Mother and daughter...

Lizbeth and Mama from Fiona - the Lighthouse Firefly (copyrighted 2015)

Today is December 1st.  My mother died ten years ago today.  When I hurt, I write, so here I am.  I remember my sister telling me that when her plane lifted up over the city after my mother's funeral, she cried because she was now an orphan.  And as strange as that sounds for an adult to say, it's true.  My father had died when we were very young.  And so, when my mother was gone, we were truly orphans.

I'm remembering my mother today.  She was not always an easy woman to get along with.  Maybe most mothers and daughters think that... I don't know.  Her mother died when she was only eight years old, so she didn't have a mother figure in her life.  Her father was from the "old country" and was strict with his five girls.  He was gone before I was born.  She and I had many disagreements as I grew up, but in the end, respected each other for who we were.  Our love was always there, sometimes camouflaged, sometimes worn on our sleeves.

My mother was a wonderful cook. Her lemon meringue pie was the best!!!  She made "blond brownies" that the entire family loved.  I had a cousin who was serving overseas and all he wanted was one of my mother's fabulous grilled cheese sandwiches.  When I lived at home, she was up early making breakfast for us all.  When dinner time came, we were all at the table, my Dad and my two sisters.  It was a wonderful time of talking and laughing and eating.  I was the middle child and acted like it.

Christmas was her favorite time of year.  The tree was up and lit.  We were able to decorate it all, but she put the finishing touches on it.  Santa was always generous - as generous as he could be with only my Dad working.  I remember one year when I was young, I wanted a train set... not a little dinky one, but a Lionel train.  She took me to see Santa and when I told him what I wanted, he did his best to convince me that what I really wanted was a doll.  I didn't and so stated.  That year, under the tree on Christmas morning, was my Lionel train that smoked.  Christmas dinner was always eaten formally in the dining room.  Candles glowed on the table and the turkey was browned and filled with her fabulous sausage stuffing.  Christmas afternoon was spent with us all sitting in the living room, watching Christmas shows on TV, with my father's father, my grandfather, snoozing in the chair. When we were older and all gone from the house, she would sit in front of the tree quietly remembering those wonderful Christmases when we were all there.

She made life wonderful for her husband and three girls.

It was almost fitting that she go at Christmas time.  Her funeral recessional was "Angels we have heard on high" allowing for tears and singing as she left the church for the last time,

I miss her and this is my way of keeping her alive in my heart and mind... as they used to say, "I remember Mama..." and I do.

Till,
Judi