One time…

My mom was pretty calm most of the time, but there are a few times I remember her getting all riled up.  I think all moms do occasionally.

One time when I was 7, they cut a beautiful giant tree down near the ballfields close to our house.  She sprinted across the field and chewed the guys out (as if they weren’t just hired and it was their personal choice?).

One time someone badmouthed my dad while he was coaching (he was a head basketball coach) and she shut him up pretty quickly when she sternly reminded him that Coach’s kids were right in front of him.

She took karate with me 18 months before she died.  Only for a couple months, but it was neat to see her do something I did.

When she was pregnant with my brother and I was 3, we played tackle football in the backyard.

She could pick up a wasp in the car by its wings and throw it out through the window.

I can only wonder what improvements she would’ve continued to make.  My parents got married in 1969 and Mom only worked years here and there because Dad was a teacher (man, we were poor).  She sold cosmetics and then did some secretary work before she got sick.  She was just starting to realize her potential as a person.  She was starting to learn.  She would’ve loved the internet and all the technology, but it would’ve taken her awhile to get the hang of it.  I see my friends’ mothers on Facebook with cheesy posts and incorrect articles, and pictures of grandkids.  I’m not jealous.  I’m years past jealousy.  I’m just curious.  What would she have thought of my wife?  One time for Christmas, I wrote Beth a few pages about what she and my mother would’ve done to spend a day together if she was still alive.  It was obviously emotional to write.

2 summers ago I wrote a 38,000 YA book based on the 2 years she was sick.  It wasn’t a good book, but I felt better even though I was just about crying on the keyboard every other day.  I think it helped me with whatever. Every so often I let myself just feel sad or mourn. I don’t know what it’s called really.

 

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