Today would have been my Mom’s 58th birthday. This will be the second birthday since she passed away. I got an analogy the other day as I was sitting at the beach about grief. It’s kinda like surfing, or at least how I see surfing seeing as how I have never done it myself.
What I’ve seen of surfing you begin by laying on your stomach on the board and paddling out. You wait for “the big one,” hop up on your feet, and ride it in until you either fall off or you reach the beach. I feel like this is how my grieving process has gone. I’ll decide, “I’m good! I got this! I can do this!” I hop on the board of life and paddle out determined to get on with my life. An amazing wave comes along and I jump to my feet. I’m riding strong, but like every awesome wave, it must come to an end. As the water reaches the shore, I slow down and come to a stop. Sometimes I crash before I get to the shore, but most times I gradually find myself sad and missing my Mom. After a little bit of time gathering my composure on the beach, I get back on the board and paddle back out. Each time the wave comes in I manage it a little better. But it keeps coming back in.
I was well warned by my amazing counselors, Dr. Chuck and Karen Lorrain, that anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, etc. would be trigger points. It’s then no surprise that May has been a month of a quick succession waves with both Mothers Day and my Mom’s birthday. Over the last 17 months there have been times when I felt like I couldn’t remember things about her. Tonight as I scrubbed off the marks of a night spent painting the youth room, memories came flooding back.
My Mom loved music, all kinds of music. She definitely instilled that in me. Though, by her own admission, she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Looking back it wasn’t that bad, and I’d give anything to hear her sing, “My petunia...” like she used to do in an attempt to embarrass me. As a child she would sing me to sleep, “Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep baby, Kara. Close your eyes. Suck your thumb. Pick some fuss and dream some dreams.” (Yes, I was a thumb sucker, and I used to pick the fuss of my baby blanket and rub it under my nose as I fell asleep.)
I remember when she graduated from World Harvest Bible College (now Valor Christian) they gave all of the students an opportunity to sing in the choir on the Sunday morning of graduation. She was SO EXCITED! She knew it was her only opportunity to ever sing in a choir, but she loved to sing and worship so much she just couldn’t help but participate. She was so excited to get to wear a choir robe and be in the stand in the risers with the others. It was definitely the icing on her Bible College experience.
She is definitely the one that encouraged, pushed, persuaded, and sometimes demanded that I pursue singing and developing my gift. She enrolled me in voice and piano lessons when I was in third grade, but then we moved. In High School she kept asking me if I wanted to take lessons from the voice teacher of one of my best friends. I was not exactly thrilled with the idea and kept turning her down. Eventually she made me go, and I’m so glad she did. I think I took lessons for three years after that until I moved to Florida.
Whenever I would go home we’d always burn copies of our favorite CDs for each other. I eventually bought her an MP3 player and would load it up with new music, or give her suggestions of things to download. She had this dance face she would make, and I often catch myself making the same face.
My Mom was a giver! Sometimes to what I would have described as a fault, but she LOVED to give. This sometimes alarmed me and frequently irritated my Grandmother, Gibby. I’ll never forget the irritated tone in Gibby’s voice when she would retell the story of my Mom giving her diamond tennis bracelet in “some offering.” Gibby was also a giver, but somehow this act was completely preposterous to her.
The year that my Mom and I lived in Boca Raton, Florida she had her first exposure to TBN and TV preachers. One of them was R. W. Shambach. He came within an hour or so drive of where we were living and she decided to go to several nights of meetings. One night we got in the car to head home and I was thirsty. I asked her if we could stop at McDonalds or something to get a drink. She said, “We can’t. I gave all of my cash in the offering.” I panicked! I asked her if she could write a check. No, of course not! Not to mention it was 1990 and fast food places didn’t accept credit cards like they do now. I eventually fell asleep in the car, but the thought that she gave ALL of her cash and we had nothing for the drive home was alarming!
She was always giving things away, buying things for people, purchasing random gifts. She LOVED to give gifts. She was one of the most difficult people to buy for, but she LOVED to give gifts.
Just before Spring Break my Senior year of High School, my friend Stephanie’s Mom passed away of cancer. It was a month before prom and graduation. My Mom decided she wanted to take Stephanie shopping for her prom dress and all the accessories she would need. The three of us went to City Center in downtown Columbus and shopped until we dropped! Just the other day Stephanie sent me a message saying she had just been thinking about that day.
I have often said the number of shoes in my closet is a direct reflection on my Mother! When I was an impressionable Jr. Higher she and Gibby opened a shoe store in our hometown called Lorna’s Fine Footwear. I was all of eleven and twelve years old and surrounded by beautiful expensive shoes like Via Spiga, Cole Haan, and other brands I can’t remember. The gentleman that managed her store thought I was the perfect shoe model and would have me try on all of the new shoes whenever they came in. My Mom would often have to put her foot down and not let me get shoes because they were either impractical or we needed to leave something for the customers to buy. At eleven and twelve I was wearing $100 shoes to school. Looking back it seems ridiculous, but it’s just the way life was then.
She was funny. People loved to be around her, loved her sense of humor. Her laugh was contagious. I can remember when she and her brother would get together they would laugh and laugh. They both laughed until they would wheeze like I do. At her memorial service everyone said that the one thing that stood out the most was how much fun she was and how much she made them laugh.
Like her laugh, her love for the Lord was contagious. Despite circumstances that would turn most people away from God, she pressed passed them for all of Him. She hosted prayer groups at our house when I was in elementary school and when I was in High School lead a women’s group at the house. She encouraged and pushed me to get involved with the youth at our church when we moved to Columbus. She set an example and standard for serving the Lord. If I can measure up to even a quarter of what she did, I will feel successful.
It’s amazing how even after 17 months, I will one minute be thinking of how much I miss her, and in the next nearly forget she’s gone and start to pick up the phone to call her. Maybe it’s because we were separated by distance already so she’s not missing from my daily life like she would have been if we lived near each other. Or maybe it’s just because it’s still not really real.
Though I try not to dwell on it, sometimes I can’t help but think of the things she’ll never be a part of. She won’t be at my wedding or spoil my children, my husband will never have the opportunity to decide if he loves or loathes her, and my children will never know first hand what an amazing grandmother they have. My friend Crystal said something to me the other day that is so true. She said, “You are the best parts of her and they will know you.” I have her eyes, her smile, her hands, and her laugh. They will have those things, those glimpses of her at the very least. I suppose the one bright point is that my husband will never be able to say, “You’re acting like your mother,” in an argument.
I wish so much I could pick up the phone and tell her everything that’s going on, or just sit knowing she’s on the other end of the line like we so often did. I’d give anything to have her standing over my shoulder while I sit at the computer, though it used to annoy me to no end when she did it. I want to make ham balls, eat Di’Carlos, and go to the movies like we would whenever I went home to visit. I want to tell her about being a youth pastor and about my upcoming trip to Honduras.
When I feel overwhelmed by the things she won’t be here for, I find myself encouraged to be and do all I can to make sure the sacrifices she made for me weren’t in vain. She could have done so many amazing things, but deep down I know she sacrificed those things for me. Whether consciously or not, she did. I feel compelled to leave a legacy behind worthy of the sacrifices she made. I will leave that legacy in my children and in the people who I have the opportunity to minister to. In doing so I’ll not just leave my mark on the world, but I’ll leave hers as well.
If there were a gravestone I would have laid flowers on it today. Since there isn’t, this is my bouquet of memories. I love you, Mommy!
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