Just Like Jane Wyman

All of the boys noticed her. By fifteen she looked like a full-grown woman, but inside where it matters most, she was still a fragile child. They said she looked just like Jane Wyman, that new movie star in Hollywood. They all wanted to date her, she has told me on many occasions. They even fought over her. Her mother had told her she looked nothing like a movie star; in fact, she wasn't even pretty. "So don't go thinkin' you're somethin' special 'cause you're not!"

She put her hand up to her mouth and giggled whenever she talked about her teenage years. She wanted to marry one boy but the other boy cried, so she married him instead. It didn't work out. By the time he left her, she had two small children and none of those other boys--men by then--were interested.

Her mother was furious. She had lived her entire life as a devout Christian and raised her nine children by the strict laws of the church. The Bible says marriage is a divine institution, and it's a union sanctioned by God.  He doesn't accept divorce so now her daughter's a sinner and going to H-E double L. If she was younger, she'd take a switch to her. What a shame, too, because she had raised her better than that. Oh, and "Don't go thinkin' about remarryin' 'cause God does not sanction second marriages."

So now what? A sinner with little options, no job, no money, two small children, and nowhere to go. Did her mother let her come back home? Absolutely not! She made her bed and now she can sleep in it! Besides, with Luedna, Betty, Robert and that husband of hers who can't manage to keep a job, there's no room for a returning child with two babies.

SEVEN DECADES LATER, MOTHER'S DAY 2013

When I walked into Room 137, she didn't recognize me, but as soon as I sat down next to her she motioned for me to come closer.  "Come here. I want to tell you something," she said. It was the story about her male admirers and her resemblance to an actress whose name she couldn't remember."I liked the boys," she giggled. "And they liked me."  I'd heard the story so many times, I knew the ending by heart. The smile disappeared, she looked down at her ninety-one-year-old hands, and said, "But my mother didn't think I was pretty. She told me 'Don't go thinkin' you're somethin' special, 'cause you're not!'" In 1937, when those hurtful words were spoken, who would have thought that they would remain so vivid in Mother's mind all these many years later?

We sat side by side (she in her recliner and I in Aunt Gracie's Queen Ann chair) and starred at the television.  I thought about turning it on, but it wouldn't have made a difference to her. She wouldn't be able see or hear it.  Macular degeneration has claimed much of her eyesight, and no matter how loud the volume is, she still can't hear it.

As Mother sat in her chair and fiddled with her fingernails, I thought about my grandmother. Why would a mother who professed to be a devout Christian, who read the Bible everyday, who loved God so much, hurt the most precious gifts given to her.  Was it because she was being the mother that her mother was? Was it the stress from raising a family in poverty? Or was it fear? Did my grandmother love her children so much that she feared for their souls, and were the cruel words and tough exterior necessary amour to protect them from the devil and hell?  If you ask my mother, she would say the latter. My mother adored and honored her mother. Even though she still carries the scars, she knows that her mother was only doing her best.

She looked over at me and smiled. She motioned for me to come closer. "I have something to tell you," she said. I leaned over and she took my hand in hers. "I miss my mother so much," she said. "I know you do," I said. Then she raised my hand to her lips and kissed it.

Yep! I'm crying.