A Tribute To My Mom

I am writing from a place of grief today. Yesterday my Mom passed away. I feel numb and frozen. And I don’t quite know what to do about that.

My mother was a small, petite little thing with a sweet spirit, but plenty of sass. She was born here in East Tennessee and never lived more than 10 miles from where she was born. To some, it would seem she led a small life. To those who knew her, the only small thing about Mom was her stature. She had a huge heart, loving and accepting. My sister once called Dad and Mom “Law” and “Grace.” Dad would read us the riot act and Mom was there to dispense the mercy.

I am not much like my mother other than appearance. Sweet, dainty, elegant southern belle that she was. I’ve always been certain Mom didn’t quite know what to do with her tomboy, football toting daughter who often came home from school with torn clothes and skinned knees from playing hide and seek or kick the can. God bless her, she did the best she could, but I’m sure I was a shock to her system.

My Mom had an extremely strong work ethic—working in a doctors office until she was 70 years old and the doctor finally retired. She loved people. And she loved them well. It’s no wonder she chose the medical profession as her life’s calling. She was not only a hard worker, she and Dad ministered together for years, singing in local churches for weddings, funerals, and everything else in between. She had a beautiful alto voice and and when she and Dad sang, magic happened. It was a lovely home in which to grow up.

As we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, these small things, important things, and seemingly insignificant things take on new, vital meanings to those left behind. The smell of Tresor perfume, the drawers full of costume jewelry, the snowman she kept year round on top of the pano, the way she would cut her eyes at us when we misbehaved, the way she always signed our greeting cards (I love you VERY much, with TWO underlines under the word “very”)—these things are priceless. In her struggle with Alzheimer’s disease, she may have forgotten me, but I didn’t forget her. My Mother’s mind may have gone long ago, but her little body was still here, and I loved that body. Those precious hands that worked tirelessly on my behalf. Those little feet that traveled many a long road for me and with me. Those shopping excursions where we literally shopped till we dropped. And many other things too numerous to even write down. She was a great lady, a great friend, a compassionate woman. She was Mom.

Mom, at new hope retreat several years agO.