In Gratitude for My Brave Momma

My Mom was a character. Funny, outspoken, warm and talented in many ways. You never forgot her even if you met her only briefly. There are many adjectives you could use to describe her. She raised me so I consider myself somewhat experienced in my ability to choose the adjective that best describes her: Brave. She faced adversity with courage, dignity and humor. And she wasn’t a quitter, either. She had a mental toughness I can only aspire to. This chilly Fall morning, a mere 8 weeks after her passing, I miss her so terribly but am thankful to have a deep well of experiences from which to draw upon her many acts of bravery.

This photo, for example, represents my first inkling that I had a brave Momma. It is the morning of my 8th grade graduation and it had been a hard year for our family. Only 46 and seeing the completion of her child-raising years, Mom convinced Dad to uproot from our family farm in Southern Missouri and relocate to St. Louis, Missouri, where my sister and I would attend one of the state’s highest ranked private Catholic secondary schools and live at home. This was brave on many fronts. Mom was ready to enjoy her second act exploring her personal interests. She was getting restless on the farm and wanted the rest of her life to have meaning. Reluctantly, my Dad agreed and we sold our beautiful home in the middle of a soybean field and headed to the big city. While Mom definitely had the class, experience and social skills to navigate our family through this vastly foreign terrain, what mattered most was her bravery, because there were many moments when it all just seemed too difficult for many us.

I didn’t realize this 13 years ago, but I applied the many things I learned watching Mom through those years to my own family when we made a similar move from the country to the city. I wanted to help my children achieve their own sense of personal belonging in a new place without losing their identity as my Mom had helped me do 40 years earlier. As a parent, when you change from having the home that kids flocked to during the summer and on weekends to adapting to the crazy intense competitive “helicopter parenting” in the city, the pressure can bring you to your knees. My Mom stayed strong and never lost herself during those wild teenage years of mine in the big city. While I tried to emulate her in my own experience, I definitely got lost many times because I’m not as brave as she. But I always had the gift of her example to draw upon.

As Mom grew older, she faced frightening health challenges that ultimately rendered her bedridden. The brave and strong woman who always led the way in our family was suddenly vulnerable and dependent on others for care. It was almost too painful to acknowledge at times. Especially as I watched the changes from a distance, raising my own family and charting my own “second act” as she had so gracefully done decades before. Mom managed the bedridden decade with dignity, grace and enormous bravery. Only last year, as her 90th birthday approached and she was putting her life in perspective, she said to me, “This is my life and I have to live it.” Acceptance is the ultimate form of bravery. She showed all of us that strength literally means submitting to one’s circumstances and making the best of what you have. Mom had the ability to use her mind as a place to escape to and create her reality. During times when other people could not see a path forward for themselves, my Mother declared to me she intended to live the life she had been given. I am still overwhelmed with love and admiration.

The last time I entered Mom’s beautiful pink room, instead of finding her there, big blue eyes and soothing voice, happy to see me, I found a single red rose where she used to lay. The red rose symbolizes beauty, love and courage. It perfectly represented my Mom. Her example of bravery sustains me. She saw her journey, rife with challenges, through to completion, and I am most humbled and grateful. Stepping forward into my last decades, I carry my Mom with me, and hopefully more than a little of her feisty spirit. She showed me that I can face anything. I only wish I didn’t have to do it without her.

As my six siblings and I prepare to bid farewell to both our parents back on the family farm soon, I will be thinking of their strength and love. And when I feel sad, I’ll play my Mom’s favorite love song, Rod Stewart’s “You’re in my Heart,” and think of her dancing in her kitchen. I’ll remember she will be in my heart and in my soul, and hopefully she tucked in a little bravery.