When the Sky Was Falling, Mom Was There

In the time I have known her, which is as long as I have been in the world, she has endured some challenges. For instance, when I arrived in 1964, she received an infant far removed from the Gerber baby. My dad admits thanking God for a healthy baby, in spite of my debut as a ball of red-faced discontent. The color faded, my attitude improved and they took me home. Ever since, I have known her as "Mom."

She had to leave her home in the Delta, a place that is foreign to me but remains special to her. Elvis once played across the railroad tracks from her house when she was a teen and he was a rock 'n' roll novice.

"I wouldn't walk across the street to see him," she said. I think it's a shame she missed that. We once watched an Elvis TV special together. He sang from Hawaii in bell bottoms and sideburns. She obviously had changed her mind about Elvis. Her smile said it all.

Married to a college schoolteacher, she marked time in semesters, summer sessions and night school. For six years, I had her all to myself. I remember homemade birthday cakes with pink and white roses; dresses sewn from Simplicity patterns and Captain Kangaroo.

Then, she learned she was pregnant again. Just weeks from her due date, Dr. Gaddy surprised her with news it would be twin boys. I have tried to imagine the emotions that erupt when realizing you will need not one, but two of everything, including more than twice as much faith in the premise that what doesn't kill you will make you stronger.

My baby brothers tried to kill her, unintentionally, of course. They never slept at the same time. When one was dry, the other was wet. They seemed to drain bottles and dirty cloth diapers by the thousands. While still in the crib, the boys developed thrush with seeping sores in their mouths and raging fevers and unspeakable material flowing from raw rear ends. My mom called Dr. Murphy, sobbing.

"All their teeth have fallen out!" she cried. The pediatrician calmed her. My mom administered ice packs to swollen gums as directed, only to see that nothing was lost except her last nerve.
My brothers also worked in concert to keep my mom's home life interesting. Together, they defaced a newly-upholstered red vinyl sofa. They secretly ate cat food and tried to swallow pocket change.

One rain-soaked afternoon, they commandeered the kitchen door, which led to the great beyond of our neighborhood. My mom still turns white when she recalls the terror of racing past overflowing ditches in search of her babies. God's grace took the form of two toddlers that day. They sat oblivious and completely safe in a rock garden as my mom's sky was falling all around her.

And then there are the minor trials of living with a family of five and a long lineage of pets. She dipped dogs, rescued cats and vacuumed tons of fur. In her quest to remain fashionable, she allowed my father to change her from brunette to blonde and to pierce her ears. Green hair and cockeyed ear holes pretty much eliminated my dad from any future makeover attempts.

My hormonal teens and first real boyfriend tested the limits of her tolerance. And as tough as it was to raise two boys in synchrony, seeing them leave home gave her time and space that echoed with a stunning "Who am I?"

She is an exceptional woman and mother. They say the hardest part of any job is showing up. She has done so, without fail, in a way that makes saying "Happy Mother's Day" an easy and heartfelt exclamation of love, respect and awe.