Delilah always plays Disney when moms dedicate songs to their kids. Without fail.
I'm just waiting for the day I hear Judy on there. Oh, my mother. Sometimes I can't believe it took me so long to get her. Or get to her here, either.
We were your typical mother daughter bickering duo when I was a teenager. Well, I guess I was your typical bratty teenager and my mom was the sainted one who had to deal with me.
But I sometimes think our situation was inexplicably different. Not special, just different. It was just the two of us. This house, this home, where a family once dwelt was now inhabited by two women so alike they bounced off each other like magnets.
G moved to Ohio at the end of my first high school year. Dad had been out of the house for about four years at that point. Suddenly this places was just ours.
In a lot of ways it was magical. How many young women get their mothers so completely to themselves like that? For a long time I even slept in her bed. She'd long since moved over to my dad's side and I took hers. There was something comforting to it.
She'd wake up before me and I'd lay there, halfway between sleep and dreams, and listen to her get ready for work. It was just us. Carving out a family where only we still existed.
I can't even imagine now how she survived it. How long her life must have seemed. A son thousands of miles away. A daughter pushing out of the child mold, struggling to find her woman place. More hate than love. Or really, the love just hiding in the hate. So intertwined. The coin always landing one side up.
Yet she survived it with a smile. And only rarely would I come home to her tears. Unless I was provoking them. That was never hard to do.
We both have a penchant for the drama, only I like to create it. She just plays the foil. I provoke. She reacts. A mother daughter dance as old as time, I'm sure.
The day that my dad left, I mostly remember her. Where she was sitting. The look on her face. How she followed me into my room. Softly knocking on my door. Laying down beside me, stroking my hair. Quietly weeping. She'd just lost her husband. The man she'd loved for over twenty years. And she cared more to comfort her young daughter. Her fifth grader who'd just lost her father.
He just packed up more stuff.
In high school she drove me nuts with all the "why can't you just wear shorts with a hem?" and "please tuck it in" nonsense. You can thank Seattle for that, Mother.
But she never criticized my looks. In appalls me when I hear my friends talk about the way their moms critiqued their bodies. I can't imagine. How can you have good self-esteem when you can't even count on the mother vote? I mean, no matter what I did, I always knew she'd still be my biggest fan.
And that's not to say I could do no wrong. Oh believe me. I did done wrong plenty of times.
I remember one college break I found a pamphlet on STDs in my bedside drawer. I thought I'd die. But at that point, it was her way. Honestly, I think she didn't ask because she probably already knew the answer and knew she couldn't handle the confirmation.
So she slipped in her opinion another way.
Almost every week in college I'd get a note or a card. There was usually a For Better or Worse or Cathy strip in there. And there were always coupons. I still get them. But there are just dog treat coupons in there now. And always a little heart with a hi Montego!, scrawled at the bottom.
And she tells me that she "loves me beyond words" and lets me know how proud she is. For no reason. And I don't know what I would do without that. In the bad times of my adult life, she's been my light. It sounds so cheesy, and believe me, it is. But that's my mother. She never lost her cheerleader bubble.
Having a bad day? Here's what Judy says you should do:
1. Think positive thoughts.
2. Count your blessings.
3. Praise the Lord.
4. Pray for direction.
5. Walk
6. Work out.
7. Enjoy the moment.
8. Look at the sky.
9. Help someone.
10. Write letters.
11. Say thank you
12. Sing
13. Eat well
14. Laugh
I don't even remember when I got that card, but it's been stuck in my mirror for well over a year. She blushed and kind of giggled when she saw where I put it. I guess she just thought I threw all her notes away. I read these words each morning, and while I don't always do all, or even one, of the things on the list, it's enough to know I have a mother who thinks enough to remind me of them.
This woman who was a never ending source of embarrassment to me for so many years. And now. Now her opinion means everything to me.
I see our future when I watch her with MeMe. Even at 58 and 93 they do that mother daughter dance. And when my grandmother gets exasperated I still see the pride in her eyes. And when my mother gets even more exasperated I still see the love shining back.
