Mom's Last Letter

 

At 23, past my “rebellious teenager” years I began to build a relationship with my mother as an adult.

Then she passed away from Leukemia. She was 45.

I am now more than a decade and a half older than my mother when she passed. I try to remember what lessons she may have taught me, but there were so many times in my teenage years I was “mad” at her and well, honestly, I wasn’t listening. I am embarrassed to admit, I referred to her in my diary as “Mommie Dearest”, and I pray to God that she never read those.

My mother often said things like, “Were you born in a barn?” or “Wish in one hand and sh— in the other and see which one fills up first.”

Classics.

            I have had to delve deep into my memories, focusing on the things I remember about my mom. Replaying them in my mind and reflecting on how those events impacted my life.

            The first thing I discovered is a love of dancing!

I vividly remember my mother playing vinyl records on her hi-fi stereo and dancing around the living room. She enjoyed big bands, and one of her favorites was “In the Mood”.

She would dance around the living room enjoying the movement and the music, totally uninhibited.

            I do that as well! I love to dance!

The music I listen to is different from my mother’s, but dancing around to music is in our bones!

And I believe in my grandmother’s bones as well! She loved to dance and indeed, she told me the story of how she met my grandfather when he was at the “Bohemian Hall” for the weekly ballroom dancing.

My grandmother taught ballroom dancing, and although I never took ballroom dancing from her, I DID take ballroom dancing classes, salsa, west coast swing, tap, and line dancing.

            I love to dance, and I learned that from my mother, and my grandmother!

            Also, I discovered the importance of family. Even though this is not something I recognized directly from my mother, my grandmother told me whatever she needed, my mom was there for her. Grandma said all she needed to do was hint that a room needed painting and my mom would show up paint brush in hand.

            I have always tried to be there for my family, even though I am many miles from my sisters, and my grandmother.

When my grandmother moved from her house of decades in Saginaw, Michigan, my husband and I traveled from Iowa to help her get some things moved. I have always tried to be there for my sisters as well, and for my kids.

            Indeed, my sisters are the same. We have been through so many weddings, funerals, and baby showers! I think my mother would be proud of the family bond we have, the type of love for family that she displayed in her very short life.

            One lesson I gleaned from my mom after reflecting on past conversations.

Growing up, I think my mother had low self-esteem. I don’t think she felt very pretty or self-confident.

The middle child, my mom’s older sister was pretty and sassy and garnered a lot of attention. And with two cute, younger sisters, my mom saw herself as the skinny, awkward middle child who mostly stayed quiet.

Not unlike myself.

But over the years of living through bad choices—teenage pregnancy, alcoholic husband—my mom learned she was worthy of love and to fight for herself.

            My mother related the story of my alcoholic father who was physically abusive when he was drunk. She said the last time he was on top of her choking her, she thought, “This is it, he is going to kill me!”

            She suddenly decided to fight back—and she reached up and started choking him until he released her.

Then she left him and did not look back.

            My father shot himself, but the bullet went through his leg instead. My mother said my father took a polaroid of his leg, wrote, “this is what you did to me” and sent it to her.

            My mom said she wrote on it, “No, this is what you did to yourself” and sent it back to him.

            She became a fighter!

            The last thing I learned from my mom, and perhaps the best thing—and I think one of the biggest things motherless kids desire to hear deep in their heart--

I discovered the last letter my mom wrote me back in 1987. It was a short letter, but at the bottom she wrote, “I am proud of all of you”.