Mothers Day thoughts, after the fact

The last week was packed full of interesting and time consuming activities, and what made it bearable, and in many cases downright enjoyable, was that Mrs C and I had so much time to enjoy life together.

So I didn't post on Mother's day, instead I spent 5 hours at Fairview cemetery cleaning up a good size portion of Lot N. It was only 62 degrees, and very breezy, and comfortable working weather. So I took off my hat. Big mistake when you are bald, because I got a good sunburn.

My Mom, Sally Casey, is buried 400 miles away outside of Columbus Ohio. I couldn't visit her grave, so I made do cleaning up my Mother in laws.
But I did think about her, and something I read last week on another blog, Redhead Ranting, reminded me of one of the last stories my Mom ever told me. Redhead Ranting was posting about how her daughter had loved a certain blanket, and now it was gone.

Right after my Dad died in January 1995, I had to drive my then 78 year old Mom to the doctor. I was the youngest of three kids they adopted, My Dad was 49 and Mom was 46 in May of 1963 when they took me in. But as the youngest, as their lives faded into twilight, the roles reversed, and I ended up looking after them.

I was driving Mom to the Doctor, and she was rambling on like she always did, telling the same old stories of her life I had heard too many times before. My patience was short, and I cut her off, and I wasn't nice about it.
"Mom, just once could you tell me a story I haven't heard before?"
She fell silent, and I realized I was being an ass, and hurt her. She stayed quiet for several minutes, until we passed a sign promoting a Future Farmers of America gathering. That sparked her memory. "You want a different story?", she snapped. "I'll give you a different story."

She then proceeded to tell me about what happened on her parents farm in the Summer/Fall of 1930, when she was just 13 years old. For her youth project, she had raised several sheep. She had sheared the sheep, processed and dyed the wool several colors, and then knitted a blanket to present for judging.

At that time, in the summer of 1930, the Great Depression had hit. It was not uncommon for people without money or food to stop by the farm looking for work. A young couple with a baby had come to her parents door, and her parents, being very devout Christians, had given them food, shelter, and work. They stayed about a week before moving on. The day after they left, Mom went to get her blanket out for judging, but she couldn't find it. She was in a panic when she asked her Mother where it might be.
Her Mother informed her that she had given the blanket to the young couple for their baby.
My Mom told me that she was so angry at her Mom she started screaming at her, but her Mom wouldn't even respond. When Sally asked her Mom why she had given those stupid bums her blanket, her Mom had responded very simply, "Because they needed it."

That one conversation, so late in her life, showed me more about how my Mom became the woman she was than anything I had seen from her before. My parents acted as a foster home for several hundred children from 1947 until the late 1970s. They didn't talk about serving their community, they did it.

My Mom never had any children of her own, but she was just the Mom that hundreds of kids needed in their lives at a very scary and troubling time. How do you define what makes a Mom?

I think I just did.