Forget-Me-Nots...

The other day Emma asked me if her Mom was only near when she thought about her. I told her that her Mom was always near. But when she thinks about her or talks about her, she's even closer. I believe that. It's comforting to think my Mom is just a breath away.

This week, my mind's eye treated me to a series of vignettes depicting moments I shared with my Mom. Most of them were childhood repeats, oldies but goodies. I was the protagonist, of course. My Mom played a supporting role and there were a few bit parts for family and friends. They all took place in the house where I grew up. An old place that cost my Grandmother fifty dollars. After the purchase, she had it pulled down the hill on a flatbed by a team of horses to its new dirt basement in the valley. My Mom was just three years old then. Grandpa used lumber from an old haunted house to build the kitchen, livingroom and three bedrooms. The eight of them lived in the dirt basement until it was finished. My Mom was seven years old when they finally moved upstairs. It was fancy enough in its day with gas lamps and indoor plumbing. Oddly enough, one of the vignettes I had the pleasure of viewing took place in the bathroom.

Mom would fill the old claw tub with hot water and lots of bubbles. She would sit with me while I languished in the depths and we'd talk or she'd watch me play and just unwind quietly from a long day. Then she'd pull the plug and I'd sit and watch my dirt swirl down the drain. On one occasion as I witnessed my weekly sins circling, I asked her, "Mom, is there a God?"  She was quiet a moment and replied, "There's a God if you need there to be a God." Then she wrapped me up in a towel, lifted me out of the tub and cradled me on her lap, rubbing me briskly to dry me off. When I was sufficiently dried, she lifted up my left arm and strummed my rib cage with her fingers like I was an old banjo. We both laughed. Later, as an adult, when I felt like my life was circling the drain, her words echoed in my mind. She was right, there is a God when you need one.

Mom did her best to give me some religious foundation. When my regular attendance at Sunday School waned she gave me the guidance to know right from wrong.  Eventually, we had a discussion about the four letter 'F' word. She was not in favor of the way that word was bandied about and abused. As a pre-teen, I was keen to experiment with letting it roll off my tongue. She suggested I look the word up in our unabridged dictionary. It was a tome at least eight inches thick and had a place in our home on top of the hinged bench that my brother made in high school shop class. I hoisted it onto the livingroom floor, hooked my index finger in the DEF tab and began my search. When I found it in those pages the word was instantly robbed of its shock value. After all, any curse word worth its merit shouldn't be defined in a dictionary. That day I learned that the 'F' word is an acronym for the phrase; For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. This took some of the steam out of my desire to use it. I'm proud to say that my Mom, to my knowledge, never let that word cross her lips. Sadly, even armed with the real meaning of the word, those near and dear will not be able to say the same of me. 

Mom wasn't a saint by any means and had her vices. She smoked cigarettes until I was in grade six. I think my interest in the habit might have been the catalyst to her reform. My friend Betsy and I, when we could afford to, bought Craven M's at the local corner store. In leaner times we stole my Uncle John's Export A's. They weren't filter tipped, so we would snitch two at a time, cut them in half and store them in the toy fridge in the basement. When the time was right, we'd sneak downstairs and smoke them with the window wide open. Mom always had a keen sense of smell and one day as we wafted by, she stopped us and asked if we'd been smoking. Neither one of us were good liars. So she sat both of us down and said, "I don't want you sneaking cigarettes or buying your own. If you want to smoke, just ask me and I'll give you one." Betsy and I thought this was the best gig ever and took advantage of it. Sometimes Mom would even sit and have a cigarette with us. But it didn't take long before the novelty wore off and we lost the desire for a cigarette. The two of us were the only kids in our group of friends who never picked up the habit. And I was the only one of my parent's three children who never smoked. I credit Mom for our avoidance of nicotine. She did us a favor. She knew what's not forbidden is usually forsaken. Lucky for us she never forgot what it was like to be a kid.

Mom & Me 1962

I was lucky to have such a terrific Mom all my growing up life. I had the kind of Mom every kid wanted. She played ball with us, took us swimming, baited our hooks when we went fishing, caught frogs with us, baked us cookies, rode a bike, laughed at our jokes and gave us her precious time. She was the best. This mental reel to reel was like gathering a bouquet of memories.  Emma isn't as fortunate. Her time with her Mom was so short compared to my own. I guess it's up to those around her to help her remember her Mom and keep her close - to help Emma gather a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

The rest is pixie dust...