Three Things My Mother Taught Me
I mentioned in my post from the other day that I started writing as a catharsis for my grief. What some of you may not know is that my sadness stemmed from the loss of my mom. It was one of the toughest days of my life learning that she had passed. I didn't know that a heart could hurt so much until that day. So, I thought it fitting to share this post with you here. It's still hard to believe she left this earth almost 5 years ago.
January 20th marked the first anniversary of my mother’s passing. As I was reflecting on the past year and the impact her death has had on my life, I was reminded of three things she always used to say to me:
"You’re made of good stuff."
"Don’t let the turkeys get you down."
"What are you going to do?"
It was not uncommon for me to vent to her on the phone after having what I like to call “a day.” Without fail, she would spout off any one of these; dependent on the situation, of course. And the intensity with which the words flew off her tongue, no doubt directly correlated to whatever state of mind I was projecting.
Sometimes I cringed because I knew a sharp tongue was headed my way. My mom pulled no punches. She called a spade a spade, but she was never malicious. She was a lady, first and foremost; her words were often delivered with eloquence — and with an added touch of spice if needed.
I can't tell you how many times she shared her nuggets of wisdom with me over the years or even how many times I likely dismissed it. I never saw it as a gift before, but now especially with her gone, her advice continues to resonate with me — personally and professionally. I am both comforted and reassured that in pretty much any situation, her three wise sayings apply.
For some time, I suspected that she also shared her words of wisdom with my dad, my older brothers, and their wives — and likely anyone else that Rosie (my mom) thought needed a little reassurance or a good swift kick in the ass. Yet it was during our greatest sorrow, that I would learn just how much "what are you going to do" would mean to so many people.
My mom passed away, suddenly but peacefully at home. After a few years of challenging degrees of health issues, her passing was a blessing. She had suffered enough, though rarely complained.
At her wake, I stood solemnly by her: a daughter shrouded with sadness and a searing ache so deep within the confines of my heart. I wasn’t sure it could be assuaged. Next to me stood one of my brothers. As tears started to well in my tired eyes, he turned to me — and in his quiet, unsuspecting nature and with a slight smile on his face and a glint in his eye — he shrugged his shoulders and said:
“What are you going to do?”
And just like that, we laughed. In fact, everyone near us laughed.
The next day, at her funeral, one of my sister-in-law's gave a heartfelt eulogy. Filled with fond memories and love, she shared one of her favorite Rosie-ism’s if you will. As her story unfolded, she revealed that she too had been privy to mom's wisdom.
Clearly, mom had made the rounds; as evidenced by people’s reactions. Laughter, nods, smiles are what I saw as I looked around and wiped tears from my eyes. Her wisdom had mileage, that much I knew. Her secret was out and apparently, we had all been on the receiving end of her rhetoric.
In honor of mom's words, we mourned her, we celebrated her life, we laughed, we cried, and of course, we raised a little hell. But above all, we promised to carry on. I bet she never imagined how much those words would change us and comfort us or that her own advice would become an integral part of her eulogy. But no doubt, she would be proud. She was always proud of us, and I suspect she was smiling down upon on us too.
"What are you going to do?" It seemed like a fundamental question, and I know I dismissed it at times. However, the dots eventually connected and led me to my eureka moment. I always trusted my mom's advice. She was smart with a quick wit, and she had undoubtedly learned from experience. She was a firm believer in God, not giving you more than you can handle and that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
When faced with a partial leg amputation at 80 years young, she just said: “What are you going to do?”
Her answer? Well, that was to walk again. And she did proving that determination and hard work pay off and that age is indeed only a number.
Needless to say "what are you going to do?" took on new meaning; especially after her death. I’ve encountered some challenges of late, and it is quite serendipitous that she would be the guiding force even after she is gone. Her no-nonsense advice has carried me through some difficult times.
When faced with a situation recently that left me feeling dismayed and discouraged, I was at a loss for answers. So, I went for a run in the brisk evening air, and as the wind kicked up and swept across my face, I said: "Hello, mom." Then in a whisper, all I heard was, “What are you going to do?”
Her words were appropriate, and her timing impeccable. So, I heeded her advice, and I remembered her three nuggets of gold:
"You're made of good stuff."
"Don't let the turkeys get you down."
"What are you going to do?"
Then, I picked up my laptop and sat down to write. And so began my healing.
And just like that, we laughed. In fact, everyone near us laughed.
The next day, at her funeral, one of my sister-in-law's gave a heartfelt eulogy. Filled with fond memories and love, she shared one of her favorite Rosie-ism’s if you will. As her story unfolded, she revealed that she too had been privy to mom's wisdom.
Clearly, mom had made the rounds; as evidenced by people’s reactions. Laughter, nods, smiles are what I saw as I looked around and wiped tears from my eyes. Her wisdom had mileage, that much I knew. Her secret was out and apparently, we had all been on the receiving end of her rhetoric.
In honor of mom's words, we mourned her, we celebrated her life, we laughed, we cried, and of course, we raised a little hell. But above all, we promised to carry on. I bet she never imagined how much those words would change us and comfort us or that her own advice would become an integral part of her eulogy. But no doubt, she would be proud. She was always proud of us, and I suspect she was smiling down upon on us too.
"What are you going to do?" It seemed like a fundamental question, and I know I dismissed it at times. However, the dots eventually connected and led me to my eureka moment. I always trusted my mom's advice. She was smart with a quick wit, and she had undoubtedly learned from experience. She was a firm believer in God, not giving you more than you can handle and that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
When faced with a partial leg amputation at 80 years young, she just said: “What are you going to do?”
Her answer? Well, that was to walk again. And she did proving that determination and hard work pay off and that age is indeed only a number.
Needless to say "what are you going to do?" took on new meaning; especially after her death. I’ve encountered some challenges of late, and it is quite serendipitous that she would be the guiding force even after she is gone. Her no-nonsense advice has carried me through some difficult times.
When faced with a situation recently that left me feeling dismayed and discouraged, I was at a loss for answers. So, I went for a run in the brisk evening air, and as the wind kicked up and swept across my face, I said: "Hello, mom." Then in a whisper, all I heard was, “What are you going to do?”
Her words were appropriate, and her timing impeccable. So, I heeded her advice, and I remembered her three nuggets of gold:
"You're made of good stuff."
"Don't let the turkeys get you down."
"What are you going to do?"
Then, I picked up my laptop and sat down to write. And so began my healing.
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