I’m assuming that we all have memories of repeated sayings
of our mothers. Some of them are probably common to most of our experiences.
You may have heard, “Pretty is as pretty does” or “You can catch more flies
with honey than vinegar”. My mother was fond of saying, “If wishes were horses,
we’d all take a ride.” She also quoted Romans 8:28 frequently, “For all things
work together for good to those who are the called according to His purposes.”
Mom lived what she preached. She always exhibited a positive
attitude, and she could find humor in her darkest hours. One of her well-used
sayings was, “Nobody wants to be invited to a pity party." Then, ..."If you insist on
having one, go up to your room, and when it’s over you can join the rest of us for some fun.” If I came home from school, feeling sorry for
myself for some reason, she would listen for a few minutes. Then the “pity
party” speech came.
When Mom was homebound from lung cancer, she was constantly
receiving calls from friends. I was present during a few of those calls. I only
heard her side of the conversation, but that was enough. The callers always asked
how she was doing, and I heard her say, “It’s lung cancer, and I only have one
lung. We know what that means, and it’s not interesting. I want to hear about…
· ...
Tommy’s soccer game Saturday.
·
...Sara’s decision; is she going to the University
of Michigan or Ohio State?”
·
...your yard sale last week” or…
·
...did you and Jim enjoy your first ballroom
dancing class?”
She didn’t talk about her illness and prognosis of death.
She wanted to hear about life. She was interested in others. The calls were
always filled with laughter.
Women, from her office, came to enjoy lunch with her each
week. They would stop at a fast food restaurant and bring food. They sat around
the table sharing tales and laughter. There was never any sad talk, no talk of
illness, hospitals, or death, because Mom wouldn’t allow it. She knew that
nobody enjoyed a pity party. Because all of the women from the office enjoyed
these luncheons, they established a rotation system. Mom was missed at work,
because she was one who brought joy into the workplace.
When Mom died, hundreds came to the funeral home. It was
filled with a mixture of tears and laughter. One young woman said, “Your mom
was the coolest woman I ever knew.” Mom would have loved that. One came to ask
a favor. She said, “Your mom always wore silly jewelry to celebrate the
holidays. The girls at the office wondered if they could each have a piece as a
remembrance of the fun she brought just walking into a room.” Her boss came and
said, “Your mom is the one who encouraged me to go back to college, so that I
could be the boss.” Mom had written her a poem on the day of her graduation,
and it was her most prized possession. The poem was framed, along with her
diploma and a photo of the two of them together, in a prominent spot in her
home.
A few weeks after the funeral, someone said to me, “I’ve
never seen anyone walk through grief the way you have. You were so close to
your mom; I don’t understand.” I smiled as I thought of mom. I shed my tears,
but I didn’t allow myself to have a pity party. You see, Mom always told me to
focus on my blessings, especially in
the midst of turmoil. Mother was one of my greatest blessings, and she taught
me through repetition and example. So, I couldn’t have an extended pity party.
As mother would say, “It’s a solo event. Go up to your room and get over it. Then, come down and join the rest of us for some fun.”
Four Generations
Four Generations