Almost every year that I’ve been on social media, I have shared the picture above around Mother’s Day. It’s one of my favorite pictures of my mom because I think it tells the perfect story of what kind of mother and wife she was. She seems to be completely into her task of getting ready for bed, unphased the constant banging of the snare drum her son has brought into the bathroom. If I remember correctly, I brought this drum into the bathroom after she was already there. This bathroom had tile on the floor and most of the walls, so you know that the sound of the drum got maximum reverberation. I don’t remember her complaining at all. I’m sure this is just one example of her putting up with an energetic, noisy son. Especially if it was related to making music in any way at all, I was always encouraged, even when my timing wasn’t so great.
I think this picture also shows her patience with my father, who made this picture. He decides to take a picture of the chaos in the bathroom and my mom is in a relatively unflattering pose. Foaming at the mouth from the toothpaste on the electric toothbrush in her hand and her hair pulled back, ready for bed. She might have been as annoyed with my dad as she was with me. I don’t remember her complaining to him, but I was young at the time and might not have been privy to discussions about it later that night. The picture made it into a family photo album so even if there was any ill will surrounding this photo session, it was very short term.
My mom was all about creating a world for me and my sister that was very protective. Our home environment was very much the Leave it to Beaver experience, with loving and nurturing parents and minimum exposure to the less desirable influences of our community. Smoking was the only vice that I can think of that she embraced and I’m sure it led to the lung cancer that took her from her sooner than what we wanted.
My mom loved flowers. Every house where we ever lived had flowers in the yard. Each spring, my father’s yard still comes to life with a burst of vibrant colors from the variety of plants in the beds around the house. Mom always had rose bushes and we would observe the Mother’s Day tradition of wearing red roses to indicate our mother was alive. A white rose would indicate that your mother was no longer living. I’ve never worn a white rose on Mother’s Day, but I find myself thinking about that tradition more often.