Mom

My mom went to be with Jesus 13 years ago, April. Every once in a while, usually by way of a song, a whiff of dinner cooking, or simply a change of season, her memory comes to life. When mom was alive, I must have taken her for granted. Today, as the fall slowly continues it's transformation on the landscape, I am reminded of just how much color and beauty she brought to me. She was a quiet person, generally, until Aretha Franklin records played on the stereo. Man, she could dance! But when she settled down from her occasional funk-fest, you barely knew she was there.

Mom was small--right at 5'-2" when she stood up straight. But nothing ever got by her and she would wield a belt like no none else. I never saw her run or hurry anywhere except to defend her three boys if there was a hassle at school or if we were falsely accused of something. I remember the time I was assigned to a sixth grade teacher that my brother Rob had three years earlier. My mom must have deeply disliked this teacher because she yanked me out of Pacific Drive School altogether and put me in Mr. Neal's sixth grade class at Orangethorpe Elementary.

My mom was tough. But she had a soft spot in her heart and a deep love for my dad. She had to endure much as a little kid. Her own father left the family for another woman which caused her mom to uproot she and her younger brother from Clarksville, TN to Evansville, IN to worked in a cigar factory. Even before her father eventually returned to the family, my mom dearly loved and defended him. His drinking annoyed her, though. As an infant, her dad would take her to sit on the bandstand while he played trumpet in a jazz band. One time my mom, her brother and mother sat in a car at the curb waiting on her dad to collect money for a painting job he had done. The debtor, standing in his front doorway, refused the polite request to pay and my mom, hearing the exchange, leaned out of the car window and screamed, "You son of a ____!" She was fierce, protective, loyal and had a fiery temper!

My mom wasn't perfect. She had issues with trust. Money, or the lack of it, really tugged at her security blanket. But she taught me to stand up against what was wrong. She was an advocate for those who were shoved into the shadows--like the mentally handicapped she worked with for several years. She detested liars and often shined a light of truth on their dark deeds.

No one wants to hear the dreaded news. It came on a Saturday, just hours after I told her I loved her. She was gone--stolen from us way too early by a brain hemorrhage. Powerful things come in small packages. Mom made a powerful effect on my life. The changing season makes those memories seem so real today--almost like she never left.

Mom, Betty Jean, at age 17