My Mom

I miss my mom. She passed away eleven years ago. The last several years of her life were stolen by vascular dementia, so I’ve actually been missing her for close to fifteen years now. Has it really been that long?

My mom was a special woman. My siblings and I were her life. When our children came along they added chocolate frosting to her days. She was a good mother to us and a wonderful grandmother. Her heart grew right along with the growth of our family. Mom had more than enough love to go around and everyone felt it.

Mom was creative. She sewed clothes for my sister and me. She made all of our Halloween costumes. She painted holiday scenes on our front window. We didn’t need those window clings you can buy nowadays. We had Mom.

Mom would write cheery notes to each of us and pack them in our metal lunch boxes. The note might be taped to the inside of the lid or written on the shell of a hard boiled egg. I think once she etched a message on the skin of a banana.

Mom and Dad both made the holidays, traveling, and camping very special and fun. They had a tumultuous marriage, which they hid from us during our young years, but on those special occasions, they came together for us kids and made our memories perfect.

Mom had great respect and adoration for the military and all those who serve our country and communities. She dearly loved this country. She was devastated with 9/11. She found out a NYC firefighter named John Schardt, died at the Towers. Apparently, he was a distant relative sharing our last name which is pretty uncommon. How my mother discovered this, I do not know.

Mom wore John’s bracelet for a while; a bracelet similar to what we once wore with the names of POW’s etched on them. My mother kept in contact with John’s mom and eventually sent the bracelet to her so she could give to John’s son who was born after the tragedy.

Mom did her best to teach us kindness by example. That’s one of the greatest gifts she ever gave to us kids. I know I’m not always as kind as I should be in some situations, but afterwards my thoughts always return to Mom, and there I find my remorse. She’s teaching me still.

Mom kept a wooden ruler on top of the fridge. If we misbehaved she’d threaten, “I’m gonna get the ruler!” But never once did she need to get the ruler. We absolutely adored and respected her. Once we got into high school though, we began testing our independence. We each had our moments where we would have benefited from Mom’s ruler.

Mom was a great cook. Her spaghetti and goulash were to die for. We’ve tried to replicate her spaghetti but we cannot get it to taste like hers. I’m going to try these recipes again in October when my brother and sister come to visit. Wish me luck.

My brother and sister are bringing with them North Carolina dirt and whatever ashes are left of Mom. My brother moved from his place where we planted her. He dug up all the dirt in that area before he moved and we will relocate “Mom” to my cabin on the cove. All her life she was afraid of water but loved being near it. So I have a special place chosen for her under a willow along the cove. I will be able to see her from my cabin porch where the sunsets are breathtaking. My sister had her ashes for about six years and then my brother for about five. Now she’s coming home to me.