There are days and dates which seem to make life a little harder. We usually experience a pause for memories, tears and longing. It makes me wonder if that is why God only allowed twenty-four hours in a day. Maybe to keep us moving forward. There is something about the date that haunts us all- the years we will miss, the conversations we no longer have face to face.
Today it has been forty-seven years since daddys passing. It blows my mind I have lived so much longer than he did. That I am now more than a decade older than he was at the time of his passing, yet I learned so very much from him. He taught me to fish, showed me how to wet a hook, he taught kindness, tolerance for what was different, respect and most of all unconditional love. Almost fifty years later I still retain the belief system he instilled in us. He was not perfect but he was a man of integrity, and fiercely loved his people. I always imagine I will see him first when I get to my heavenly home. I still remember the solid, unwavering tone of his voice.
I am thankful we had mama much longer, I hope she knew how much she was loved. She would have been 100 years old Sunday. Both dates were tossed close together by life, intertwined forever in my head. I believe I say this every year, but God has been so gracious to us. After mama's passing beautiful memories flooded my mind.
After she died, this memory came to mind as I drove home from the hospital. She needed to bake a cake. She was waiting for family driving in for a couple nights & she always did her best to feed them well. I remember the half panic, half laughter on her face when she could not remember if she added the salt or not. It's such a tiny amount of salt, will it be noticed? But the perfectionist in her could not leave it alone. I tasted the dry flour mixture w/my finger- no salt flavor. She tasted the flour, and we began to giggle. We continued our tasting until we were out of clean fingers and her head dropped back and she laughed so hard she could not catch her breath for a few minutes. We did add that 1/4 teaspoon of salt and she baked that sour cream pound cake. More perfect than the cake everyone enjoyed was what God allowed, those memories of better days. Those years before suffering the ravages of her brain betrayal by dementia. During the last couple years of her life, I feared I would never remember those good days, the wonderful childhood days and adult days with her. Times I had not thought of in decades continued in a constant rotation over the next few weeks, in my head. Is our heavenly Father not completely amazing? He gave us this ability to remember, while often painful it still soothes and sustains us. While all these years later I still miss her terribly, I am forever grateful for the time we had together.
Then, just the other day this memory came to me. Mama used to say pretty regularly, "you can't have anything nice when you have children", I thought it was a bit contrary at the time. (Then I grew up, had children and knew exactly what she meant) She only meant with children in the house, things just happen. One of her children had a knack for breaking things, more than the other two, but I won't call him out here. He flipped over the end of the couch to show me what he could do and busted her floor lamp. If memory serves he did it twice, to two different lamps. He jumped up (like when he played basketball) and touched the kitchen ceiling and knocked the cover off the light-all over the kitchen floor. There was also the "innocent" cutting down of the hedges bushes, she did not want cut. How did that happen? She used those hedge bushes to whip our behinds. (Save your gasps in disbelief, it was a different time then. If you got the switch to your legs, you likely had earned all of it w/your poor behavior.)
She also always kept slipcovers on the furniture. These were not the slipcovers you see today. They were absolute perfection made by a wonderful lady, Mrs Higgins, who lived near relatives of ours not far away. You would have thought they were the original fabric because she fit them to your couch with precision, took all the pieces away and in just a few days would call and say, "put your sewing machine out, in case I need to make adjustments." She would come put the covers on. She and mama would critique her work and make any adjustments they needed, most often they were perfect. Mrs Higgins made draperies for the first home Don & I built, she was much older by then but still did amazing work.
Because Mary had three rambunctious children, she threw sheets over the chairs and the couch to protect her investment. Mama was not interested in wasting money, she was very frugal. Yes, those sheets stayed on the furniture most of the time. If a car came rolling up the hill, she would go to comb her hair and que one of us to grab the sheets off the furniture. My daddy hated those sheets. He would complain and argue they would not stay straight and squared when he sat down. They bunched up and it certainly bothered him. (which explains a great deal about my ocd tendencies.) Mostly, he sat down in his chair mumbling under his breath about the stupid sheet. Once he grabbed that cover off and started to sit down when mama gently stopped him. She simply said "look at it, Fat", she meant the sheet. (Because most all mothers and wives know, our husband & children all say the same thing, "I'm not dirty, I'm perfectly clean".) So, daddy held the sheet out and looked it up one side and down the other. He then gently spread it back on the chair and sat down, without another word. I don't remember him ever complaining about those sheets again.
Today while thinking of them both, I am reminded this is not our forever home. Thank you Lord! Truth is, I don't remember either mama or daddy complaining about much. They were well satisfied with life. One twenty-four day at a time.
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