My Mother, My Friend

Dear, Dear Mother,

Today is your birthday and just one of many times that I think about all those years we spent together in Idaho. Remember when I was 16 and newly married? We lived downstairs in your and Dad's big brick house on Palmer Rd. You never complained about that. Every night you cooked dinner and every night we gathered around the kitchen bar, blessed the food, and ate. You cooked simply, Mother, and I know that sometimes you felt that your food wasn't fancy enough, especially compared to the way my mother cooked. Hers was just different, that's all. I tried to assure you that your food was delicious but I don't know that you were ever convinced. You fixed chicken, roast beef, or hamburger patties, mashed or baked potatoes, gravy, a canned vegetable (usually green beans) and sometimes a salad or beet pickles from the fruit room downstairs. Chicken was either fried in the big black iron skillet, or put in the oven in a roasting pan and nobody could match your milk gravy! (Brandon never stopped talking about it as long as he lived). Beef was always roasted surrounded by potatoes and carrots. And steak from the grass-fed beef was sometimes substituted for hamburger. For dessert you served homemade fruit pie (remember how you'd make 12 at a time and freeze them?), jello salad, or canned peaches which you and Dad bottled every summer. You always set the bar with your everyday dishes--white Corelle ware with the yellow gold trim, plastic gold tumblers, paper napkins, salt and pepper, slices of homemade bread, and ice in our cups. Dad drank soda pop every night and you usually drank water. Larry and I usually drank soda pop or milk, but sometimes you fixed Koolaide. Larry's place was on the round stool closest to the wall, giving his left-handed elbow freedom to move. I sat next to him on his right, and Dad sat a space down from me, closest to the telephone. As the children came, the bar accomodated them and their high chairs, too. I never told you how much it meant to me for all those happy times around that kitchen bar, happier than any other place I can think of. And over the years, you sat across from all of us in the corner where the big cabinets that Dad built joined each other so you could get to the stove or refrigerator easily if we wanted seconds.

Sunday meals were the same as every day meals except for more choices of food, and then you used the clear glass tumblers with the painted flowers on them. Only when we had large family gatherings did we eat around the dining room table and the bar. I loved it when you used your pretty china with the roses on them and a tablecloth to protect the dining room set you'd inherited from your sister, Marvel. Age determined who sat at the dining table and who sat at the bar with preferential treatment oldest to youngest, but the kids didn't seem to mind where they ate since they were always hungry for your home cooking. If we had a really, really large group, the adults fed the kids first, sent them outside or downstairs, and then we ate. How I miss those precious times together in that house. You and Dad were my parents in almost every sense of the word.

Only one experience with you gives me cause for chagrin and that was shortly after Larry and I were married. I don't think that I ever thanked you for it and the lesson you and Dad taught me about growing up and taking adult responsibility.

After our family dinners, Larry and I jumed up from the table and usually went downstairs or outside. Sometimes we joined Dad in the den to watch television. Several weeks went by and one night Dad took Larry aside and told him, "You guys are not children anymore. Marci should help Mother with the dishes after we eat." Needless to say, when Larry told me, I was mortified. I knew better than that! I guess I was so wrapped up in my own life that it never occurred to me to lend you a hand. Typical teenager. I simply hadn't stopped to think about the work and sacrifices you were making for us, and indeed, I felt like one of your own from the beginning. I guess you could say that, married or not, that's when I began to grow up. I was eager to jump in and help you after that and you always thanked me. Looking back, I realize that all those after- dinner times together formed the basis for our life-long friendship. My memories of putting food away, washing out the gold porcelain sink, and washing and drying off the big counter are sweet ones. I even love the memory of how you always put your little dish with the plastic fruit in the center of the bar after we were finished. I have that dish now and it's a reminder of you and all you taught me. I will love you forever! Happy Birthday, Mother.

Mother's Boundless Love

It didn't occur to me just how much Mother loved me, and how good she was at showing that love, until after I became a grandmother. When my children were born, the center of my world was them. No child had ever been born that was as beautiful, smart or adorable as mine. (The adorable part waned during adolescence, but that's another story). Mother agreed with me, or I believed she did. So over the span of eight years, while I was having children, I telephoned Mother frequently about "firsts." First steps. First waves bye-bye. First words.

"Mother! Guess what? Brandon said "Dada!"
"Mother! Guess what? Chantel sang the alphabet to us backwards in Spanish!" (Just kidding Tel, but you were a quick-minded little thing).
"Mother! Guess what? Clayton is sitting up by himself, right now!"

I was so thrilled with every little accomplishment and I never tired of sharing the news with her. It never once occured to me that perhaps she wasn't as thrilled as I was. Never mind that she had already raised her six siblings, a couple of cousins, a nephew, five children of her own, and by the time Clayton came along, was the grandmother of thirteen and the great-grandmother of at least three more. Oh, no, she had seen her share of many firsts, yet she always responded the same to the announcements of mine:

"Ohhhh? Well, isn't that special?"

I always heard the smiling in her voice. And I always hung up marveling at how amazing my children were. Now as I look back, I wonder that she loved me that much. Because I truly believe that she did know how I felt, because she had felt it too and yet she never tired of the wonder of little ones. Her love was boundless. When I called to share my happiness with another woman, she of all the women in my life, knew how I felt. Unlike I who laughs at the wrong things and doesn't always have the right words, Mother always knew what to say. I was blessed to be her daughter-in-law those many years. Someday I will see her again and I'll tell her once more how much those years meant to me. And with a smile on her face, she'll look me in the eyes and say, "Ohhhh? And wasn't that special?" And I'll reply with a smile too, "Indeed, Mother. Indeed it was."

I am moving

to Baltimore very soon. I had planned to wait until the end of summer and go before grad school starts, but the plan now is to drive across country, arriving in Baltimore around the 15th of December. I feel great about this and I've received nothing but support for my decision, even though it will be difficult to say goodbye. A whole lot is happening now also, and the time before me feels as though it will shrink and disappear like a dark highway seen from a moving car. I'm working on Christmas presents so I can leave them here rather than ship them from the east coast. I'm doing the cooking for Thanksgiving this year--when have I not?? Then I'm going to Idaho with family right after Thanksgiving to attend and speak at a funeral for one of the dearest women in the world--my mother-in-law--a bittersweet experience. When I get home I have to pack--books, china and crystal, clothing; get the car tuned up and ready; decide on which things to take with me and which things to leave for the moving company; and there are a few people that I must see in person before I leave. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yeah, I really, really want to weed my garden one more time and leave it looking satisfied and happy. My niece Jasmine is planning to take it over after I go. Thanks, sweetheart! I can't think of anything that would make me happier.

In case anyone is wondering, I'm also seeing my oncologist right before I leave. My Kaiser will transfer to the Baltimore/D.C. Kaiser area. Woo-hoo! I'll continue with health care but as far as I'm concerned, the cancer is gone and it's not coming back.

My 76 year-old mother has decided to be my traveling companion from Utah--about 1/3 of the way there. It's been many years since I've had Christmas with my Mom. Her presence in Baltimore will make four generations under one roof. With the passing of my mother-in-law, I realize how precious the time with my own mother is. Mom can be a hoot but I've learned that when it comes to her, expect anything. Time stops. Expectations drop. It's a different world and I just go with the flow. At any rate, Mom and I will be making memories. (Just last night she told me about a staged food fight she and my dad had while they were entertaining guests! Forty-nine years old I had never heard that story until now.) I'm going to let AAA map our route for us, but maybe we'll meander a bit and stop in the old neighborhoods in Kansas City and/or St. Jo. I'm also hoping to blog during our trip, at least a time or two.

Bottom line is that I really do feel led to Baltimore by the hand of the Lord. This is not a move that I'm taking lightly. Many unknowns await me and sometimes I have these mini anxiety attacks where I stop what I'm doing and concentrate on breathing...inhale...exhale...Most of the time though, I have the feeling that I'll enjoy many new and wonderful experiences. Please don't be sad. I'll be back often for visits. After all, my little Rolan is here as are my sons and many others I hold dear. Speaking of Rolan, I copied this photo from Michele's and Clayton's blog so you can see how fabulously cute my newest grandson is...

A True Story

One evening in the small rural town of Burley, Idaho, Mother and Dad were at home and Dad was listening to BYU sports on the radio. It was after supper and their five children had long since married and moved away. Mother didn't want to interrupt the game and besides, she wasn't even sure what was happening, so she waited awhile before telling her husband about the pain in her arm and chest. Needless to say, they made a mad dash to the local hospital where the doctors determined that Mother was having a heart attack. She was life-flighted to Salt Lake City, Utah.

While Dad and their daughter, Beverly, drove south in the car toward Salt Lake, Mother felt her spirit leaving her body. She was in a white mist and moving. She knew she was going and she prayed. She didn't try to bargain. She simply told Heavenly Father that she wasn't ready to go yet. She told him that she wanted to spend more time with her family and she trusted that he heard her and would answer. She was 72 years old then and God answered her prayers. He gave her another twenty years together with us.

I've been trying to think of how my life would have been different if Mother had died then instead of now.

I wouldn't have had the pleasure of introducing mother to the women in my ward as "my good friend, and my mother-in-law."

We wouldn't have had the joy of having Mother and Dad living right over the back fence every winter during tree farm season, letting the children play and take turns eating dinner with them.

We wouldn't have enjoyed going to ward parties together, having family home evening, or just visiting in the living room in the evenings after the sun went down.

We wouldn't have pictures from the year we made old-fashioned tree garland from popcorn and cranberries.

I wouldn't have heard Dad bear his testimony of the Book of Mormon, sitting on a stool in the out building where he read the Book of Mormon cover to cover in between customers shopping for the perfect tree. It was the first and only time he ever said anything about it and I'll never forget the feeling I had, hearing his words.

If mother had died twenty years ago, she wouldn't have felt the influence of the holy ghost which prompted her to call us and beg us to tell Brandon not to drive across Nevada at night--a premonition that went unheeded. Such is the power of agency--but that's a different story.

They wouldn't have watched their grandchildren grow into responsible, kind, and loving adults with children of their own.

Mother wouldn't have heard Alyssa and Serena sing to her during a visit when they were students at BYU, something she enjoyed immensely and spoke of often.

If Mother had died twenty years ago, we wouldn't have her life story which she wrote and added to occasionally until it was pushing thirty pages and which we now can draw on as a source of strength.

Mostly, if mother had died twenty years ago, we wouldn't have enjoyed the blessings of a woman whose entire life revolved around loving her family and keeping her covenants with God. Her faith that God would answer her prayer became a great blessing to all of us. Mother, we love you and we'll miss you so much.

Mother, Oh Mother

I'm feeling a combination of sadness, anticipation and wonder right now. Mother's time is drawing to a close and I weep as I write this, even as I rejoice that she and Dad will finally be together again. Mother has said repeatedly that she doesn't know why the Lord has kept her here so long. I don't have an answer for her, but for our sakes, I'm glad she has lived these many years and I feel blessed every time I think about her influence in my life.

I was one day of 16 when I got married. I had met Mother only a few times and we really didn't know each other at all. I know that she and Dad were heartbroken when they got into Larry's room one night and found the note he'd left telling them of our whereabouts and our plans. They went to see the bishop who told them there were a lot of things worse than getting married. Mother and Dad decided right then that they would support our decision. Surely they must have worried and wept and wondered, especially since our decision eliminated the hopes they had for their son to serve a mission and marry a nice Mormon girl. It wasn't long before I became that girl, but in the meantime and forever after we never felt anything from them but support.

The evening of our wedding (we were in Salt Lake City after a fruitless but mad dash to Las Vegas) Larry called his parents. They both got on the phone. Mother said to me, "You are our daughter now and we love you." I felt something touch my heart and I think that right then I began to love her in return. Now that I have grown children of my own, I marvel at Mother's and Dad's commitment to stand by us no matter what. They spent the rest of their lives teaching by example and showing us all what real love is all about.

Change of Plans

Most of you know by now that I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I apologize if you are finding out for the first time. Everything has happened at top speed, including diagnosis, settling on a treatment plan, and moving out of my condo. Larry managed to squeeze in our long planned trip to Idaho to see mother as well. I adore and revere her and I'm so glad that I got to see her when I did. She will be 91 in September.

Tomorrow I have surgery at Kaiser. I'll be at the hospital for about a week, then I will be staying with my sister Rachel in Concord. Chemo will start in 2 to 3 weeks. My new mailing address is 1777 Kirker Pass Rd, Concord, 94521. My cell phone number is the same, but I will probably not be on the phone much. I have every confidence in my Heavenly Father and the love of so many friends and family members. This will not be fun, but in the end, all will be well. I will post more as I'm able. With love...