In Memory Of My Mother

Mom holding me.

Last Friday my Mom finally left us.  She's been on her way away from us for the last several years, really, and we knew, once our Aunt Margaret passed, that it was only a matter of time before Mom followed her.  They were closer than any sisters I have ever known.  Even when they lived thousands of miles apart, they wrote and called regularly.  Once Mom  retired, she moved back to Alabama to live next door to Aunt Margaret, and for quite a few years, they had a good time going and doing things together with the church group, or on car trips with my older sister when she'd go to visit.  I was in Germany when Mom moved back to Alabama, and though I used to call her every day when we were still in California, at that time, long distance from Germany was VERY expensive, so I only called once in a while.

Friends seem concerned about me, well, I am grateful for their concern, and I am sure I will have my weepy moments over the next weeks, but I've been having those for a few years  now.  The Mom we knew has been gone awhile.  The lady who could giggle at herself and at situations, the one who told me I was the smartest girl in the world, and the prettiest, the one who asked me for good mystery author recommendations, who asked about the library and my writing, that woman's been gone a long time.  She was still my Mom, and still funny, but she'd tell the same stories five or six times every time you talked to her.  The same stories every time you called.  She forgot a lot of things, but she never forgot that she loved me.  She always told me so.  She also never forgot my Pop, and how much she loved him.  The stories she told over and over were usually about Pop. How he called her "Sweet."  Never called her "Beautiful", like Matt calls me, but "Sweet". ( I told her it's because she was so sweet, and I'm not always. She giggled.)

I am glad to say that I got the chance to make sure she knew I loved her, too.  I told her so every time I talked to her.  More than anyone else, Mom made an impact on  my life, on my personality and my outlook on things.  I have a lot of my own opinions, and certainly my own style, but Mom influenced me more than she did the other kids.  They never had as much of her undivided attention as I did.  I was very glad that my sister started calling her every day, and going to see her twice a year, being involved with Mom as an adult.  I had a few years of that, even though I was still living at home for part of it.   It was basically me and Mom and Pop from the time I was 9 until I was married at 24.  They realized I was a grown up, finally, when I married Matt and STAYED all by myself in that house in DOWNTOWN San Bernardino the first time he went TDY.  Hey, it was my house, too.  I cleaned it, worked in the yard, re-arranged the furniture.  I lived there, too.  My folks knew what a big chicken I can be, and they were sure I'd never stay there alone.  They were wrong.  Like I said.  My house.  I wasn't going to let anything happen to it.  

What can I tell you about my Mom?  Well, she had a great sense of humor, and she loved to read until very recently, that is.  She's the one who used to walk with me to the little branch library on Compton Blvd. near our house, and insist I not check out more books than I could carry home myself, because she was going to check out some books for herself, and couldn't carry mine, too.  She discovered I could read when I started sounding out the Campbell's soup labels at the grocery store when I was about 3.  She knew I was reading for two reasons.  One:  Campbell's soup cans in those days had no pictures on the labels, and Two:  I asked her what mine-strone soup was.  I was trying to sound out minestrone, and using my Phonics like a good girl, I got the pronunciation wrong.  She told me the right way to say it, and explained that it was a sort of Italian vegetable soup.  (You see, my older sister used to play flashcard games with me.  She liked to show me off to her friends.  "See how smart my little sister is?"  Or so Mom told me, I don't remember anything except playing with the flashcards. Sometimes feels to me like I could always read.)

Me reading, about age 4 or 5 (In a dress Mom made, by the way.)

Mom and I had a lot of years together, basically just the two of us all day.  Until I started school, that is.  The other kids were in junior high and high school, and Mom and I got to do fun stuff together.  She let me lick the bowl when she made cookies, or fudge, or frosting.  When I was old enough, she taught me how to read a recipe, and how to measure, then she bought me my own Boys and Girls Cookbook, and turned me loose.  I learned to make a lot of things, and to this day I make chili based on the way she taught me.  She made a lot of my clothes, and I usually got to pick out patterns and fabric.  I never did get the knack of sewing like she did, though.  I have no patience for it.  Though she did like the way I cut patterns out, and through my college years would have me lay out and cut out her patterns for her when she made clothes.

Pop and me and Mom on my wedding day.

Mom and Pop both told me that I was the one who started calling her Mommy-Mo.  I don't remember, but I know Pop called her that sometimes, especially when he and I were ready to leave for somewhere, and she was lagging behind.  "Mommy-Mo!  Are you ready to go?!"  he'd holler, and she'd always answer "I'm right here, just a minute!"

 Mother and daughter selfie, about a year and a half ago.

As I said, I'll have my weepy days, and I am glad my friends, family, and coworkers will understand.  She was a huge part of my life, and though she's been drifting away for a while, I'll still miss her.  She taught me so much, and I've always wanted to be as well loved as Mommy-Mo was.  Lots of little kids got to have her for a preschool teacher,  and they all loved her, she had an in-home daycare for several years, and those kids all loved her, and of course, all four of us loved her, too.
Oh, she and I had our differences, all mothers and daughters do, but we got along most of the time.  I was always afraid that I had hurt her feelings when I was little and would ask her not to sing. (She was ALWAYS under pitch, and while I don't have perfect pitch, I have pretty good relative pitch, and it used to annoy me.) She thought it was funny.  She said all four of us kids asked her please not to sing.  Well, I am proud of her that she sang anyway.  She took a music class when she got her preschool certification, and she passed that with flying colors, and the kids in her classes never complained.  I helped her with some of the songs she was learning, and if she LISTENED, she could stay more or less on pitch.  It is really all a matter of learning to listen, and in my case as I age, to PAY ATTENTION to what your voice is doing.

I'll end this with a poem I wrote for Mom in 1988.  I am glad that I gave it to her when I wrote it, so she knew how much she meant, how much she gave me, and that I knew the depth of that gift.

For Mommy-Mo
By C.K. Armistead
1988

My mornings were always filled with the music
Of you making our home what it was.
If I heard water running
Or the vacuum you were using,
Then I knew all was well with the world.

Your humming and laughter as you worked,
The hum of your Singer as it made dreams real,
The smell and sound of coffee as it perked,
These things still mean home to me.

The sun on my face, and the smell of a rose,
The many flowers you taught me the names of,
The feel of damp grass squeezed between my toes,
These are all things you taught me to love.

To keep my dress neat, and sit like a lady,
To keep my hands away from my face,
You taught me to be a proper young lady
Something I'll have with me always.

Through scoldings and battles when I was a teen,
Loving me wasn't easy, oh, Mommy, I know
But you kept right on loving,
Even though I was so mean,
Since you knew it was something I'd outgrow.

I am so happy that after all those years,
After all the battles did end
And because of the joys,
Yes, and the tears,
Now I can say Mommy-Mo is my friend.

Good night, Mommy-Mo.   Your baby girl loves you.  I always will.  Tell Pop I love him,too.