As the month of Women’s History comes to pass, I remember my mom, Mary. The funny thing is, I don’t have to remember because she is always present. She is present not as the waxing moon in all its phases or some distant adventure in the past. I remember her everyday, even though she is gone.
I remember her in my thoughts of loneliness and times of joy. I remember the yummy yellow turnips she made every Thanksgiving which is now a staple at our Thanksgiving table. A root vegetable, peeled and cut into chunks ,boiled with salt and a piece of smoked turkey wing. Add a bit of black pepper and sugar then mash like mashed potatoes. I remember the times sitting at the table eating Bartlett pears from the can and stuffing the center half with mayonnaise and cheddar cheese mixed together. When I really need her presence, my favorite, be with Mom moment, is sardines, onions, mustard on a cracker.
It is those moments at the table, nourishing the body, feeding the soul, and loving the presence of each other, that I can recreate in the moment. Her sitting next to me and feeling her presence.
I remember how others said her name, Mary. Mary as if it were an expressions of who she was. Her name was said with meaning, with expression, and with love. My mom, Mary. The one who gave what she had to others. She would speak for others that would not speak for themself. She would fight a battle worthy of fighting, even if it were for someone else.
She was Mommy to me. I look at her pictures and still say Mommy. The Mommy that walked me to school on the first day of kindergarten and built the confidence by trusting me and my cousins to make it back home alone. The Mommy that showed delicate care and discipline in the very awkward situation that girls go through when “in love”. A Mommy full of wisdom to raise me up in the way that I should go.
The Mommy that held me accountable to the things I said I would do. Like the high school year of hazing to join a high school sorority- the toilet tissue in the hair and the weird outfits. And the firm no when asked to drive me instead of taking the 2 buses to school.
Mommy, a women of strength- like the hard covering of the yellow turnip. But she was also delicate and seemed like she felt the pain of the world. Like a flower pushing through the hard rocks, she was determined. A mother’s love is never lost on the child. I am my mother’s child and I embrace every moment with gratitude and joy to have known her.
SO, of all the awards and accolades expressed to others during this month of Women’s History- My mom is my reward and I am hers. Thank you Mom for all you did for others. As you rest in the heavens above, may you forever be at peace.
From Momma Jo, to Grandma Callie, to Grandma Catherine, to Mommy Mary, I thank these women for the life they lived, the joy they brought, and the love expressed. I thank them for the worship and prayers prayed that has strengthened this child to stand tall, love others, and love the LORD. I thank them for the peace they showed when times were hard. It is a peace that passes all understanding. And I thank them for being the women they were created to be. For I am better because of them.
To all the other women out there, thank you for being you! Let your light shine!
Always grateful,
Walking In Your Gifts 