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Community Corner

The Mom in the Mirror

With Mother's Day approaching, it seemed fitting to reflect on the joys and sorrows of motherhood and memories of my own mother.

While growing up as the second of three children, I never really thought about my mom not working outside the home. She was always there to walk me to school or see me on and off the bus. And now, looking back at what seems like a sappy saccharin life, she generally had a plate of cookies and milk or a Twinkie waiting for me.

I had a happy childhood.

I don’t ever recall a time when my mom wasn’t there when I needed a hug or a band-aid. And yes, she was there too flicking the front porch light off and on at the end of a date when I was trying to say goodnight at the door a little too long.

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The house was always clean, and the laundry was washed and folded. The yard was always tended to perfection. And, my mother was honored to win the yard of the month award every year in the neighborhood where I grew up. She took such pride in earning the highly-coveted award annually during the hottest month of the year, as if she enjoyed the extra challenge. Something I didn’t understand or appreciate at the time. I was too busy.

I was an active student, and had plenty of extracurricular activities that consumed my time. I also had a very busy social life. Without texting or social networking, I had to do all of my socializing in person or by means of my rotary princess phone. My mom tried to spend time with me, but I was very busy.  

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My mom frequently made an effort to teach me the art of southern cooking, but again, I seldom found the time. She must have managed to get in the basics, because I turned out to be a pretty decent cook, despite my lack of willingness.  

My mom was the quintessential Kool-aid mom, a trait I must have inherited since I have gone through a proverbial tractor-trailer load of Kool-Aid and popsicles while raising my own brood.

I remember my mom coordinating our block parties and always being the first neighbor to take a loaf of bread or a pie to a new neighbor’s house (another of my habits that I attribute to my mom.)

I think of the guilt my mother must have felt when in 1967, I broke my arm. The school nurse called to say I was in the office with a little scratch in case my mom wanted to pick me up early. In classic June Ward style, my mother took the time to make herself presentable, comb her hair and apply her lipstick.

“What took you so long?” I asked when she finally arrived. My mother comforted me without panic, despite my blue arm hanging there like an “S” hook as she ushered me out the door to the hospital. I was quite sure the school nurse wouldn’t be returning to work.  

I had no idea at the time of the sacrifices my mother must have made to get me to my numerous practices, volunteer on a bazillion committees, and run interference on all of the other issues I’m sure I had.

My mother is no longer with us. She somehow made it through the deaths of her mother, father, husband and son, and managed to comfort the rest of us in the process before she succumbed to cancer.

When my mother passed, most of the folks didn’t know she was ill. She just didn’t want to burden anyone with her own ails, and we respected that.

Now that she is gone, I think of her often as I raise my own children and wonder what she would do given a certain circumstance or situation.

Like most daughters who have lost their mothers, I wish I had spent more time with my mom when I had the chance to do so.     

Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of my mom in the mirror, and I am always thankful for the woman I have become. Often, I reflect on how much credit I owe my mother for my accomplishments and give thanks for the memories.

I hope you make and treasure your own memories of your mother for many years to come and count every moment of time together as a blessing.

Happy Mother’s Day, y’all.

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