First Month Without My Momma

The first thing I had to learn to do in this life without my Momma’s support was to mourn her loss.

Growing up, Momma was my entire center.  Sure I had my dad, but he was a typical WWII survivor dad – the old time era dad.  My dad worked and supported his family.  That is how he showed his love.  Red, from That 70’s Show, reminds me so much of my dad.  It’s not that he didn’t love us – he just had a different way of showing us.  Mom, on the other hand, was our center – strong and soft at the same time.  Momma brought home the bacon also, and still managed to have supper on the table at 6:00 every evening for my dad.

After Mom died, memories, long ago buried, started re-surfacing.  On my way to work this week, listening to the Jesus radio station as I always do, the preacher was teaching the power of praying – really praying – as taught to us in Matthew 6:9-13:

“This, then, is how you should pray:

“‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
    on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
    as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,
    but deliver us from the evil one.'”

Listening to this is when I remembered a long ago buried memory, having to learn my prayers when I was a young student at St. Anthony.  I remember reciting this over and over to Momma right before bedtime.  I got tired of the repetition, and said something like, “Give us today our daily bread, and all that other junk.”  Whoa.  That did not sit well with my devout, Catholic Momma.  She admonished me lovingly, but sternly, and I never said something like that again during prayer.

So now I return to The Lord’s Prayer for comfort – your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.   Oh how I look forward to the day I get to see Momma again.  Next time will be in heaven.  My Momma had such a strong faith and truly believed John 3:16:

16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Friends, if you do not understand this verse, I beg you with the strongest urgency to seek someone to explain this to you.  It is literally the difference between heaven and hell.

In the meantime, time passes slowly for me here on earth.  Every Saturday I am paralyzed.  I go to bed on Friday night, and do not resurface from my room until Sunday.  Saturday’s since Mom’s death, have been deep, dark mourning for me.  I probably should have been reading my Bible, but I am being mindless, sleeping off and on and watching Hallmark Channel movies.

Next Saturday, my Avon business will break this pattern.  I have a booth in the Picayune Spring Street Fair and I must get up to work.  I am dreading leaving my bed and having to be social again.  But, in the end, this will probably save me and get me back to the land of the living.

The month mark approached of Mom’s death.  I went to bed early on Friday, but woke up around midnight.  I did not want to be up at 3:00 a.m. Saturday, marking the time of death.  I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep.

So the 4th Saturday rolled around.  I had been looking at this date on the calendar since Mom’s death.  What did I expect?  Did I expect to feel differently after a month of her being gone?  Well I don’t.

I miss my Mother.

This has been the longest month of my life.

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My Harper Valley PTA Momma

Back in the late 60s, my sister and I were students at a Catholic school.  My sister, Kris, was in 8th grade.  Parties were the rage then.  They were innocent parties during innocent times.  But someone, I do not recall who, maybe the nuns, got the notion there should not be any parties, at anyone’s house.

This did not sit well with my strong-willed Momma at all!  AT ALL!

Mom had Kris and I later in life, so she wasn’t a spring-chicken, push over Momma.  She was set in her ways and knew what she wanted for her family.  Momma was mature enough to smell bull-doo and wipe it clean when necessary.

Momma marched to that PTA meeting, and listened to the nuns and some parents proclaim a decree that there will be no private parties held at anyone’s house.  When all was said and done, my Momma went all Harper Valley PTA on the congregation (minus the mini-skirt).  You younger folks will have to google Harper Valley PTA.

Momma said there will be a party at her house the next Saturday.  The entire 8th grade was invited, so were all the parents, all the nuns and the priest.  The party-nayers were incensed and all started speaking at one time.  Momma stood firm, said they do not pay her house note, she was having a party and if the nuns and Father Poche didn’t like it, they could all GO TO HELL!

With that, Momma turned her back, walked out, got home, and started prepping to have a party for my sister’s class.  Kids came (I don’t think any parents came), I spied on them from the kitchen (such an aggravating little sister), and a fun time was had by all.

I thought we were going to be plagued by crickets, or something, after my Momma telling the nuns and Father Poche to go to hell.  But we weren’t and my Momma and Father Poche remained very good friends until the day he died.  He would always say, “Gladys, remember when you told all of us to go to hell?”

By the time I made it to 8th grade at the same school and had parties, no one, and I MEAN NO ONE, questioned my Mother on this.

Today, Momma and Father Poche are buried across the hall from each other in the local mausoleum.  And I bet they are up in heaven still laughing at this story.