IMG_2027I have had three moments to remember my mother in the past couple of days, a mixed bag of sadness, gratitude, and the kind of feeling you get when your mother hugs you. She has been dead for 14 years, and I cherish those moments when I have not just thoughts, but experiences of her.

First, Judy and I attended a banquet on Thursday, a rather formal thing honoring an alum of Hardin-Simmons University. We were there with friends and had good food and an inspiring presentation. At the end of the festivities, a woman sang a solo, a favorite song of the honoree, “I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.” Within a few notes, I remembered my mother singing that as a solo. She was a gifted soprano and could add drama and texture to the quiet, contemplative parts of the song. She could also rattle the windows on the two sections that rose to a crescendo. I hummed and mouthed the words through the song as I recalled how in awe I was at my mother’s bravery and talent. As a child I could not imagine standing in front of people and doing something that for her seemed effortless.

My second moment with my mother came while watching a commercial that included a bicycle. It occurred to me that I did not remember learning to ride a bike. I reported this to Judy who was also watching. We talked briefly about our early experiences with bikes, and then I said, “I don’t remember learning how, but I remember knowing how when I got my first bike.” I saw a bicycle for sale on the front lawn of a guy who lived on the block behind our house. It was a beat-up, faded black J.C. Higgins (the Sears brand at the time). It had no fenders, no chain guard, and the sign on it read “$5.” I ran home and told my mother about the bike. She did something I had never seen her do. She got her purse, got out a $5 bill and gave it to me. I had never known her to have discretionary money, except for groceries and necessary clothes and school supplies. But there it was, a $5 bill. For me to buy a bike! I reflexively thanked her and ran out the door and bought it on the spot. I never told her later how much that meant to me.

My third moment came this afternoon when Judy got stung by a wasp while putting up some fall decorations outside. I heard her shriek. It was not a shriek that caused me to drop everything and come running, but it was enough to get my attention, walk in, and ask, “What happened?” After she told me she was stung, and we stared out on the patio to see four wasps circling for a few seconds, I immediately said, “A dab of Crisco and salt.” She was dubious, but I insisted, “Get a dab of Crisco, mix some salt in it, and smear it on the sting.” That was my mother’s remedy for a sting. And it was effective. It might have been the concoction itself or the placebo effect of having her fuss over it, but it worked for me.

Thanks, Mom.