Happy Birthday Mom

Dear Mom,

     I held my guitar again today; the one with the repaired neck that you always loved to play when you came to visit. As my fingers slid along the neck they found the old familiar places and I started to play a song you taught me so many years ago. It’s an old gospel song that you and your mother played for us. And for a minute I thought I heard your voice singing in harmony with grandma. The name of the song, “If I Could Hear My Mother Pray Again”, will always remind me of you.

     You taught me a lot about music, art, and life in general. Like a sponge I soaked up as much as I could. Some of your lessons did not sink in until I got a bit older. I like to tell people that I was amazed at how wise you became between the time I was 16 and the time I was 30.

     You never asked dad for much as I recall. I think of that each time I hear Dolly Parton sing her song “To Daddy.” Your sister told me once that she never saw dad give you any flowers, or special gift. Maybe that is why your eyes sparkled when I gave you roses for Mother’s Day when you came to visit a few years back.

   Your wardrobe was never fancy; you liked it that way, and you kept your plain gold band on your finger, long after you and dad split up. I remember you saying that it wasn’t you that broke the vows and you had no reason to take it off. The only other jewelry that I saw you wear was a cheap watch and a necklace with all of the kids’ birthstones on it. You wouldn’t wear the necklace either until I lied to you and told you it only cost me eighteen dollars.

     Remember when you taught us how to make shadow animals with our hands that time we were out of power for a few hours? We were laughing so much we forgot about the storm outside. You always did try to take our minds off of things that were troubling or scary. Like the time my dog got hit by a car, and you sat on the edge of my bed for hours, talking to me, until I finally went to sleep.

     You taught me how to imagine shapes in clouds and how to recognize the good in people. You taught me to pay attention to what was above and below me and to remember that I need to be careful where I step in life, so I don’t trample what is below me, or step on somebody’s feelings.

     The best lessons that you taught were about religion. You never forced us to go to church because you believed that for our faith to be true, we had to find our testimonies on our own. There were no hellfire and brimstone sermons, and you never told me that I was going straight to hell in a hand basket, although there were some in the family that said that I was. And you told me that I should look at the beam in my eye before I told somebody about the splinter in their eye. Your lessons have stuck with me over the years and they are simple rules to live by.

I am not better than anybody else and nobody is better than me.

If I am not sure about something, then I need to pray about it.

If I have to ask if I am doing something wrong, then I probably am.

I should love God and treat everybody like I want to be treated.

And always remember that I am not responsible for another person’s actions, but I am 100% responsible for my reaction to their actions.

And perhaps the most important lesson was that I should learn whatever I can about something that interests me.

     It’s your birthday today, but you already know that. You left us in the spring last year, in early April. Poor health kept me from making the trip to Oklahoma to see you off, but we had already said goodbye the last time we were together. It’s been almost a year now and the ache is still there. I suppose it will never leave. There’s a line from a song that sums it up for me. “I sure miss you but heaven’s sweeter with you there.”

I love you mom!

Johnny