My Mom, In The Words Of Twain

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” Mark Twain

On the anniversary of her death—I’m sharing the tribute I’d written for Mom’s memorial service. It feels right..

My Mom loved words–an articulate person who wrote her way through so much of her inner life. She talked for years about writing her own story, and we have bins of her writing that she loved to read over and over. And given how many times she told me she wanted something done with all of her papers– this opportunity felt really important. Knowing that her favorite author was Mark Twain.. I decided to start with a few of his quotes. He had so many that I got a bit sidetracked with the humor of that man, but here’s my attempt to capture the essence of Carol Sue:

“THERE WAS NEVER AN UNINTERESTING LIFE. SUCH A THING IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY. INSIDE OF THE DULLEST EXTERIOR, THERE IS A DRAMA, A COMEDY, AND A TRAGEDY.”

Mama taught me that one of the greatest adventures in this life is the journey of self discovery. She wanted to share her inner workings and her wisdom—whether it was talking for hours with anyone who would listen, or writing volumes about her own vantage point—Mom was on a never-ending quest to discover “who she was”, and had such a passion for helping others understand themselves. She viewed every person she met as “remarkable,” and would go digging for gold hidden in each of us, no matter what things looked like on the surface. Even though there were many times I rolled my eyes at her constant talk about her “way of being,” I’m starting to experience that same wonder and curiosity. I’ve found a very real joy in unpacking of my own life and writing about it, just like she did--and I get really juiced up in those moments when others hop on board.

“TO ONE IN SYMPATHY WITH NATURE, EACH SEASON, IN ITS TURN, SEEMS THE LOVELIEST.”

Mama passed down her love of this earth–the birds, the trees and flowers, the ocean and sky. She lived her life always ready to behold the next beautiful thing. And she could find it in the most mundane spotting of a Cardinal, the flowers she always had on her table, and the art on her walls. She’d even come home from Target talking about the beautiful baby she saw in the checkout line. And now that I find myself mesmerized by the sky, and compulsively attempting to photograph the beauty of a magnificent tree, or sunrise or sunset, (while going 70 mph on I 90, LOL), I get it. Mama taught me how to make that stuff sacred. How to be filled with wonder and awe.

“Humor is the great thing, the saving thing, after all. The minute it crops up, all our irritations and resentments slip away and a sunny spirit takes their place.”

Mom was funny, period. She had a flair for quick witted, sarcastic, silly humor. The way she would flutter her eyes in jest at how “wonderful” everything was–even when she lost everything at the very end. How she would brag about her gift of “availability”--a mockery of never quite getting her own life off the ground, thereby being able to have an open door for everyone else. How she would come up with funny little names for people, or even her health conditions. Her brain hemorrhage and resulting vision loss became affectionately known as her “YOU KNOW.” because it seemed like she could never stop thinking or talking about it. She had a slapstick side, always punching and pinching people, laughing with her signature loud cackle. And anyone who knows Jen and me–you know how addicted we are to laughter. My mom even crafted her own “voice” for our dogs–a sort of southern accented, mischievous child’s voice, that we all use when speaking the imagined thoughts of our dogs. A fine family tradition that will be passed on for generations.

“LOVE TRULY, AND FORGIVE QUICKLY.”

Mom’s life was a testimony of love: that nothing was more important than the love she had for almost everyone she met. Not that she did it perfectly, but everyone who knew her can attest her door was always open, her ear always ready to listen, food was always on the counter. She included EVERYONE, wanted every person to feel at home, to be able to be free to be themselves. She said “I love you” at every turn, and made that the culture of our family. And she forgave people over and over again–would go to the ends of the earth to repair broken relationships. Sometimes, it was a bit much, when she would insist on talking about a problem we were having we’d feel so drained. And like all of us, her fears became a barrier to showing the depths of her love. But she loved to the best of her ability, we never doubted her love.

“I’VE LIVED THROUGH SOME TERRIBLE THINGS IN MY LIFE, SOME OF WHICH ACTUALLY HAPPENED.”

This is where we get to the enigmatic side of mom. Mom was pretty fixated on the dark side of life. And she had a restlessness, a way of running while feeling held down. She often described her life as one lived alone. and felt like she was always “facing death.” But at the very same time, she was one of the most grateful people I’ve ever known, grateful for everyone in her life, grateful that she made it through. She was keenly aware that things could be so much worse.

And Unlike Twain, my mom was a believer in big things. In miracles, in a God that could shift the tide of any storm. Her faith never failed her, and even when she’d lost so much of her ability to think or remember–she still believed that God was present with her. I would take car rides with her, and we’d play our spirit music–and she’d just soak in it with her eyes closed and her hands open. When she’d get out of the car she’d say “that was amazing. Thank you, I can’t believe how you made that happen.” This was truly a miracle–in light of all she’d lost, and all of her angst in her final year. In a bit, Jo is going to sing one of those songs for us.

The day before Mom left us, she had hours of what they call “terminal lucidity.” It was a miraculous boost of energy, an alertness and clarity we hadn’t seen for a very long time. She was able to look me in the eye, and hold my gaze. She was able to listen to Jolie’s singing: song after song, shaking her head in amazement, said “unbelievable.” She was able to understand that she was dying, and when I told her it wouldn’t be long before she’d be in heaven she raised her hands and said “PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD!!!”

That was gratitude on steroids– welcoming death itself as the miracle she had prayed for. I’m going to close with the lyrics of Mom’s favorite song, chosen after a bout of depression in the wake of her vision loss at 53:

I can see clearly now the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind, It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day

Oh, yes I can make it now the pain is gone, All of the bad feelings have disappeared

Here is that rainbow I've been praying for, It's gonna be a bright,

bright sunshiny day