Sweet Harriett Louise

Today is Mother's ninety-fourth birthday. Today is also the same date, two years ago, that she passed away. Her three daughters, Judy, Lynnette, and I were by her side when she slipped away. At the nursing home where she spent the last two years of her life, many of her caregivers broke down when they heard the news; everyone adored sweet Harriett Louise.  At the funeral both Judy and Lynnette gave eloquent eulogies honoring the life of their mother. I spoke about regrets. Regrets for not being more understanding. Regrets for not being more tolerant. Regrets for not loving her better. I talked about the time to right the wrongs, to make amends, to avoid regrets was while your loved ones are still with you. Death is so final. Once they are gone there are no do-overs.

We are all unique, multifaceted, complicated, and imperfect. We become who we are not by our own doing. The person we eventually grow up to be is determined by three things: genetics, environment, and reality TV. With so many things affecting our outcome, is it no wonder we don't meet the high expectations some people require of us? The truth is we all do the best we can with what we have. Would anyone want to be unhappy? Would anyone choose depression?  Except for the sickos of the world, would anyone intentionally harm their loved ones? Yet, it happens and what may seem innocent and benign at the time can cause damage that lasts a lifetime.

Who among us, other than you, (yes, I'm talking to you) has grown up in a functional, rather than dysfunctional home? You're the only one. (Don't be smug.) The rest of us have not been as lucky as you. (Wipe that smirk off your face.)

Mother loved Judy, Lynnette, and me with every molecule in her body. She did the best she could with what she had to work with, and considering what that was--a mother who used her love and affection as a bargaining tool to get her daughter to act according to her wishes, a husband who abandoned her with two children, a church that called her a sinner for being divorced, an education that stopped at 14, a roommate who took her power away, and a deep-seated belief that she was not worthy of love--she did very well. All my mother ever wished for in her short ninety-two years was this: See me. Acknowledge me. Love me. Adore me.

If you think about it, isn’t that what we all want? Don’t each one of us have our own dog and pony show that is self-promoting? Some of us are more discreet, while others manage to constantly put themselves in the spotlight, but aren’t we all saying the same thing, “Hey, I’m here.”

Mother’s dog and pony show was beautiful, adorable, funny, entertaining, complicated, and imperfect. And before her short life was over she got her wishes…all four of them.