Questions For My Mother

In the ten years since my mom passed away I have had so many questions come up that only she could answer. How long were you in labor when I was born? Was I a good baby? When did I walk? What funny things did I do as a toddler?

Then I got to thinking about all the questions I have about her. I was in my thirties when she died, and not yet at the point where I could relate to her as a woman, more than just my mom. As a typical child, I thought of myself and my life and never took the time to think that she had already walked the path I was on; marriage, children, family life. Too late I realized that the nuggets of truth, motherly advice, and details of the past died with her. I would never know the woman that she was.

If I had the chance I would ask so many questions of the young woman she once was - long before she was married and had a family.

What were you like as a kid? What is the best memory you remember from your childhood? The worst? Do you remember your father? Did you have a favorite toy, a best friend, a treasured book?

What was your best subject in school? Did you have a dream for your future? What did you want to be?

How did you and Dad meet? Did you love anyone before you met him? What was the one thing you loved most about him?

How did you get such beautiful handwriting? Were you always so good at playing (winning) games?

What did you really feel when you found out you were pregnant with your first child? Were you scared?

Do you have any regrets?

Homesick

Even though I am heading on a fast train to age 49, I still often feel like a teenager and my parents are just at work and I will see them when they get home. The home I grew up in. Yet I have been without my parents for over ten years (15 for Dad) and it never feels like more than a few days. Weeks maybe.

I am homesick for the simple routine, my mom's home cooking, my dad mowing the lawn on Friday afternoon. After school time was free play, in the yard or rollerskating around the driveway, and on days mom worked, after dinner I would watch Andy Griffith in my bedroom. Homesick for someone else to call the shots, make the decisions, to take care of... well, everything.

Homesick for rides in the car where I didn't have to drive. Snow I didn't have to shovel. But also homesick for the help I willingly gave to Dad when he tended the garden, or in his garage, or every Saturday morning with Mom and a dust rag and the vacuum cleaner.

Homesick for the miniature schnauzer, Jenny, we got when I was about 9, and my pet rabbit, Surprise. Not so much for the chihuahua named Checkers that clearly didn't like small children but adored Mom.

Homesick for my grandmother who lived with us my entire life until she passed away when I was 13. She spoiled me and that was wonderful.

Homesick for the friends who lived next door and on the corner, who I wonder about today. Homesick for the summertime and dirty feet and playing hide and seek in our front yards. Riding bikes and running around, free but still safe under the eyes of everyone's parents. For the boy who lived a block over that I made out with (I was 14), NOT under anyone's watchful eye!

Homesick for my room and the blue flowered wallpaper that mom picked out, even though blue was not my favorite color and I was 10. Homesick for my radio and my notebook where I wrote all those poems and doodles and even a few stories. For the Nikon camera that I wanted so badly and received for Christmas, and took a million photos. Homesick for the telephone I got, just for my room, and the "one hour only" and the "not after 8:00 pm" rules that Dad imposed. Homesick for the silence that was our home.

Auto Crush

My dad once joked that he had four kids, three of the human kind, and one right out of Motor City. His unofficial favorite was a Colonial White 1959 Ford Thunderbird. The car has an interesting place in our family, being purchased in 1961 for around $2500, when such a car was considered extravagant. Mom and Dad had two kids, 10 & 11 at the time, and were just working to make ends meet. How this car came into our family or how they afforded it I don't know, but once it was here it was treated with care and respect, partly because of the monetary value but more so because of the love and admiration that my dad had for it. The T-Bird always had a spot in the garage, no matter what. You did not touch the T-Bird, no matter what, especially the windows - no fingerprints on the windows! The car sat in show quality state all the time, but rarely did it go out on the road. I had heard a story of my brother taking the car out and getting into an accident. Dad's version was much more dramatic, but it was probably a fender scrape. Naturally my sister got her chance to drive it and yes, another accident. When I asked to drive the car in my high school homecoming parade, Dad mulled it over for days. He was probably researching the costs of repairs on a car that by that time was 25 years old. I did get the chance to drive it, and was terrified that something would happen to it the entire time, and when I pulled into the driveway he was out the front door and eyeballing the car for damage. To my credit (and probably a guardian angel) the car came back in the same shape it went out in. A collective family sigh of relief.

Rose & Art with the T-Bird

 The T-Bird got out a few times each summer for parades and club events, put on for show at the local mall on occasion. Dad enjoyed the comments and admiration from strangers who appreciated what it took to own and keep such a beauty. I'm sure he felt the same was about us kids, but we were never on display like that.

After dad died it was hard to decide what to do with the car. I had no place to keep it, and there was no way I was going to just park it in my driveway. As is our family way, I mulled it over for many months (like about 26) and finally sold it at auction. It went to a new member of the Rocky Mountain Thunderbird Club where my dad had been a founding member. The couple who bought it was thrilled with the prospect of restoring such a treasured find. Dad would be thrilled too.