Uplift Project Day #6

“Mama…my greatest teacher; a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness.” – Stevie Wonder

No, it’s not Mother’s Day. It’s not Mom’s birthday. There’s actually nothing special about this day whatsoever that would cause me to be reminded of my indebtedness to my mother. The sense I needed to write out appreciation for the woman who carried me for nine long months at the age of 19 crept up out of nowhere. Maybe it’s just long overdue. I’ve rambled on long enough about my dad’s dementia and final demise last July. It helped me grieve his loss and to catalog both virtues I need to emulate and insecurities I need to stop allowing to pass between generations. So, yes, it’s time to reflect on her influence and she probably needs to be reminded she is a wonderful human being. What’s even better is my angel mother is still around and I can still call her whenever I need to connect.

Growing up in post-war America as the oldest daughter of a large, working class, suburban Los Angeles family did not provide many options for a young girl once graduated from high school.  I wasn’t there of course, but I would guess the majority of these baby boom daughters dreamed of getting married and starting their own families. College? Only for the wealthy. A career other than domesticity? Taboo. So when Joyce Noble met Lloyd Loudermilk at church and he sweet-talked her into thinking he was the answer to her dreams, she started happily down a culturally prescribed track of matrimony and motherhood.

As I’ve written before however (here), my young father was totally unprepared and untutored on how to treat a wife or how to raise children. Given his painful childhood, it’s no wonder he ended up with a gigantic chip on his shoulder and an overriding desire to control everyone in his life to protect himself from further pain and abandonment. I have a branded image scarred in my brain from when I was five years old of him in a violent rage one night while driving home from church all because my one year old brother wouldn’t stop crying. We were newly relocated to Atlanta and away from the rest of our family in southern California. The next day it seemed Mom was within a breath of putting the three of us on a non-stop flight back to L.A. and leaving him and his anger forever. As it ended up we never left the house. Years later when I asked her why she didn’t go through with it, she said she didn’t want her two sons to have to grow up without a father. So she lived in fear and under mental duress for 29 years of her life just so her kids, eventually four of us in all, would have a dad. The depth of her courage, the strength of her will I can’t understand. Now he did grow as a person and his temperament improved, but you just never knew when those insecurities would erupt like Mount St. Helens.  I’m also no woman and don’t begin to comprehend the slow grind of having your soul crushed by the one you thought was going to bring you happiness. She took it for as long as she could bear and then one day declared, “No more!” The only one of us left at home by then was our dear baby sister, who probably took it the hardest when it all went down. So when Dad departed this earth last year it’s a testament to the tenacity of our courageous mother we all had decent relationships with him. I can’t imagine how my life would have turned out had I only been able to see him on holidays.

Mom always made us do our homework first after getting home from school. The most important things had to be completed before you could enjoy yourself the rest of the day. And then you weren’t fighting off sleep after dinner trying to finish your math problems or vocabulary lists. I don’t ever remember wishing this wasn’t the rule. I don’t remember all the neighborhood kids playing outside while we longingly looked out the window over our books. Maybe they were out there, but I just don’t recall it. But I do know I never had an issue with homework, or tests, or schoolwork for that matter. It wasn’t my doing really, it was Mom’s. She established a culture of being responsible for your work and an expectation of getting it done.

There was the time when I was ten years old and she sat next to me in her car sobbing over the steering wheel in the parking lot of Dr. Walker’s office in Gainesville. I had just been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I had no idea what was wrong, except that I had to pee every 20 minutes and I was excruciatingly thirsty. I wasn’t crying with her, but I was worried about her. She told me I had to give up eating sugar and would have to take insulin shots every day. At least I wasn’t going to die anytime soon. I told her it would be okay and for her not to worry. But it’s a terrifying thing to see your mother cry. I was immediately checked into Hall County Hospital next door since by this time I was getting awfully close to hyperglycemic coma. The nurses spent the night getting my glucose back to normal range and I stayed there a week learning how to take care of my body now that my pancreas had been taken out of commission. You don’t really understand until you’re a parent yourself how scary it is to hear a life-threatening diagnosis of your own baby.

One summer day she piled her four kids, dirty and sweaty from playing in the yard in our jean shorts and bare feet, into our tiny Toyota Corolla and raced off to get a check deposited before the bank closed. These were the days long before booster seats or seat belt laws or being a certain age to ride in the front or any of that craziness. On the way it started pouring down rain. The right-side tires ran off the road slightly and Mom pulled the wheel to the left to get the car out of the gravel shoulder. But the slick road caused the car to hydroplane directly across the highway and the only thing that stopped us was a large ditch on the opposite side. By this time the car was completely upside down, my brother Kelly had what seemed like a thousand bits of the side rear window lodged into his neck and Mom had hit her head so hard on the ceiling during the flip that several of the discs in her vertebra were crushed. My brother Todd, my sister Carree, who had been sitting in my lap in the front passenger seat, and I were all unscathed except for a scratch or two and being scared out of our wits. I still thank the Almighty none of us were killed. But I do remember hanging out with Todd and Carree in the hospital waiting room with nothing on but our shorts and dirt all over our faces. I was numb not knowing if I would ever see my brother or mother again. Dad was probably in the middle of Georgia on his Oscar Mayer route when the wreck happened so he wasn’t there yet. Thankfully, the paramedics had done their job well and Kelly came home with 50 plus stitches across the front of his neck and more than a few in the side of his head and scars that still remind us all of that frightful day. Mom was doomed to six months in the ugliest back brace you can imagine a poor mother having to wear. I can still see it’s beige leather wrapping around her upper body like a giant spider.

I remember one lunch break in high school in the cafeteria with my classmates, and Mom walked right in and sat down next to me. She thought she would just pay me a visit. In typical teenager fashion, I was completely embarrassed and acted like an idiot, asking her in shock what she thought she was doing there. Her happy expression changed immediately to sadness and then she slowly rose up and walked out. I still carry shame for that one and I apologized years later. But tell me that wasn’t a mother who loved her son dearly and I’ll call you out in error.

Probably the biggest sacrifice Mom ever made for her family was working the graveyard shift for 30 years at Southern Regional Hospital. Why did she work 11pm-7am for three decades? So she could be home during the day for her children. Of course when she started she only had a diploma and a Mrs. degree so she changed sheets and bedpans and whatever else nurses or doctors were too important to do. But finally her wrecked back would no longer cooperate and her wrist was injured from turning fat patients over in bed to change the sheets they had soiled. She landed a desk job as a unit secretary, eventually working in the critical care wing until she retired. When she got home in the mornings she would make certain her kids had eaten and made it to school and then she crashed for approximately six hours. She had to get up in plenty of time to make certain dinner was ready when those of us who slept normal hours would traipse back home. After the kitchen was all cleaned, by her of course, she might grab another hour or two of sleep before getting back up to head into work. I remember multiple times where she barely slept a few hours and then headed back to the critical care unit to assist the staff taking care of patients who were hanging on for dear life, some of them not making it through the night.

Then when her parents were too old to take care of themselves, she brought them into her home and cared for them while each of them went through cancer and heart disease and eventually death. And when her own kids were going through rough times she brought her grand-kids in to live with her for a period. Whatever anyone needed or asked for, she has always done her best to provide for her family. I’m not even certain she’s had dreams to go places, see things, learn new things. But she has always been there for us and done so through the denial of whatever she wanted out of life. Maybe all she ever wanted was to make certain her family was taken care of.

Mom has always been good at sitting and listening to people talk. If you call and she’s available, she will converse as long as you need. She’s a good friend, asks good questions and gives good advice. She and I share a passion for music. At one time she even played the accordion. We like to tell each other about great movies to see or comedians to watch. We keep each other abreast of what’s going on in our corners of the world, especially since we’re 400 miles apart. I don’t get to see her that often unfortunately.

In fact, today is probably a good day to call and see how she’s doing. I think I’ll do just that.