live in New Mexico. I talked to her nearly every day and lived for the Christmas and summer pilgrimages back to the Metroplex. She was the link to most of what was good in my life as I struggled to survive crashed relationships, poor choices and addiction. She gave me the map out of the miasma of pain. We took long road trips to Yellowstone, Glacier, the Grand Tetons and to Vicksburg, Natchez and Baton Rouge.

When she was 83, I was 49 - she died - a short time after her birthday ("Tex is waiting for me.). On the last night of my final visit with her, I read aloud to her  - "The Cat Who Went to Heaven" and she held my bare foot as I read to her. She told me the thing she had always like best about me was my kindness - a trait I  equated with strength  . . . and with her.