Hmm. The title for this blog post is a bit morbid. Please note that my mother doesn't have a terminal illness, and my family does not anticipate that she'll suddenly have a mean streak of independence and take off to travel the globe, leaving us alone. No. My mother is very much alive and very much her sweet self. A former test-writing colleague of mine, though, lost his mother a week ago today. It was unexpected, and I really felt for this friend because May 07 was Lithuania's observance of Mother's Day, and I couldn't help but think, "I can't imagine losing my mother on Mother's Day." I wrote to that friend and told him that I imagined that he would be thinking of his mother a lot during the coming weeks and months. I told him that when he thinks of his mother, I hope that they are moments of fondness, laughter, and gratitude. And now, on this day -- America's observance of Mother's Day -- I want to reflect on and share with my mother, while she still breathes breath in her body, the moments in our shared life that have stuck in my memory. God forbid - if my mother were to pass away today, these would be the moments of our shared life that I would try to think back on in that time of grief and hope that I could celebrate her, even in sadness.
Disclaimer: For those of you who think I'm a 'perfect person', some of these memories reflect otherwise. And yet, those moments are evidence that my mother's influence continues to shape and guide my life.
1. I'm five or six years old, and we're sitting in the third pew at Rupert United Methodist Church. Everyone in the congregation has stood up to sing a hymn. I can't yet read a hymnal, and so I stand next to you, my head against your stomach. About three measures into the hymn, I realize that when my ear is pressed against your stomach, I can both feel and hear your voice. It fascinates me -- the vibrations against my small ear, combined with your off-pitch sound. I understand what it's like to, for the first time, feel a song.
2. When I was in the first grade, I broke my leg playing Monopoly with my sisters (that's another story). My whole right leg was in a cast, and I couldn't move from our living room couch for a whole week. About three days into this immobility, you invited the pastor from church to our house so that you he could pray for my healing. When he came into the living room with you, I pretended to be asleep because I had never had anyone pray for me -- and it scared me. But you were calm as a cucumber with him as you both prayed for my leg to heal. When you both left the room, I immediately regretted that I had tried to trick you into thinking I was asleep, 'cause it was a moment of love and care that I didn't have the capacity to appreciate.
3. We lived in a very small town when we lived in Vermont. We had to drive all the way to New York state to access shopping complexes that were larger than a petrol station pantry. It was always such a special treat to ride in the passenger seat of our family's ’86 Honda Accord DX manual transmission when you needed to go to the Ames store in Grandville. Rounding each curve of the mountain valley roads, I felt like we were on real adventures on those evenings and afternoons.
4. When we moved to Michigan in 1992, and I had a very difficult time adjusting to my new school. People often talk about experiencing culture shock when moving to a different country. The greatest culture shock in my life, though, was moving from the mountain village of West Rupert, VT to flat, fruit-based farmland along Lake Michigan. I hated my new school because there were just too many students to deal with. Up until grade five, I had studied in a two-room school house with only nine other kids in my grade. And suddenly - there were more than 70 other kids in my grade at my new school elementary school. I hated going to school in that first month. Bedtime was the worst because it meant that when I woke up, I'd have to go to a place filled with strange kids that I didn't understand and who didn't understand me. But you would stay with me at bedtime and sleep with me in my twin bed until I was calm enough to sleep.
5. I was 17 years old, and about to enter my last year of high school. Finally - after nearly 1.5 years using a driver's permit, we went to a local car dealership to see about purchasing the 11 year-old, 1989 silver Chevy Celebrity in their lot. I never knew until that moment what a shark-like negotiator you were. Watching you deal down the price on that car with the salesman, I thought, "What just happened here?" You somehow channeled the sweet, elderly woman charm of Betty White and mixed it with a stern, old-time matriarch that refuses to be swindled. What was a $3500 USD sticker price somehow became a $2300 USD sale.
6. Shortly after I turned 21, a friend's brother, who was a professional body piercer, pierced my eyebrow with a singular metal loop. The procedure happened in the bathroom of my dorm room, by the way, and about a week after I had this done, you and Dad drove nearly 1000 km to visit me in Marquette. My eye was still a bit back and blue from the force of the piercing, and Dad was not happy at all that I had gotten a body piercing. He threatened to pull out the loop with a crowbar, if I had one, and refused to go anywhere in public with me looking the way I did. In your sweet voice, you said, “She’s still our daughter, Joseph. It doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or does drugs.” In the end, I placed two bandaids over my eyebrow to hide the metal loop, and Dad calmed down enough so that we could go out in public as a family.
7. March 07, 2003 -- Two mornings after my 21st birthday, you called my dorm room at 6AM to ask if I could explain to you how to program the VCR so that you could record a televised sports game for Dad. I said to you, “Mother, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been out drinking with my friends for most of the night, so I can’t think the best right now.” Your response, “Oh. [2-second pause] Well -- I hope you can live with your decisions.”
8. In another phone-call related memory -- April of 2008. I called you from East Lansing and told you that I would be moving to Saudi Arabia in the fall to take a job at a private university there. After a pregnant pause, you replied. "Well, I don't like it, but that's not for me to say. You just gotta show them love. Show them love, just like you do anybody else, and you'll be okay."
9. In January of 2012, you and Dad visited me in Oman. I had arranged for us to overnight at a desert camp in the eastern part of Oman. On the morning of the second day, I came to your living space after breakfast to tell you that the camels had come. How excited and delighted you were to have the chance to pet a camel for the first time. You dropped your hair brush on the bed, clapped your hands together and said, "Oh! The camels are here!" Your face lit up like Oliver's face does when he anticipates watching Curious George.
10. May of 2016 -- You accompanied me to Valencia, Spain for the EALTA conference. The weather was unseasonably cold, and even the Spaniards were wearing winter coats as they spent time with their families at the sea. We walked along the freezing beach anyway and were rewarded with sights of jellyfish and encountered gusts of wind that made us laugh at the absurdity of going to the beach when it was so cold. A few days later we went to the city's aquarium. At first, you refused to see the sharks, claiming that the dolphins were the best thing to see. But later, you totally converted to a shark lover when you saw how beautiful they look from underneath.
11. Aprils of 2005 and 2008 when you and Dad came to my undergraduate and graduate school graduation ceremonies. And even now, when I call home, your voice vibrates with excitement in anticipation for my next graduation in December 2017. I want you to know that these academic achievements are just as much yours as they are mine. I'm sorry that you grew up in a time and situation in which you were never encouraged to nor had the opportunity to go to university. When I don't feel motivated to read one more journal article or write up my research papers, I think of you, and it puts everything into perspective. I'm able to push through the challenges, knowing that I study not only for me, but for you.
Perhaps it's a bit cliche to think that one's mother is the only one capable of great love. But really -- you are someone who gives love so freely and openly. I have been nurtured by this love. I have been shaped by this love. And when the day comes that you are no longer on this earth, I am certain that your heavenly body will have the capacity to love even more than your earthly body ever could. I think of you whenever I have to discipline a student. My heart has a natural stony default, and I often resist showing mercy to students. And yet, my stone heart transforms to mercury when I think, “What would my mom do? What amount of love would she give?” And from there, I work through how to treat my students so that I exact both fairness and grace, just as you do.
On this Mother's Day, I celebrate you as my mother, and I celebrate all the moments, both significant and insignificant, that we've shared. Without you and without these moments, I would not exist as I do today.
Disclaimer: For those of you who think I'm a 'perfect person', some of these memories reflect otherwise. And yet, those moments are evidence that my mother's influence continues to shape and guide my life.
1. I'm five or six years old, and we're sitting in the third pew at Rupert United Methodist Church. Everyone in the congregation has stood up to sing a hymn. I can't yet read a hymnal, and so I stand next to you, my head against your stomach. About three measures into the hymn, I realize that when my ear is pressed against your stomach, I can both feel and hear your voice. It fascinates me -- the vibrations against my small ear, combined with your off-pitch sound. I understand what it's like to, for the first time, feel a song.
2. When I was in the first grade, I broke my leg playing Monopoly with my sisters (that's another story). My whole right leg was in a cast, and I couldn't move from our living room couch for a whole week. About three days into this immobility, you invited the pastor from church to our house so that you he could pray for my healing. When he came into the living room with you, I pretended to be asleep because I had never had anyone pray for me -- and it scared me. But you were calm as a cucumber with him as you both prayed for my leg to heal. When you both left the room, I immediately regretted that I had tried to trick you into thinking I was asleep, 'cause it was a moment of love and care that I didn't have the capacity to appreciate.
3. We lived in a very small town when we lived in Vermont. We had to drive all the way to New York state to access shopping complexes that were larger than a petrol station pantry. It was always such a special treat to ride in the passenger seat of our family's ’86 Honda Accord DX manual transmission when you needed to go to the Ames store in Grandville. Rounding each curve of the mountain valley roads, I felt like we were on real adventures on those evenings and afternoons.
4. When we moved to Michigan in 1992, and I had a very difficult time adjusting to my new school. People often talk about experiencing culture shock when moving to a different country. The greatest culture shock in my life, though, was moving from the mountain village of West Rupert, VT to flat, fruit-based farmland along Lake Michigan. I hated my new school because there were just too many students to deal with. Up until grade five, I had studied in a two-room school house with only nine other kids in my grade. And suddenly - there were more than 70 other kids in my grade at my new school elementary school. I hated going to school in that first month. Bedtime was the worst because it meant that when I woke up, I'd have to go to a place filled with strange kids that I didn't understand and who didn't understand me. But you would stay with me at bedtime and sleep with me in my twin bed until I was calm enough to sleep.
5. I was 17 years old, and about to enter my last year of high school. Finally - after nearly 1.5 years using a driver's permit, we went to a local car dealership to see about purchasing the 11 year-old, 1989 silver Chevy Celebrity in their lot. I never knew until that moment what a shark-like negotiator you were. Watching you deal down the price on that car with the salesman, I thought, "What just happened here?" You somehow channeled the sweet, elderly woman charm of Betty White and mixed it with a stern, old-time matriarch that refuses to be swindled. What was a $3500 USD sticker price somehow became a $2300 USD sale.
6. Shortly after I turned 21, a friend's brother, who was a professional body piercer, pierced my eyebrow with a singular metal loop. The procedure happened in the bathroom of my dorm room, by the way, and about a week after I had this done, you and Dad drove nearly 1000 km to visit me in Marquette. My eye was still a bit back and blue from the force of the piercing, and Dad was not happy at all that I had gotten a body piercing. He threatened to pull out the loop with a crowbar, if I had one, and refused to go anywhere in public with me looking the way I did. In your sweet voice, you said, “She’s still our daughter, Joseph. It doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or does drugs.” In the end, I placed two bandaids over my eyebrow to hide the metal loop, and Dad calmed down enough so that we could go out in public as a family.
7. March 07, 2003 -- Two mornings after my 21st birthday, you called my dorm room at 6AM to ask if I could explain to you how to program the VCR so that you could record a televised sports game for Dad. I said to you, “Mother, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been out drinking with my friends for most of the night, so I can’t think the best right now.” Your response, “Oh. [2-second pause] Well -- I hope you can live with your decisions.”
8. In another phone-call related memory -- April of 2008. I called you from East Lansing and told you that I would be moving to Saudi Arabia in the fall to take a job at a private university there. After a pregnant pause, you replied. "Well, I don't like it, but that's not for me to say. You just gotta show them love. Show them love, just like you do anybody else, and you'll be okay."
9. In January of 2012, you and Dad visited me in Oman. I had arranged for us to overnight at a desert camp in the eastern part of Oman. On the morning of the second day, I came to your living space after breakfast to tell you that the camels had come. How excited and delighted you were to have the chance to pet a camel for the first time. You dropped your hair brush on the bed, clapped your hands together and said, "Oh! The camels are here!" Your face lit up like Oliver's face does when he anticipates watching Curious George.
10. May of 2016 -- You accompanied me to Valencia, Spain for the EALTA conference. The weather was unseasonably cold, and even the Spaniards were wearing winter coats as they spent time with their families at the sea. We walked along the freezing beach anyway and were rewarded with sights of jellyfish and encountered gusts of wind that made us laugh at the absurdity of going to the beach when it was so cold. A few days later we went to the city's aquarium. At first, you refused to see the sharks, claiming that the dolphins were the best thing to see. But later, you totally converted to a shark lover when you saw how beautiful they look from underneath.
11. Aprils of 2005 and 2008 when you and Dad came to my undergraduate and graduate school graduation ceremonies. And even now, when I call home, your voice vibrates with excitement in anticipation for my next graduation in December 2017. I want you to know that these academic achievements are just as much yours as they are mine. I'm sorry that you grew up in a time and situation in which you were never encouraged to nor had the opportunity to go to university. When I don't feel motivated to read one more journal article or write up my research papers, I think of you, and it puts everything into perspective. I'm able to push through the challenges, knowing that I study not only for me, but for you.
Perhaps it's a bit cliche to think that one's mother is the only one capable of great love. But really -- you are someone who gives love so freely and openly. I have been nurtured by this love. I have been shaped by this love. And when the day comes that you are no longer on this earth, I am certain that your heavenly body will have the capacity to love even more than your earthly body ever could. I think of you whenever I have to discipline a student. My heart has a natural stony default, and I often resist showing mercy to students. And yet, my stone heart transforms to mercury when I think, “What would my mom do? What amount of love would she give?” And from there, I work through how to treat my students so that I exact both fairness and grace, just as you do.
On this Mother's Day, I celebrate you as my mother, and I celebrate all the moments, both significant and insignificant, that we've shared. Without you and without these moments, I would not exist as I do today.
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