My Mother, the "Mouse"

The question posed was, "If you could visit with a deceased friend or family member, who would it be?  What would you do?"  This was an easy one--it would be my mother.

Mother was extremely reserved and very proper. Although she was competent and capable she avoided leadership positions. She was uncomfortable with attention and learned her childhood lesson of being "seen but not heard" well. She even described herself on occasion as a "timid mouse."  But she had a rare gift--she was a great listener.  People from all walks of life sought her out and her living room was the scene of many confessions and impromptu counseling sessions.

We had different personalities. More than once she said, "If I hadn't given birth to you, I'd swear you were left on the doorstep by gypsies." There were times during my rebellious teen years that I'm sure she would have happily returned me to the nearest traveling band. But all things change. As I grew older she and I came to respect one another and became great friends.

We had a standing weekly lunch date usually followed by a bit of shopping or bookstore browsing.  We shared a love of books and often traded back and forth.  We traveled together, shared countless dinners, tried new wines and were happy in each others' company.

Our last day together was May 8, 1994 when our family had gathered to honor her on Mother's Day.  It was a gorgeous day, balmy and clear, and everyone was in good spirits. As we were driving her home at the end of the day, she turned to my husband and said, "I had a wonderful time today.  Everything was just perfect.  If I die tonight, I'll die a happy woman."  And that is exactly what happened. My husband found her in her bed the next day. Blindsided, we were incredibly shocked and saddened but all so grateful for that last day together.

My sweet, gentle mother thought she was unimportant and that her life was "nothing special." She didn't believe that her gifts of empathy and respectful listening were so rare.  At her funeral, the chapel was filled with people of all ages, all races and all circumstances, united in tribute to her. How I wish she could have seen them!  On second thought, she'd probably be embarrassed being the center of attention. If I could spend time with her again, I would  tell her about it.  Over lunch.  And then we'd shop.