My Mom

[Anonymous]

My mom was one of the quietest, most gentle people I’ve known. She never raised her voice. She would cry when we did something wrong, instead of raising her voice. Those tears hurt more than the occasional discipline we got from our father, whose foundational rule was that we never talked back to our mother or caused her to worry about us. We didn’t know why until years after we left the house and started families of our own.

She almost never cooked (except for the excellent homemade bread we loved). I never saw her clean the house or do any kind of household chores. I never saw her drive a car. I never saw her do much, really, except play the piano, read and tell us she loved us.

She played the piano extremely well, but was too small for her hands to reach even an octave. (She was 4’10″.) She sat under a built-in desk in our kitchen during the winter, next to the heat vent, reading.

Growing up, I thought she was a saint – the spiritual one in her relationship with my dad, who, in my eyes, was wonderful but just a common, ordinary man who was fortunate to have married up.

She was schizophrenic, but we didn’t know that, since her “sleeping pills” and my father’s commitment to shielding her from every worry of life kept her condition at bay throughout the time we lived at home. I only came to see my dad for the unbelievable man he was years later, when I finally realized just how much he gave up to allow her to be my mom (literally laying down his own life for his best friend).

My dad is gone now, and my youngest brother and sister have taken over his role in regulating her life so she can continue to be our mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

(Feel free to tell us about your mom, if you want to do so.)

[Anonymous]

My Mom. So hard to describe. I am lucky beyond words. My mom and I are close. We often get chided after church because we get the giggles during the meeting. We don’t mean to we just sometimes see things in a twisted way, then we share, then we giggle and it’s all down hill from there.

My mom was a convert. That conversion meant so much to her. It shaped her life forever. Her first calling was Relief Society President. This was in 1960’s when RS ran its own show. It was a huge job. Having never attended any church – this was a baptism by fire calling. But it empowered her. She was never shy or quiet, but her home life wasn’t a model home. She loved her parents, but there were patches missing in the frame work of the parenting skills. The lessons my mom learned in Relief Society set her for life.

My mom made us do chores, homework, practice, and memorize. She made us work, but she also taught us appreciation, respect, completeness and dedication. She volunteered at schools, in civic affairs, in our sports. She was a natural born leader. So many people looked up to her.

Above all those qualities, she was genuinely interested in my life. I remember one Sunday, she and I ditched Sunday School or Sacrament Meeting to sit outside and talk about a date I had the night before. We were sitting on the churches back patio and didn’t see a ward member who spied us. Later on the member who spied us, spilled the beans in Relief Society about us sitting outside chatting – then said she hoped she and her daughter would have the same kind of relationship Mom and I have. It was the coolest compliment.

Ironically it is my parents that makes my faith transition hardest. They were and are fantastic people. Imperfect yes. I could write pages of their imperfections but their love of me and the fullness of life they gave me, which included raising me in the LDS church, has done so much good for me. It breaks my heart that my struggle and challenge in this area hurts them.

My Mom is my best friend. That’s not a cliche.

[Anonymous]

Dadgummit, Ray, I’m here at work in plain view of others and I’m crying.

[Author]

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