It has been 25 years today since I said goodbye to my mother. Although I try not to focus on sad anniversary days, I found her in my thoughts today. They were pleasant thoughts, but each time, I realized how much I missed her.
I had the pleasure of having one of those mother-daughter relationships that just wasn't ever difficult. My memories are of her teaching me her love for reading as we spent mornings in the library and afternoons curled up with good books. Most of my life, my mother was curled in the corner of the couch with a good book. We would make lunch, take it in the living room, each find a spot and just sit and read. Only she could pick out a book that I would love.
I remember summer days of gathering with my girlfriends while my mother opened the little cedar box filled with beautiful colors of embroidery thread. She would sit down and show us each new stitch, patiently, and then we would sit under the apple tree and embroider all day. Maybe I learned my love of color, which is now enjoyed playing with yarns, from my mother. I loved being the one to open a new hank of thread and see the effect of it on the canvas of my new creation. Not much different than when I begin to knit each new project today, I guess.
She loved her dogs. Recent years included Jewel, Mickey and Little Bit who lasted until Mom's last day. That dog stayed by her side and cried along with us when she pased away. I don't think I could live without dogs, but I learned that from her too. Animals just love you unconditionally and I learned how to love them.
I think of her delight when my children were small and they would come to visit her. She always had some candy surprise for them, a little waterpaint book and something extra for each one. They knew she would have it and couldn't wait to get to Grandma's house. She and Joey shared Inspector Gadget cartoons and to this day, I don't know what they loved about it, but they did. She always called him her "Rotten Little Kid" and loved the T shirt that she found and bought for him with the inscription. She put up with all of us, never getting too upset, no matter what we did. She served our friends cookies and hot chocolate on cold winter mornings, as they picked us up to walk to the bus. She put up with kids in the house always, impromptu parties organized by both her husband and children, sons who got into more than mischief and never seemed to lose her patience. No wonder Dave and I call her
Saint Shirley!
The more I sit here tonight, missing her, the more I realize that she loved her family more than anything in life. Yes, she belonged to the PTA, worked with Cub Scouts and Girls Scouts, was kind to neighborhood kids and animals, but what she really loved was her family. No wonder I miss her so much.
