Remembrance

My mother survived a world war and the early deaths of two husbands. Cancer took the first, a passing car the second. Through it all, she retained a steadfast faith in God and showed an uncanny ability to find contentment regardless of circumstances.

Or so it seemed to me.

I cannot claim to have known my mother well. She was not given to talking about herself without prodding. But I learned from her example. (I don't know how else to explain my ability to be happy even when things go wrong. Not that I don't have ups and downs.)

Although my mother was not well-educated (she had the equivelent of a grade-school education), she was smart and talented.

She taught herself to play the mandolin by ear.

She was a gifted gardener — a talent she passed on to some of my siblings.

She made the best apple pies anyone has ever tasted.

She and my father added a wing to my childhood home without the benefit of blueprints.

On the other hand, she had a terrible sense of direction and a fear of getting lost — surprising (or maybe not) for someone who came halfway around the world to start a new life and learn a new language.

When I lied to her, she believed me, which made me want to never lie again.

Her lasting legacy will be the large and loving family she left behind — a family I am pleased to be a part of.

It's been nearly seven years since she died.

I did not cry at her funeral.