When my mom died this summer, her sainthood was heavily promoted in social media and I'm not saying the Russians were involved, but I was one of her kids so I know she wasn't a saint--she was human. Human--with a generosity that touched thousands of people directly and indirectly. Often. Not just for show. IN THE DETAILS and at the bottom line. I watched a lot of TV while she was doing this stuff and I thought her service work was cool, but saintly never came to mind.
Like all saints and would-be saints, my mom was relentless and really organized. In her 80's she prepared meals and treats "for the old people" at her church's elder daycare. In her 90's she hauled all of our lazy asses to the old folks home for birthday and holiday gatherings in the drab family dining hall. All she had to do was pick up the phone, the way she did on school board, in United Methodist Women, and when she worked with local social service organizations. She was the Henry Kissinger of family logistics. Christmas wasn't openly toxic or difficult the way some family scenes can be, but it was methodically administrated. If it made you depressed, that was your business.
I'm wading into deep waters here--my Mom was complex (isn't YOURS?). An example of the kind of relentless that was less than saintly was when my dad was filling in on the city council and Mom formally proposed we declare our town (Liberty, Missouri) a nuclear free zone. One of the council members had been calling her a commie for years, so send some money to a Democratic Socialist to honor that guy. But the nuclear weaponization of Liberty, Missouri was not a hill we necessarily needed to die on, with Dad honored to be on the council, doing the boring stuff that a city council does. He felt proud. My mom was tone deaf sometimes--had blind spots. Sometimes did not listen to those close to her, because she knew how she wanted things to be. If there were difficult conversations to be had--and there were--she had them with God more than with those who were involved.
This no nukes scenario also kind of describes the twin channel markers that I fail to stretch my character between, because both of my parents had freaking Mack truck motors in steady low-gear when it came to civics and church. I'm sure my mom has an FBI file from her kitchen table, non-armchair peace work in the 80's. When we moved Dad, he had file cabinets full of the meticulous minutes he took at meetings for Rotary and United Methodist Men. So where did I get my capacity for infinite navel-gazing, extreme doodling, weird songs, and taking the slow way home?
*****
My mom liked: I Love Lucy, Mash, choral music and classical music, an annual beer and hot dog at a Royals game, and books--always books. Any phone call we had involved a whatcha-readin' these days segment. Sometimes that was the best part, because there was a period of time when I didn't have ears for her rundown/status check of family members. I thought she needed to find some identity of her own outside family family family and stop guilt-tripping me for being 2000 miles away. Here's everything you're choosing not to be part of, your dad is checked out, etc etc. Barf.
All I will say here is, guess who likes family status checks now? And who struggles with judgement and guilt tripping?
If I said I hated something (broccoli, Billy Martin, marching band) she would say flatly "don't say hate." But she hated Ronald Reagan. The only time I ever heard her use profanity was when she stuttered and called Bonzo "a….a….a DUMB SHIT." The elevation of Ronald Reagan relative to the current batch of venal, amoral oligarchic toadies would piss her off something fierce. I don't even know what she would do with the narcissistic liar and traitor acting as a foreign business asset in the oval office. She would get on the horn and write letters. That is what she would do. She would show up.
OK--she thought marching band was dumb too because our symphonic band program absolutely slayed, and marching band was a low-brow waste of resources. But she wouldn't say she hated marching band. She would say, it's a trade-off. In life, there are trade-offs.
And I think she hated Billy Martin, too, but did not say one way or another.
Also--this rubbed me the wrong way: she did not like rock music and said I should spend my time and money on something more lasting than "rock-punk tapes." When I made her listen to The Who in her Camry, she muttered "why is that man screaming." Later, she sent me reviews cut out of the paper of concerts by David Bowie, Wilco, etc.
*****
We had a decades long argument about one of her beliefs: "All learning is painful." Damnit, Mom, what the hell. What kind of bunk, moldy Protestant self-denialism is this crap? Learning is fun, learning is social, learning is imagination, learning is what it's all about. Learning helps you get a better job, write a better song, understand your enemies, grow better cucumbers than you had last year. Nearing the half-decade mark, I'll wing it on this one, understanding that Mom was a secret Buddhist:
1. Life is suffering
2. Learning is living.
3. See #1
Addendum: When you learn something and feel happy, REALLY feel happy from head to toe, and wear loud socks.
*****
My mom never got her arms around texting, email, or social networking. (This is a lady who used to answer the first-gen cordless phone upside down and yelp when she let it ring in her ear.) What she had her arms around was her friends and family. She crafted friendship the way someone might craft a garden. She took care of her friendships. She kept Hallmark Cards from downsizing earlier than they did, and was the invisible hand that stabilized the cost of postage and long distance calling.
For now, I've said what I can say about Mom, but one thing. I used to worry I'd feel guilty when Mom died. I would regret lost time, lost moments, times I was in off living my life, and times when that was a self-imposed exile. But I believe that by the end, even when she was the Henry Kissinger of family gatherings, she gave us freedom, she loved us, was proud of us as we are, and benefited from a lifetime of spiritual practice. Her faith was hard-tested, grounded and unassuming and active, not passive. She gave everyone the gift of DOING THE WORK without hitting anyone with a Jesus stick. When someone does the work, they free the people around them. At 91, she had done the work, and there was nothing left to do. And where heaven is on earth, in social action and any kind of generosity, she is there, and that's where she taught us to want to be.
Happy Christmas Eve, Mom. Tracy and I are going to Star Wars and then over to the Saabs.
