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03 Jan 2008 06:46 am
A Tribute
By Heather O.

This is a guest post by Anonymous, who pays tribute to her mother and the legacy left by her journals. She asked that this post be put up on January 2nd, the anniversary of her mother’s death. We (ok, ME) at MMW apologize for being so lame and posting it a day late. I ask anon’s forgiveness, and present this beautiful tribute to a mother who was obviously, to borrow a hot button phrase kicking around these days, a mother who knew.

My mother, were she alive today, would be a world class blogger. She loved to write. So much so that we have volumes of journals left by her, recording nearly every day of her life starting around age 12. The early volumes were handwritten, and as she grew older she graduated to a typewriter. She loved that typewriter! She loved carbon paper and the “freedom” it gave her to make copies of her work. She loved adding clip art to her writing- but imagine doing that on a typewriter- manually leaving blank spaces so she could later add little drawings and pictures. I am certain she would have had a love affair with the computer, not to mention digital cameras and all the other cool technologies of our day.

Today marks the 20th anniversary of her death from cancer; a 38 year old, stay at home mom, who left behind four children ranging in age from ten to three.

I am always one of the first to raise my hand when we have the yearly church lesson on “The Importance of Keeping Journals.” I believe my mom’s story serves as a perfect example of recording your life for the benefit of your ancestors. I doubt she ever imagined her young children would be the “ancestors” benefiting from her journals as we grew up, but I am grateful for every word she wrote.

As a child, I loved to look at the journal/scrapbook my mom prepared for me. It contained little pieces of her personality and connected them very lovingly to me, as I read about our experiences together, looked at the clippings and drawings she included, and remembered our few short years together.

As I grew into my teenage years, I found frequent solace in the long letter my mother wrote to her children before she died, offering her last words of wisdom. I learned of her values and the hopes and aspirations she had for her children. I learned of her love of God and how central that was to her life.

Then came college, and by this point I was really curious. I would spend vacations at home pouring through her journals, reading about her college experiences; what she was studying, outings with friends, and mostly boys, boys, and more boys. I delighted in reading about her many boyfriends, and their “yummy” kisses!

Soon came the time to decide if I would serve a mission. I again turned to her journals, reading about her decision to serve, her fear of becoming a “stereotypical returned lady missionary,” her difficult but fulfilling experiences in Brazil, and her life as a returned missionary.

Then came some serious dating questions: should I marry the man I was dating, and if not, how could I deal with the heartbreak of not marrying him? I read about her broken engagements, her successes and failures in dating, and then one of my favorite entries- the day my dad (a boyfriend at the time) and Brad (the other boyfriend) found out about each other on Valentine’s Day! Luckily my dad won out, and I continued to read about their courtship, their engagement, and their beautiful wedding day.

Now, as I prepare to bring my first child into the world, and wonder why on earth my mother would have had more than one child since she was supposedly even sicker than I am, I read about how much she loved that first child. How proud she was to be pregnant, despite the sickness, and how thrilled she was to go on long walks with her new baby and spend her days caring for him. And I read about how she loved her second child- me- and how she found such joy in watching me and my brother play together as we became good friends. I read about how her love continued and extended to her third and fourth children, until she felt her family was complete.

I recently compiled some excerpts from my mom’s personal history along with photos of her life, to create a book of remembrance. One of my favorite passages talks about how she would trade babysitting with friends so she would have some time to herself during the week. She writes, “Then I would sit at my desk, working as fast as I could, organizing, preparing, planning… My favorite place is my sewing room which is bright and cheery. There is a desk with a typing well, and I use my typewriter almost daily. My sewing machine is always set up, along with the ironing board, and my files are handy. I have a soft chair for my visitors, and I really consider this to be the brain center of my home!” I imagine the red shag carpet would today be replaced with something more stylish, but I am certain my mom’s special place would be as bright and cheery today as it was twenty years ago. The typewriter would be replaced with a computer, and a scanner and color printer would certainly be added to her desk. What would be the same, would be that she would be writing; adding to her daily journal, writing to her children and grandchildren and about her children and grandchildren, adding her mature mommy voice to blogs like this and many others, and loving every minute of it.

And so I pay tribute to my mother for the volumes of text she left her posterity, and to the many mothers who write. You may think you do it for personal, maybe even selfish reasons, but there are people out there who read it, who need it, who inhale it. I am going “home” soon, and I look forward to the opportunity to read some more. I have much to learn about being a mother, and there is no better place to start than with my mom’s journals. I am glad writing came naturally to my mother, and though she is not alive today, I am grateful for the many women and mothers who continue to write, to inspire, and to enlighten.