No More Dead Rats

My mother, Frances Cypert, on the far right.

With Mother's Day approaching, I have been thinking about my mother. She was called "Mama" by me until I was older and then I called her "Mom". I still think of her as Mama.

A dear and talented friend recently posted on Facebook that she had won an award for one of her artistic creations. My friend, Karen, took second place in a national competition for one of her fused glass plates. She mentioned in the post that she wished her mother could have seen this.  Karen's desire for her mom to see her accomplishment or perhaps just to see the art piece itself reminded me so much how we long for those we love to share in our happiness and to see our hard work pay off.

My greatest wish has always been that my mother could have known my children here on this earth. In many ways the kids are my life's work. They do not belong to me, they belong to themselves and to God. But to me they are also our works of art (mine and Dean's).

I know that my mother would have been so happy to celebrate each of their accomplishments and to cry through each disappointment. I know she would have entered so fully into their lives in that way because she celebrated joyfully every ribbon, award, and accomplishment of mine. And she encouraged from the background through failed romances, a failed political science class, two broken cars and every other disappointment. I think what my kids would most enjoy about my mom was that she would have found all their humor to be so funny. She would have enjoyed every geeky, nerdy reference. I know this because one summer she and I watched re-runs from the original Star Trek together every single night (she loved Mr. Spock). And my kids would have benefited so much from my mother's unfailing unconditional love. My mother delighted in me when others did not find me so delightful. She loved me with all her heart and that love was the greatest gift of my childhood.

When I went away to college my friend Sabra and I went to a pet store and bought my mother a kitten.  Sabra and I believed that all sadness and in particular the sadness of my departure could be eased by a loveable little ball of fur.  My grandmother was less than pleased with our selection but my mother loved him. She named him "Chaudry" after one of her doctors. While at college I received letters full of all the news of Chaudry as he grew from kitten to cat. As a kitten he was quite destructive and confirmed for my grandmother that he was a mistake. Yet my mother loved him and he loved my mother.  There was tangible proof of his affection for her.  As he grew older Chaudry began to bring my mother presents. She would open the door in the evening to let him in and he would present at her feet a nice dead rat. My mother knew the gifts he gave were precious to him while repulsive to her and so she cheerfully accepted them and then quietly disposed of them when he wasn't looking.

I'm sorry to say that much of my life at that time was like the dead rat. There were many false starts, many mistakes, many failures, these were not pretty gifts to bring home to mom. Mama did not live to see the life I have today. Because of the kind of person she was it doesn't really matter. She was that rare person who saw who you wanted to be and loved you for it. She believed I already was that person I just couldn't put it all into practice yet.

But I, like my friend Karen, wish that my mom (and Chaudry the cat) could be here in person to see my beautiful creations. My children, who are so different from each other and yet alike, are delightful, precious treasures to me. They confirm to me again and again that my life's work has been valuable. I wish Mama was here to celebrate my joy in them! Mom, all my false starts and disasters turned to hard work and finally paid off! I love you, Mom.

My mom sang the following song to me and taught me to sing the first stanza. I didn't know until just now (looking on Wikipedia for the lyrics)  that the rest of the song indicates that the author was in the Birmingham jail!

Down in the valley, the valley so low

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow;

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,

Angels in Heaven know I love you,

Know I love you, dear, know I love you,

Angels in Heaven know I love you.