My mother, a woman loved by so very many people, passed away 11 years ago today. I can’t begin to count the times over the past years when I’ve wanted to tell her something; to show her how proud I am of her granddaughter; to let her know that I FINALLY can do some of the things she wanted me to do (like cook!). I know in my heart that she’s watching over us and that she knows. But still.
The greatest joy in my life is my daughter. Now, Mama, I understand what you felt. Oh my daughter has far surpassed me in things to be proud of, but I truly understand that depth of love for a child that allows you to hold them close and let go at the same time. That makes you stand up tall and proud at every accomplishment that child makes. To support them in being the best human being they can be. Mama, I give you credit for Emma’s successes too, because you taught me how to be a mother. You were a shining example.
No, you weren’t perfect. Who is? I certainly am not. But you were the 1950’s/1960’s housewife with a big heart. You cooked wonderful meals and baked like no one else. I remember cousins and aunts frequently at our house for meals with everyone commenting that you needed to start “Aunt Mary’s Restaurant.” During the summer you (apparently) gladly added to the brood during the day, watching over your sister’s three kids as well as your own three, and your best friend’s two daughters. We had a houseful! And that doesn’t even count the Blue Bird/Camp Fire Girls you led once a week or the neighborhood kids who came to play. You knew how to entertain us with crafts and trips to Steven’s Creek or the beach. And you treated every kid with equal love and attention. Everyone loved being at our house. Because of that example, I’ve been very active in Emma’s school life and our home is always a place the kids love to come. I have the privilege of being “mom” to a whole other passel of kids!
But most important, Emma and I have a really lovely, special relationship. I learned from my mother and father that there’s no such thing as too much love. And that you NEVER hide your love. You cuddle them and kiss them as long as you can. And that you accept and love your child for everything that they are, good or bad. You expected a lot of us but only in the sense that you wanted us to always do the best that we could. And you wanted us to be happy. I am happy Mama. I’ve had my ups and downs, done things I’m not proud of, but where I excel, where I’m most content, is as a mother. And I learned that from you. I miss you. I love you. So much and very much and with all my heart and I adore you.
Mary Ann Wilson Froom Marshall
October 28, 1925 – July 30, 1998