Today is the day on which my mother was born. I can barely imagine the old clapboard house, dark with age, setting in the middle of nowhere at the time, where Mom was born. Gram was not supposed to be able to have another child, but God saw things differently. He endowed Lillian with her father's quick wit and wry sense of humor, with her mother's stubbornness and determined persistence. She learned to be a scrapper from her older brother who lorded it over the roost.
Mom sometimes talked about going to bed in a house without central heat, of warming bricks in the wood stove, wrapping them in cloths, and putting them at the foot of her bed before having to jump into the icy sheets. She told tales of chamber pots and outhouses, of summer kitchens and chickens, of her father working on the first cars and getting a contract from Skippy Peanut Butter to keep their trucks running.
She told stories about cats and dogs and hating math in school, of living with relatives like her grandparents, of Christmases with homemade decorations, of the smell of coffee and bacon. Then came college and falling in love and birthing twins and losing one she never saw. I think she never did come to terms with the death of Philip, but she was filled with spunk and hard work and a strong work ethic that she embossed on her children.
Still, she had a loving and tender heart. She read to us every single night, long before that was the thing to do. She saw that we celebrated all the holidays fully and never seemed to tire of making Halloween costumes and doll clothes and beautiful quilts. I never quite figured out how she learned her parenting skills. Surely not from her Mother, though Gram was a remarkable woman. But Mom was so much more gracious and thoughtful, so concerned that her children be treated well even though we did not have much money.
She taught us survival by surviving. She taught us the importance of education even though she did not hold a professional career position. She taught us to notice what was going on with others and to do something about it. She tracked the important stuff and left us a lifetime legacy of rituals to pass on to our children.
Though she languished at the end of her time here on earth, she was loved and cared for just as she had loved and cared. Now that she is with Philip and Dad and my son Michael, I hope she realizes that we love and remember her especially on this day, and thank her for all she did while with us. Love you, Mom. Happy no-longer-counting birthday.
Mom sometimes talked about going to bed in a house without central heat, of warming bricks in the wood stove, wrapping them in cloths, and putting them at the foot of her bed before having to jump into the icy sheets. She told tales of chamber pots and outhouses, of summer kitchens and chickens, of her father working on the first cars and getting a contract from Skippy Peanut Butter to keep their trucks running.
She told stories about cats and dogs and hating math in school, of living with relatives like her grandparents, of Christmases with homemade decorations, of the smell of coffee and bacon. Then came college and falling in love and birthing twins and losing one she never saw. I think she never did come to terms with the death of Philip, but she was filled with spunk and hard work and a strong work ethic that she embossed on her children.
Still, she had a loving and tender heart. She read to us every single night, long before that was the thing to do. She saw that we celebrated all the holidays fully and never seemed to tire of making Halloween costumes and doll clothes and beautiful quilts. I never quite figured out how she learned her parenting skills. Surely not from her Mother, though Gram was a remarkable woman. But Mom was so much more gracious and thoughtful, so concerned that her children be treated well even though we did not have much money.
She taught us survival by surviving. She taught us the importance of education even though she did not hold a professional career position. She taught us to notice what was going on with others and to do something about it. She tracked the important stuff and left us a lifetime legacy of rituals to pass on to our children.
Though she languished at the end of her time here on earth, she was loved and cared for just as she had loved and cared. Now that she is with Philip and Dad and my son Michael, I hope she realizes that we love and remember her especially on this day, and thank her for all she did while with us. Love you, Mom. Happy no-longer-counting birthday.
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