I REMEMBER MOMMA

Today is my mother’s birthday. Unfortunately, I remember her on this day but am not able to celebrate with her at my side. Momma went home 34 years ago this coming August; at a time when I was much too young to be without her.

I’ve talked about Momma on my blog before. You might remember the time I called her an old walrus. Funny as that was, it’s even more hilarious because at the time we were in a small aluminum fishing boat and there was no way to escape her wrath.

I’m not sure if I mentioned how on Saturday nights she would literally roll up the rug in the living room and she and Daddy would dance to the music of Lawrence Welk. They would take turns dancing with me, teaching me the latest steps (not really, but keep in mind that Momma was 40 years old when I was born, Daddy a year older) and we had a blast.

My parents had a distinctive whistle, just about eight or ten notes that I have never heard anyone use in this particular combination before or since. Unfortunately, I never could whistle, but they did use it to call me and signal to each other.

I remember sitting at my desk in the Summit County Assessor’s office in Breckenridge, Colorado early in August of 1979 when I heard that whistle. I got up from my desk and went out into the large entryway of the old courthouse expecting to find one or both of my parents, although they lived in Chicago at that time. I was getting married in about three weeks and thought that maybe they decided to come out early and help with the preparations. (Momma had been ill, but Daddy promised me that she would be able to make the trip.)

When my parents weren’t there, I came back in and asked a few co-workers if they heard somebody whistling. No one did. I immediately tried to call my parents, worrying that something was wrong. It took me three days to get a hold of Daddy, who told me Momma was in the hospital, but not to worry; it was only for some tests.

I got married August 25^th and my parents were not there. Daddy said the doctors refused to let Momma travel and that she was undergoing more tests, but she would call me as soon as she was able. Since I was leaving on a honeymoon, it was decided that I would call home every day in the hopes of being able to talk to her.

Five days later on August 30^th, I called from the back of a bar in Telluride, Colorado and Daddy told me that Momma had died. She was sicker than he ever let on in the previous months, but they had decided that they wanted me to go ahead with my wedding.

OK, sad story, something I have never gotten over, BUT there’s more. When I finally made it back to Chicago for the funeral my Aunt Clara, Momma’s sister, told me that Momma had died about three weeks previous, sometime in early August around 3 in the afternoon and Daddy had the hospital staff resuscitate her (something neither of them had ever wanted). When I confronted my father and he was able to confirm the day of the week that this occurred, I’m sure it was exactly at the time I heard my parents whistle about a thousand miles away.

I’ve often wondered if I was Daddy’s heart calling out for her not to go, or Momma reassuring him and me that ‘everything was going to be OK’.

I remember Momma on this day and miss her terribly every day of my life.

     {I played 'Stardust' for you there at the beginning because this was
       my parents 'song'. Probably not necessarily the version by Willie
       but,  none the less, it makes me think of them dancing together}