My mom, Celia, was a strong swimmer. I remember once, as a boy standing on the shore, watching her swim into the ocean. She just kept going, her bathing cap becoming no more than a period on the horizon. I was frightened; I wasn't ready for her to leave. When she swam back to me, she told me how peaceful ocean swimming made her feel; that she felt she could just keep going. This comforted me not at all.
Now that she has finally gone over that far horizon, I can't help feeling that we haven't seen the end of her story.
In the years after my father passed, Mom occasionally would say that she felt him near her; or that he had come to her in a dream. Whenever she said this, I knew I was in trouble. At times like these my mother did seem to radiate something of my father. She gained his quiet firmness; and was able to hold fast in disciplining me.
In years to come, will Celia also send us intimations of herself? Will we feel her draw near? What will we feel when she does? More importantly, what will those near us--our kids, our friends--feel from us when we have been so visited?
Mom once explained to me how babies know who love them. She said everyone coos, kisses and tickles babies; but babies know the ones who love them most are those who change their diapers. My baby brother once awakened me in the middle of the night with his cries. Apparently, no one else in the house heard him. I walked downstairs, picked him up to comfort him. He threw up all over my pajamas. From that moment on, I was sure he knew how much I loved him.
When it comes to that, we're all babies. We know who loves us by who does good for us or to us: who gives us comfort, better understanding or direction. These are the ones who love beyond a smile and a word: their love is shown in their actions. That was Mom. Her love was all action. Especially when it came to the old folks under her care, or children--anyone's children--she was all Martha, not Mary.
Mom would reach out to others to an extent that would sometimes make her look silly. This was true non-conformity, not the kind that makes one look "cool" to certain others. She focused on giving what was needed without looking over her shoulder to see what others said about her. Ultimately, she didn't care what others said. She'd do what she thought good or right, and would let the chips fall where they would.
Because of this, Mom could embarrass me 16 ways to Sunday. I'm coming to realize, however, that another person can't really embarrass us. Only we can embarrass ourselves: by not living up to the person we know we should be, by not doing the good we know we should, by living below our best.
Perhaps these are the kinds of things others might see from us in days to come, when we feel her swim toward us from the far side of the horizon.
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