Taking for Granted

We take so many things for granted in life--rising sunsets that paint the sky shades of gold and bring promise of a new day, changing seasons, heat in the winter, air conditioning in the summer, the Internet, loved ones, the list is endless.

When I was a little girl, one of my very first memories is my mom asking me what I wanted for lunch. "Spaghetti," I said. And so she went to work making homemade spaghetti sauce. It wasn't one of those Let's open a jar of Prego kinds of sauces but rather one of those fry up some hamburger (as we weren't veggie on those days and add some tomato sauce--most likely home-canned as Mom always had a garden and worked herself to the bone--and throw in some spices and cook it all day so that the house smelled delicious in every corner kind of sauces...as I watched from a bar stool, my chin resting on my hands.

Mom was always there. When I got off the school bus and yanked open the door, yelling, "MOM!" there she was, usually in the kitchen, her presence bringing security to my day.

When Dad left, I was fifteen years old and both of my sisters were off exploring adulthood, so it was just Mom and me in Edmond, Oklahoma, experiencing life in a small home in the suburbs by ourselves. Mom was devastated and I quickly became her world. She worked as a teacher at the small school I attended, and so once we were home together, I would tell her every single detail about my day and she would soak it all in, asking questions and listening intently. She laughed and cried with me and she was absolutely, without question the best friend I had in the world. She was my role model for how I raised my own teenage daughters because I well-remember how very very much her attentive ear meant to me during those days of insecurity and teenage angst.

Once I left for college, I felt so sad for Mom, knowing that she would be alone in that house and would miss me  so much. I felt terribly for her and so one cold fall day, I called her. "How are you, Mom?" I asked, preparing myself for the pain in her response. "I'm fine!" she replied. "I'm so busy I hardly have time to think about the fact you're gone!"

That's Mom. Ever practical.

And then I got married. My newfound husband whisked me away to Colorado and then California where our firstborn child came along. Born with a devastating chromosomal condition, we called Mom with the news, and she boarded a bus and headed our way, bearing prayer and hope and a suitcase. She stayed two years and helped us care for our precious Ciara who outlived expectations.

But here's the thing. Mom stayed up nights. She cooked. She prayed. She waited on us. She built her life around us. She made life as easy as possible for her child who was going through her own sort of hell.

Ciara lived eighteen months and then she gently passed away. Mom started to pack up her suitcase but I begged her please don't go as it was just too much loss all at once. And so she stayed a few more months and then she quietly went back home to Oklahoma where she resumed her own life and we resumed ours.

Though Mom has never lived with us since, she visits often. And when she comes, she brings her computer and she goes about her business. She writes, She takes walks, often taking her "granddogs" with her along the way. She prepares plates of fruit for her grandkids and her kids. And? She stands at the sink and she washes dishes. Lots and lots of dishes. Whatever she can do to make life easier? That's what she does. Because...

That's Mom.

I've written quite a lot a lot about my dad recently because he has come back into my life. I've missed him for thirty years and so I am just so excited, so grateful to have this man back.

But my mom? She never left. She's always been there. She's a piece of me -- like my arm or my leg. She's solid and secure. She's a rock. And I'm so glad, so very very glad, that she's my mom.