The last of the line

Each time I hug her goodbye, I’m shocked at how frail she seems. Her skin has gotten thin and easily bruised in the way that I remember my Granny Brewer’s and Granny Self’s skin being, but which doesn’t seem right in the context of my mother. She will turn 81 in just a couple of weeks, which also doesn’t seem right.

As of yesterday, she’s the last of her siblings left alive. She was the youngest of 13 children. Her father has been gone now for more than 55 years and her mother more than 30. Her mother was only 19 when she married her father, a widower with 4 young children. My grandmother raised these 4 she didn’t give birth to along with 9 more of her own.

My mother tells stories of growing up, moving from place to place, never having a home they owned until she was a teenager or later. Most of the houses they had didn’t have running water so her stories involve running water from a well, and fighting her father’s many geese on the way to and from the outhouse. The food they ate was what they grew themselves, and was often all the food there was, when times were especially tight.

Names of long dead relatives and neighbors color her stories, along with retellings of friends and the siblings closest to her in age.

She tells of the years she and my dad were first married. He was the oldest of 7, she the youngest of 13. The importance of family for both was always strong. The sense of responsibility for family a bit different, based on the experience of birth order.

She’s lost so many of her people. Both parents. Mother in law and father in law. 12 brothers and sisters. Brothers in law and sisters in law. Aunts and uncles. Nieces and nephews. A husband of 34 years.

She has experienced much loss in her life. But has seen so many blessings. Three children, 10 grandchildren, 7 great grandchildren.

She has always been both my biggest cheerleader and my greatest support. She hasn’t always understood my life choices, but she has always stood by me, no matter what. Having never finished 9th grade, I don’t know that she has ever truly understood my need to continually educate myself. But she has always supported it. And she has always been my boys’ absolute biggest fan.

I am very aware that I learned to be a good mom from having had a good mom. I know that is a gift not given to all. It is one I cherish. One that I will always be grateful for.

I know that she won’t be with me forever. I am conscious of that each time I tell her goodbye. And the thought both makes me sad and scares me. Who are you when you no longer have your mom? The person who has known you longest and loved you best? 

I know what it is to be a fatherless daughter. I’ve known that for almost 28 years. It’s still not easy. The ides of being an orphan is one I dread. Even at 50, you still need your parents. 

So I try to imprint the memories on my heart. To be with me when she no longer is. Until then, I will enjoy this time as a precious gift. One I get to unwrap each day.