On the evening before my mom’s death, as I was sitting next to her hospital bed, many thoughts were spinning in my head.
I wanted to tell her what she meant to me. I had a lump in my throat and I couldn’t talk. How I wished I had told her that I loved her 15 years ago before she started to suffer from Alzheimer’s, when she would have completely understood. I would have said I loved her for all she was and what she did for my dad, my sister Joy, brother Dan and myself. Why didn’t I tell her?
I guess I thought she just knew I loved her.
From as far back as I can remember, mom taught us her love for others. When we lived in Highland Park, she used to take care of a Down syndrome baby at our house. She worked in the church nursery with lots of babies. We got to see her love for these special little ones. She had a number of “world vision children” that she would support from her merger school income as a teacher’s aid.
At an early age, she taught us scripture and how to memorize Bible verses. I wish I could still remember them all.
Once, in third grade, our Sunday school teacher asked me and two other kids to write down how we would tell someone about Christ and we would read it to the church congregation the following Sunday night.
I wrote:
-
I would tell them that we are all sinful.
-
That God sent his son (Jesus) to die on the cross for all our sins.
-
That if we confess our sins (repent) and ask for Jesus to take complete control of our lives we would go to heaven to be with Jesus when we die.
I showed mom what I wrote and she suggested that the first thing we do is pray for the person owe’re going to share with. Asking God for his help and to help the person we’re sharing with to understand God’s plan for their life.
The next Sunday I was the last to talk. The first two got up and said I would do this and I would do that. I panicked because I thought their presentations sounded better. I wanted to drop off the part about praying first.
At the last minute, I just went with what my mom suggested. After I was finished, people came up to me and said how good my presentation was. I should have learned something, but I didn’t.
I took all the credit.
I didn’t give credit to God. I didn’t give credit to mom and I didn’t even pray before the presentation.
Mom, I thank God that you were never our buddy. You were always our mom. We always knew where you stood. With me, you really got a lot of practice administrating the Bible verse that says, “she rebukes and disciplines the ones she loves.” In case you didn’t catch that, the first word was changed from “he” to “she.”
I’m amazed at some of the projects you permitted me to do. I took your broken clothes dryer apart. I had parts spread all over the garage. In my mind, I thought that you have a lot of faith in me. You let me take the engine out of your car and completely rebuild it. To my amazement it ran well. I don’t remember ever hearing you complain.
I only remember seeing mom cry a couple times. Once when I was sick and had broken a couple of ribs in a football game, she gave me a ride home and I could see her face in the rearview mirror from the backseat. I could see some tears on her cheek. She never told me to stop playing. The doctor did, but mom didn’t. That was probably the first time I realized my injuries were harder on her than on me.
I would see her tears again later, when my brother Dan was so badly injured in a motorcycle accident. He was in a coma for about a year. When he started to come out of it, the hospital said that they only took successful cases and it was time for him to move on to another care facility.
I remember my mom just matter of factly saying, “OK, we will take him home.”
Mind you, she said all this when he was still hooked up to all these machines and a feeding tube. I remember thinking how can she say that? I felt overwhelmed for her. When we brought him home, she set his hospital bed in the middle of the family room so he could feel a part of everything that goes on in a home. He could see the kitchen, the front door, the back door, the TV and everyone who ever spent time in our home. My mom would suction his lungs when he had a cold. She and my dad and my sister would take turns watching him, caring for him and turning him every two hours so he wouldn’t get sores.
The only other time I remember seeing her tears was when I was a rebellious teenager and she thought, rightfully, that I didn’t appreciate all that she did for the family.
She was right.
As kids, if we saw mom painting, vacuuming or mowing the yard, mom would show you how to safely do the task and let you go. If she gave us a job to do she would inspect our work and if it wasn’t done right, guess what, you got to do it again. And, if need be, do it yet again until it was right. We learned to do a good job. Mom, you’ll never know how much I appreciated the work ethic you instilled in us.
When I was in basic training during an inspection, the drill instructor couldn’t find anything wrong with my bunk and quarters so he flipped the bunk, frame and everything over and then said that it was a mess. Without a second thought I said, “Sir, my mom’s harder on me than you are.”
Needless to say, the drill instructor had a big point to prove to me for the rest of basic training.
My mom shared her love for her brother’s girls: Pat, Carol, Jean, Peg, Sam and their children. We sure had a lot of fun growing up.
Mom, I wish you could have known my wonderful wife, Suzanne, and our girls Kristen and Grace before your mind started to fade. I know you were praying for your grandchildren Michael, Bobby and Christy until you started losing your recollection of them.
Mom, you showed your love to all of your family through your actions. Whether it be good times, sickness, hard times, accidents or fun times. There was a lot of laughter as well.
Mom, I know you loved me through the good times, my rebellious times, while I was incarcerated and through the return of your prodigal son.
Everyone of your family has a story they could tell of how you impacted their life. Thank you.
From your oldest and most wayward son, I want to say we love you and we miss you.
Read more stories in the “Memories of Mom” series here.
