Last night I talked with Mom. She spent the day reminiscing. She talked about being a little girl and how her mom had been the only one who loved her unconditionally. My mother's mother died when Mom was only five years old. Her dress caught fire from a wood stove and my Mom witnessed the event. So traumatic for a young child. After her father died a year or so later, Mom was adopted by her paternal uncle and aunt. But that relationship wasn't a healthy one.
I felt sad listening to her telling her story and I could hear the sadness in her voice. But then she started talking about happier memories. Memories of how she loved my dad and how much they wanted a baby. Though they were young, 17 and 18, they married in November and the following October I was born. But there were sad memories involved in this as well. Evidently, my dad wanted to be married and have a family, but he wanted his freedom as well. Though she didn't elaborate, she said she didn't like to share, so I have to assume that he cheated on her. I never knew my dad. He died when he was 18 on a naval boat during World War II.
She told several more stories all building to happier remembrances. Then she blessed me by telling me a memory that brings her great happiness. About twelve years ago I took her to Tennessee to visit the Great Smoky Mountains. My dad didn't like to do sightseeing vacations so she had never done anything like that before. It was a fun time...just the two of us...and we shared stories, laughter, and she got to see things that left her with fond memories.
Our conversation made me realize that material things really don't matter in the big scheme of life...it is our memories that will sustain us in our final hours.
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