mother

 
 

Forgotten Trains

It’s curious how life circles around.

The chemotherapy treatment my mother has been receiving since her midsummer surgery has ravaged this once vibrant woman. Physically she’s as frail as a cricket’s wing. Mentally she’s as scrambled and unpredictable as a toddler. Whether that’s the effects of the chemo, her stroke from years ago, the cancer, dementia, or a combination of them all, no one knows. It little matters.

img_20191007_104111As a young girl my mother used to let me sit beside her on the piano bench as she played music from My Picture book of Songs  with its charming drawings and seasonal themes. We sang of big black choo choo trains, puppies next door, aeroplanes flying, whirly, twirly leaves and dozens of other sweet topics. That song book still exists sans the yellow cover, having miraculously survived a housefire and six other children loving its pages with pencil and crayon. The cellophane tape mom had carefully applied now scars the ragged-edged pages.

I wrote of my love for and experience with this book and its effect on my life, my children’s lives and my grandchildren’s lives several years ago. What I’d never conceived of happening with this book occurred a couple weeks ago as I sat on the front porch with my mother.

The thermometer barely tapped the seventy degree mark, and a light breeze wandered across the porch. That slight wind carried the sound of a train whistle. That was unusual. Sure, there are tracks that run alongside the state highway half a mile away, but I’d never seen a train in all the times I’d visited, let alone heard one. I remarked on that. Then I said, “That reminds me of the train song we used to sing all the time when I was little.”

Mom didn’t remember the train song.

And so, I sang it to her.

“Choo choo choo, what’s coming down the track?

Choo choo choo, it’s something big and black.

See it steaming as it chugs along.

Hear it ringing as it says ding dong.

Choo choo choo there it goes again.

Choo choo choo choo choo choo choo,

It’s a big black train.

Wooooohooo, wooooohooo,

It’s a big black train.”

She hummed along and sang a word or maybe two.

Within those brief words and notes, mother and daughter switched roles.

We enjoyed a few more minutes on the porch swing in silence, taking in the view of the mountains, and an occasional hawk circling. Lulu the Wonder Cat wandered among our legs, thought about jumping onto Mom’s lap, thought better of it.

Inside, Mom surprisingly knew right where to find that old songbook. She sat at her puzzle table while I sat at the piano to play those old songs for her. She hummed along to some of them. I couldn’t sing, as all my effort went toward holding back tears so I could read the notes.

Full circle sure isn’t what I thought it would be.

Categories: Cancer, Family, Memory Lane, mother, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments
 
 

My Social Butterfly

I have a social butterfly for a mother. She loves to flit about just like a butterfly from flower to flower saying hello to everyone she can. Sitting on her front porch she’ll holler out a hello and start up a conversation with anyone who walks by. Church is her particularly favorite flower garden of people to visit.

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Photo By Charles J Sharp – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27354026

A few years ago, a young family with itsy bitsy children befriended her. The baby would hug her and want to be held, the other kids would give her a sweet hug. Since most of her grandkids live a fair distance away, this was extra special to her. Sort of  like substitute grandkids. As those bitty kids grew older they got somewhat shy about hugs. As a result what used to be hugs between them morphed into fist bumps. I suppose it felt a bit less awkward for the kids. Either way, Mom still felt acknowledged and loved by this small gesture from these not so small people.

Those fist bumps evolved. She’d wander the halls after church looking for those once little kids and fist bump them, along with pretty much anyone else who would catch her eye. It’s  been quite a sight to see this frail silver-haired lady fist bumping teenagers and grownups and tiny tots. I tell ya, it totally makes her week.

Mom started chemotherapy about a month ago to treat stage four C word. Dad just wants to keep her home, sheltered from the germs of the world, which is wise, since her immune system is shot to heck. But for a social butterfly, isolation is basically worse than death. So they still go to church, unless she’s feeling under the weather. The happy thing about this fist bump habit she’d already acquired is that she can still greet people with her own brand of love. There’s fewer germs on the back of a hand than on the palm which a traditional handshake carries.  Her fist bumps allows her to say hello, feel connected, and give or get love with less risk.

She doesn’t have much energy to wander the halls after church now, but plenty of people come by her pew, make eye contact and get a fist bump from her. When they ask how she’s doing, she answers, “As good as can be expected!” That’s an honest answer to an genuine inquiry. I find it an interesting turn of events that the flowers now come visit this sweet butterfly.

I don’t know how much longer the world gets to enjoy this particular stunning butterfly, Hopefully it’s a gentle flight filled with all the flowers of family and friends. She’s surely brought plenty of that to people as she’s flitted into and out of their lives. Mine has been particularly blessed by her vibrant wings of love.

~~~~~

Beautiful and graceful, varied and enchanting, small but approachable, butterflies lead you to the sunny side of life. And everyone deserves a little sunshine.

Jeffrey Glassberg

Categories: Cancer, Family, Gardening, Hope, Love, mother, mothers, Nature | Tags: , , , , , , | 9 Comments
 
 

Not a Cookie Cutter Holiday

Friday Letter to My Kids ~ May 8, 2015 ~

Dear J, J, L and L,

You know how I was always such a grouch about mother’s day? I’ve decided to give up that silly notion and move on, finally.

I don’t know about other women, but I feel like I came from the planet Venus. Not because I meet some arbitrary list of ideas that some author came up with, but because I’ve never met anyone else like me. There may be other Venusians out there, other Kami-like creatures, but I’ve yet to run into one.

What does that have to do with Mother’s Day? I suppose it’s that I’ve always felt a bit out-of-place and not in my element. I surely never felt like I fit any Mothering Mold. But I’ve come to believe that there isn’t a cookie cutter for Mothers.

Closest cookie cutter shape to a Mom that I could find.

Closest cookie cutter shape to a Mom that I could find.

Mothers take on the shape that they must to meet the needs of their children. At least, most of them do. (I’ve met a few who don’t.) I tried to shape myself to your needs, not consciously, but instinctively. Whether I was ready for the job or not when each one of you came along I molded myself to fit your little fuzzy head and squalling cry. I moved and shaped my days and years to do what I could to make your life a happy one.

Naturally I fell short in that effort simply because I’m a human. And in that shortfall I often felt I’d let you down somehow. Not that I could have done things any differently than I did. I think it’s just part of life that we disappoint those we most love in spite of our very best efforts.

And that’s where my head and heart sat every May when that greeting card angst-riddled holiday of Mother’s Day rolled around. Feeling that I didn’t deserve honor or accolades or chocolates or flowers. Silly, don’t you think, that I’d hold myself to some standard of perfection? I can see now how nonsensical that was.

But having some close calls in losing my mother the past year or two made me think more about mothering. I never felt like my Mom let me down or fell short. She gave me life. She shaped me. She answered my cries in the middle of the night, cleaned up my messes, worked hard at everything she did and somehow still kept loving me in spite of stupid and hurtful choices I made. Amazing!

And that made me think about how much I love the four of you, each in a different, but intensely personal way. I’m proud of each one of you. I became who I am because of your influence and shaping and needs. I’m blessed beyond words to be your mother.

No gifts are necessary. No cards or words or hugs, either. You are my gifts, my jewels, my crowning joy.

Thank you!

All my love forever,

Mom

~~~~~

"Bluebird of Happymess"

The Bluebird of Happymess

Categories: children, Family, Friday Letter to My Kids, Friday Letters, Friday Letters to My Kids, mother, motherhood, mothers, parenting | Tags: , , | 2 Comments

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