Beautiful long fingers, perfectly, prettily groomed nails. Strong, yet undeniable feminine. Those were my Mother’s hands. She always said they were too large. But they weren’t. They were perfectly hers. My mother’s hands caressed my face, wiped away my childhood tears, brushed my pixie hair, checked my brow for fever, and spanked my little butt when I needed it. She used them to create, to comfort, to pray for us, to hold us. She used them well.
Few people possessed the dignity that she held. She remains for me an ideal…..to aspire to her level of class. Although not elaborate or expensive, she was always impeccably groomed. Yet a more warm and fun mother never existed. She laughed easily, and often. I loved hearing her stories of her childhood, and she made light of how difficult it had been. I’ve never been able to figure out how boiled chicken feet can actually be considered a treat. She shared the story of walking home from school one day to discover they had moved, and forgot to tell her. She described her blonde haired skinny little self sitting on the porch in tears, waiting….and a long legged brother who walked down the road and said, what are you doing kid…..? And took her home to their new house. She shared the story of when she and her best friend Jeannie, were walking behind a warehouse on a hot Tulare day, and spied a frosty pipe. They decided to refresh themselves, and gave it a lick together. She laughed often over that one. I loved her stories, loved seeing her dance. She would dance around the house barefoot with her big toes pointing straight up, dancing with the doxie’s doing that little click click to the music. Oh how she loved her little doxies. She was fun, happy and full of life.
One thing my mother did best was to love. She so loved us all. She married the love of her life, and loved him well, to the very end she knew him. Called him Papa, or honey. Stroked his cheek, and told him I love you so much. Even when simple words were so difficult for her to speak. And he would say “I love you more.” To which she’d reply ….”you couldn’t”. She adored him, and even when all else failed her, her love for Dad remained, even to her last days.
My mother…..she was love. She gave of herself so unselfishly. She was the ultimate good mother. I could tell her anything. She never criticized me. I knew how loved I was, and that’s a treasure. As I became an adult, Mom never gave advice to me. She trusted my choices. I guess she knew that I’l learn what I needed To from any mistakes I might make. She also never interfered in my life, or my marriage. She enhanced it. She was an encourager, never a discourager. I was so blessed to have a mother’s love, and acceptance. She raised me to be strong, to be kind, to be fair, and to have a heart for people. It was by her example, that I strive to model my life. To love. Because she loved so well.
She was a wonderful example to us….slow to anger, not prideful, nor boastful. She was truly humble. She had a quiet dignity, and a positive outlook. She was a loving friend, loyal and fun. She had a great sense of humor, and laughed easily. Good thing, being married to Dad. He’s always kidding around, and laughing. They had an incredible marriage. They NEVER argued or fought in front of us, never. They were so respectful, and considerate of each other. Married on Nov. 2, 1950, one month shy of 58 years. Married so very young, and their love and devotion to each other grew with each passing year.
You all know of how she struggled these last years in life. These past few weeks were a final gift from God. He heard our prayers, and He took her home. But He had a few life lessons for us before He did. He wanted me to trust Him more, to give my will over to Him. His timing stretched me, I knew how much she wouldn’t have wanted to have to live like this, and I so wanted it over for her. I thought after the head injury He was going to take her home…the Dr. said so, and though incredibly hard, I felt it was answered prayer….she would be free. And then she stayed. Why? But then…these past few weeks….she rallied. She laughed a little. She even made a few wise cracks……and for the first time in so many months….said my name. She knew me for a few very precious seconds…. Knew Veta and Dad….loved on him. It was God’s final gift through Mom, that she stayed. Teaching me to trust in Him, in His plan, not mine….His timinng, not mine, before He took her home…and healed her. And knowing Mom, she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Veta said that one thing Mom didn’t do well, was say goodbye. She hated goodbyes. And even to the very end, she found a way to slip away quietly. Jesus came to her that night, told her “Daughter, you’re tired…come home. At peace, and at rest…she laid her hands on her chest and went to sleep. Her hands….at rest. Her beautiful hands. And now…..she dances with Jesus. And I have to wonder if there are doxies? Yeah….probably.
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