My mom died today. She was 90 year old. I haven't really cried a lot. Been thinking a lot about my family especially my sister Sheila who is closer in age to me. We are five sisters. Janice, Sheila, Myra, Robin and Terry.
In Guatemala I work with poor people who have no electricity, no water, or toilets. People who live in shacks made of tin and wood with dirt floors. People who are not always recognized by their own people as valuable. I tell them about my family history to give them hope. Today its all about my mom.
My maternal grandmother was born a slave towards the end of the civil war. She died at 100 years old in 1966. She could not read or write. Her children, one of which was my mom's parent, were born free but could not read or write. My mother had a 12th grade education and worked as a secretary in NSA in Ft. Meade, MD. She ended her career with outstanding awards.
Her five daughters all finished High school and some studied in a junior college. Her 15 grandchildren all finished High school and some finished college and all had good jobs, homes and the majority are saved! Her 22 plus great grandchildren the majority finished college and her 10 great great grands are progressing well in school. Every generation got better. What a heritage!
I remember when I had already purchased my ticket to go to China to smuggle in Bibles back in the 80's. She was diagnosed with blockage in her veins leading to her heart and was scheduled for an emergency operation. My dad said to me " You can't go to China. People will say you have abandoned your mom." But my mom spoke up and said "Let her go. She is doing God's work." She was proud of me and that made me glad.
I remember taking vacations with them going to New York city, watching a Broadway show, eating out and hearing tales about how they met. She talked about their early years when they had their first girl, Janice. How she dressed her like a doll baby. She was their princess. She was so beautiful to them. She talked about how then came Sheila who didn't look like them at all but like her aunt. Sheila who was feisty and tried to tear my eyes out when I was born. She told me how she gave birth to me at home and how the young doctor was so proud that his first delivery was such a huge success. I weighed 9 1/2 pounds and filled the bassinet. How the neighbors came and looked at their newest child. I remember when Robin was born with dimples in her knees and how I helped to care for her as mom went off to work. She taught me how to starch and iron her ribbons and pinafores and when I had my little girl I never ironed ribbons again. I remember when Terry graduated High school and momma said "that diploma belongs to me."
I remember Christmas Eves when I was the oldest at home with two smaller siblings 11 and 13 years younger how we stayed up all night trimming the tree with ice cycles that had to be put on one by one by one until there were no spaces to be seen. She wanted everything to look perfect.
I remember rising on Saturdays, the day I wanted to sleep in, having to do my chores from washing clothes, hanging them out on the line, polishing furniture, vacuuming, but not alone working side by side with her making our home neat and clean and presentable.
I remember taking her out to lunches after she retired and always introducing her to my friends. She was so happy because she was being acknowledged. Old age makes us some times feel useless but not my mom. She has always been a special woman.
She was a working mom from the time I was five. She did the best she could to teach us to follow her example. A woman who seldom if ever raised her voice. A woman who dressed with style and taste. A woman who kept a fine house. A woman who was a faithful companion to her husband of nearly 71 years. My mom, my friend, my lunch buddy, my reading companion, my heart. I am crying now.
