I spoke with someone yesterday (yes, my mental health counselor, yes, full disclosure, I spoke with one for a few sessions), and she asked me a lot about my mom. It was interesting to think & talk about her in that kind of way, in ways I hadn't really thought about my Momma.
What was beautiful about her? Wow, I'd never thought about her in that way. But, honestly, the most beautiful thing about her was the way that she loved me. And I didn't even realize that until she passed away in 2002, and I was going through their house in 2007. She loved me more than she EVER loved herself. And that made me cry & grieve for her in a much different way than I had in the past.
See, she was never taught that she was worthy of all good things in life & that this world had to offer. She was taught that she didn't have very much to offer this world, or anybody in it. She was meek, probably the meekest person in the world, or at least, the meekest person I've ever met. She was very honest about just trying to get out of high school with a "D" and as long as that was enough to pass, that was fine with her. She was taught that she wasn't very smart & that carried on throughout her life. She was taught that she didn't really have anything to be proud of. And she bought into it all hook, line & sinker.
My Momma didn't have an easy childhood. She was raised with no running water, and probably with no electricity, until later on in her early 20's. An outhouse in the mountains of North Carolina was very cold in the winter time & with snow on the ground. She was raised on a tobacco farm in NC with 7 brothers & sisters, 8 in all, and her mom lost the 9th baby. Her dad ran moonshine, and was a boozer (sounded like a mean one at that). My Momma churned her own butter, and her hands bled from being bitten by "grub worms" (her word) from picking tobacco leaves & corn on their farm, when she was growing up. The only way that she could afford to buy her high school class ring & senior year book was by collecting eggs that the chickens laid & taking them somewhere to sell. She was neither especially pretty or smart (to her family) and it sounded like she just got lost in the crowd. And that's the way she went through life: just get through it.
I wish I could talk to her now & ask her all about her years growing up. Her sisters are still alive, and I wish I could ask them, but I realize now why Momma didn't deal with them: they're not very nice people.
I wish I could show her the world. I wish I could take her somewhere for Mothers Day & make a big fuss over her, because she deserved it. And still does. I wish I could hold her & hug her, and introduce her to Steve, my soulmate. But, I think the most I could do for her, in her honor, is to see the world & live up to the highest potential for myself. I want to show her, where she is now, that she didn't fight for me for nothing. That she didn't fuss at my father, regarding me, for nothing. And how much I appreciate her for loving me & for being happy that she was pregnant with me when she found out (she most definitely was, my father most definitely was NOT).
I love you, Momma. I always have & always will. And I miss you. Terribly. I miss you more as I get older, much, much more. Am I becoming more like you? Dunno.
Do we really ever stop missing our Momma's??
