I miss Mom.
I remember often wondering in her last years of life if I would miss her when she died. It wasn’t that we didn’t have a connection, or that I had a bad relationship with her. In fact, we played very well together! It was just that we never quite learned how to bring our FULL selves to each other.
And yet… I miss her…. in the past almost-six months since she died, thank God I miss her.
Because it’s in those times that I miss her that I find my memory Mom — the one I had before her age and her Parkinsons turned my role from daughter to reluctant part-time caretaker.
The Mom who was the recipient of my child-hearted wildflower picking sprees and the subject of my early life thankyou poems and the curator of my youthful wall gallery of drawings.
When I miss Mom now, it’s often little Starla (aka “Baby”… *blush*) doing the missing. Which surprises me. It surprises me because I spent much of my adolescence and young-adulthood focusing on what I thought Mom wasn’t. Yet now, as her physical self is no longer here, the memories that surface are the ones about everything Mom was and did and gave.
Romanticizing the past? I really don’t think so. I know Mom was imperfect, and I was imperfect, and our relationship brought its share of lack and wishing and wanting and longing to my young heart.
And it also had its moments. The moments that I now realize meant enough to me at the time of my youth that they are currently my foremost Mom memories. The memories that as an adult I recognize as significant moments of Mom offering her heart, back when I thought she was keeping it from me.
The mostly cream-and-sugar tiny cup of coffee she served special on Sunday mornings before church — out of the little Mexico adobe teacups (never mind the likely poisonous chemicals seeping from the pottery-making methods. it wasn’t intentional.)
The special Friday night family time ritual of otherwise almost-forbidden treats of hot dogs (Mom’s favorite), potato chips, and *gasp* Dr. Pepper! … which with age became family (and friends) Friday night pizza and ice cream at the Valley Mall … which then became Friday night pizza and ice-cream in my own home(s) after that… which is now…um… Friday night wine time. Ok, so maybe not exactly what Mom — the alcohol-abstinent Mennonite pastor’s wife – envisioned, but the Friday night ritual of connection remains.
The hot breakfast of Cream of Wheat or Coco Wheats (score!!) she served us kids every wintery morning before our shivery walks to the bus stop.
The piece of gum she’d put on the window sill in front of the kitchen sink as our reward for washing dishes.
The way she showed me that a light caramelly color is the way you know when you have the perfect amount of cream your coffee.
The old bread she tossed out in the yard for the birds, even though she wasn’t particularly taken with nature.
The way she taught me that you cook simply by putting ” a little of this and a little of that” into a dish to get the spices just right.
The delight she expressed when a meal included a beautiful array of color, never mind how it might taste.
Mom gave me moments. I see now that she was the one gave me the example of paying attention to the seemingly small delights in life… which are the whole foundation, it turns out, for living a full, grateful, vibrant, powerful, loving life.
I write this today because I have realized in a whole new way since my parents’ deaths that every time you pay attention — really pay attention — you give your children, your grandchildren, your niecephews, your parents, and your anyone around you — a gift. A gift that might not be recognized for 10, 20, even 30 or 40 years, but a still a gift.
You see, it’s in paying attention that you express your Love — to each other, to nature, to yourself, and to your g(G)od(s).
And it’s in paying attention that you make moments. Moments that speak more clearly than words as the years (and lives) pass.
What are your moments today — are you paying attention?
lentigogirl said,
March 8, 2011 at 11:45 am
crying. I miss my dad. And mourning and celebrating the moments with my mom, and with my kids.
Starla J. King said,
March 8, 2011 at 11:48 am
*handing you kleenex* . Yes, yes, ALL of that, lentigogirl! I’m at Panera now, but I expect a crying jag myself later. xo.
Mir said,
March 8, 2011 at 12:34 pm
I think I just got a light shone on my path for how to “do” the next few months.
Starla J. King said,
March 9, 2011 at 9:18 am
It is my honor to be the holder of your flashlight today, dear Mir.
Lisa Druxman said,
March 8, 2011 at 12:43 pm
Tears and goose bumps. Our lives are truly made up of memories of the little things that we didn’t expect to make a big impression. Starla, this was just beautiful and it touched my heart.
Starla J. King said,
March 9, 2011 at 9:19 am
Lisa, that’s the incredible beauty of life, isn’t it? We don’t know today what an amazing impact today’s “little things” may have in the future. It. ALL. Matters.
Rosanne Jantzi said,
March 8, 2011 at 1:18 pm
Wonderful tribute to Queen Betty and the way she moved through life admiring all the little things. Her taking a moment and paying attention is actually one of the things I remember about her from my jaunts to the King Castle. She was present. Her eyes had the glint in them with a joke or tease sitting on the edge of her lips. Thank you for reminding us all to be present and take a moment cuz these small moments change the world. Loved the photos – so perfect. Great one of you and Heid.
Starla J. King said,
March 9, 2011 at 9:21 am
Rosanne, thank you so much for sharing your memories — you capture exactly the “memory Mom” in my heart. The one with eyes with a glint and a joke or tease at the ready.
The pic of Heidi and me might be my favorite picture in the whole world. Except for all the others that also are.
Kristy said,
March 8, 2011 at 1:38 pm
Starla–Beautiful, meaningful, and special…you managed to also bring up some of my own memories with Grandmother through sharing yours (I’d forgotten about pizza night at the mall for instance). I also think your timing was spot on–as her birthday would have been this Thursday (3/10). Thanks for sharing and for feeling and for reminding. Love you!
Starla J. King said,
March 9, 2011 at 9:22 am
Nieceling Kristy, I didn’t expect Mom’s birthday to be a particularly significant date for me — but I suspect that is indeed why her presence and her absence are both so on my mind these past few days!
Kris Bergey said,
March 9, 2011 at 6:36 pm
I Love this, Starla Jane. I’ve read it a few times, and every time something else stands out to me. It made me teary as a daughter, a granddaughter, and as the mother of a teenage girl who I hope has meaningful memories of me one day. As always…thank you for sharing your heart
Starla J. King said,
March 9, 2011 at 6:57 pm
Krispy, I heart you. For everything you wrote, and for allowing yourself to step into these words. Your daughter is one freakin’ lucky chick.
Marybeth Gregg said,
March 14, 2011 at 2:27 pm
Dear Starla,
I was going to your website for resource information and came across this article and the breath was knocked out of me as I read it. My mom also died from Parknson’s Disease after a long battle, so I felt as if your words were written for my soul. My dad died about a year ago so that grief is still new. As I sit here with many tears, I also feel lightened by your words and memories. I love what you said – “Thank God I miss her”. This reminded me to be grateful for the loving mother and father I had and for the legacy she and my dad gave me – a legacy of unselfish love and giving to be passed down to my daughter as well and hopefully to future generations. Starla, thank you for sharing this story – it has touched me deeply.
Starla J. King said,
March 14, 2011 at 2:59 pm
Marybeth, thank you so much for letting me know the impact of this post! I continue to be in awe of every time that my real sharing here online touches someone else right where they need it. My parents died 3 months apart, so I empathize with your sense of loss … combined with the gratitude of who each parent was and still IS in each of us.
May love stay with you, Marybeth. xo
Lorin said,
March 17, 2011 at 10:53 pm
Starla, This blog post was mentioned to me today by someone that said it had ‘big impact’ on her… so I had to stop over. What a treat reading your words this evening. And as always your timing is impeccable, I was walking around today thinking of my grandmothers today and reminded of the little things. Their laughs, their smells, the things that they believed in, how they sneezed (Sierra sneezed like one of them!), how one loved St. Patricks day, how we celebrated their birthdays… it all matters. In gratitude my friend. Thank God we miss them… it is their shoulders we stand – together. In gratitude for you.
Starla J. King said,
March 18, 2011 at 9:44 am
Lorin, dear woman… I am struck by the particular beauty of the “little thing” of Sierra sneezing like your grandmother… ! And yes, the other little things that somehow take us right to the ESSENCE of who our loved ones were and what they meant/still mean to us.
Thank God we miss them.
And that we do have each other. XO.
Chris FM said,
March 19, 2011 at 4:02 pm
Starla – with tears, deep respect and gratitude – for sharing the moments – and the beautiful reminder. Your writing gently enfolds me into the truth of your mom and the glory of being present. and making moments.