Wednesday, June 8, 2011

My lighthouse on the shore

PHOTOS: (below) A picture of mom taken just yesterday at an old country store where we had a pre-birthday lunch.
(right) Mom & me last winter.

Today is my mother’s 84th birthday. She’s beautiful, graceful and still has a sparky spunk about her. Born and raised in Tennessee, my mom is a true daughter of the South... and I owe her everything. Whatever goodness I process, it was first placed in me by my mom. Whatever problem solving skills I have, or wisdom, or humor I learned from watching my mother. She was and is a warrior mom, who protected, nurtured and loved her children as fierce as a storm.

I keep thinking, ‘”When is she going to act old, for Pete’s sake?” She can still out walk me and let her loose in a T.J. Maxx or a flea market and she is just short of magical the way she can hone in on a bargain.

Her own mother died when she was just nine years old- a baby really. Her father and sisters raised her. When she married my dad and became a mother herself, she’s confessed that she was never confident in her mothering skills. But Mom was an old soul even though she had her first child in her very early twenties. She mothered by feel, gut and heart. And, I must say, my brother and me didn’t turn out half bad.

At my age, remember I just turned 60 a few weeks ago, I am lucky to still have my mother with me. I can’t imagine my life without her. I mean, who would tell me my hair needs to be cut, or that I need to go on a diet, or that I’m not getting enough sleep? I am still my mother’s baby girl, albeit, shaggy, over-weight and always tired. Just by showing up, I make her day. We live twelve hours apart, but talk every day. She is as much a part of my physical make up as my arm or a kidney. Emotionally, we’re very different, yet, our hearts pick up on each other’s beat and fall in sync the minute I hear her voice on the phone or I enter a room where she is.

She is not my best friend. She is my mother. Mother trumps friend by my way of thinking. There is only one of her. I’m hers. She’s mine. My cheekbones, eyes, little dent on the side of my cheeks all are perfect matches to hers.

It is Mom who taught me to pray, and if she had not ever taught me another thing, that would have been enough.

Happy Birthday, sweet Mommie. Thank you... for the nest and the wings.


.PHOTO: A Glamour shot taken just a few years ago... a gorgeous lady inside & out.

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