This is my mother.
Her name was Charlotte Lorene. She hated her middle name.
I remember asking her why. "I just don't like it."
That was a typical response from Mama. Two others: "Just because...." usually followed by "I don't," and every mother's response "Because I said so," laid just behind the first one. My mother was never very forthcoming or verbose when it came to that sort of thing. Communication for her was direct and simple. To the point. At times, it didn't serve her well - she often came across to those who either didn't know her, or to those whose feelings were easily touched, as insensitive. Perhaps she was. But, to her credit, she rarely ever meant to be. She simply spoke her mind, as she would call it. "Telling the truth."
Mama wasn't the easiest woman to grow up with. She could be critical to a fault and held high expectations of her children. There were times when I was young I thought she felt and believed we should be mind readers and KNOW what she wanted.
For all of her shortcomings, Mama had many wonderful attributes. She was a good mother who adored and loved all of her children. She tried to love us all equally, but I think that is a difficulty for any mother. All children are not made alike. At any rate, she attempted to treat us equally and that was the best she, or any mother, could be expected to do.
Mama enjoyed having our friends over to the house when we were young. She had a way of being there and being absent at the same time. She could be a lot of fun and she had a great sense of humor. I know she loved to dance and played bridge, poker and golf. She was good at the two latter. I don't know about the former. Mama had a good many friends, many who drove miles at their elderly ages to attend her funeral. I was overwhelmed with the numbers who showed up to pay their last respects.
Mama's last years were hard. She had been divorced from my father a little over 30 years. She never really forgave him for leaving, but she was still hit hard when he died. His presence in our lives, and hers, is another story entirely. Mama lived alone in her condo when she began having health issues. Health issues she kept from her children, mostly because she didn't want to be a burden and partly because of her fears of being dependent and in a nursing home. Mama was a cancer survivor of 13 years when she passed away unexpectedly. She'd beat the cancer, but couldn't beat the ravages of time on the body and brain. Even then, though, she remained a very pretty lady who still loved her family.
To say I miss my mother is simply not enough. Mama would leave it at that. I cannot. The death of my mother has been the most difficult, emotional upheaval of all the things I've ever experienced. It made me much more aware of the positive influence her life had on me, rather than focusing on the regular bickering that was our habit. I wish every day that she was back. That I could have a few do-overs. That I could say some things more gently and not say other things at all.
When I look in the mirror these days, I see a lot of my mother looking back. I favor my father as well, but I have my mother's body, her eyebrows, her tenacity, her directness and her hands. The highest compliment anyone can give me is to say, "You remind me so much of your mother." Good and bad, I love that. I love her. I miss her every single day.
