I'm forgoing the usual 'Monday Morning What is it?' because this is a special week - this week I've decided to use the whole week to highlight an incredible person I've known.
On Saturday I woke up and realized that it was my Mother's birthday. Of course I had known that before that morning, but the busy week had let it slip from my mind. When it came back to me, I took a few moments to just think about her. I spent a little more time than usual to consider how old she would be if she were still alive and what she might be doing. I guess I've done that before, but maybe I've not given myself the time to really let it sink in. On Saturday I did. I thought about how it had been twenty one years since I last saw my Mom and I thanked God that most days I can still hear her laugh in my head. Twenty one years is a long time. A long time when you consider all that happens in lifetimes in twenty one years.
I did the math and realized that my mother would have been seventy three on Saturday and thought about how different that is from fifty two. It was a lot to think about. My sister and I, and all of my Mom's friends and family, have done a lot of things since we've
seen her. A lot has happened. Of course I've kept her posted and I have a strong sense that she knows the good stuff, the way we all are doing.
I thought about devoting the blog this week to her and I instantly liked the idea. And then I had a little laugh - my Mom never knew about blogs. She was such a writer, I'm sure she would have one today if she were still here! I can just imagine all of the stories she would tell, all of the ways that she would have us all en-rapt and laughing and crying and thinking.
Maybe her story-telling is what I'll tell you most about. There is lots to say about Mary George Dean Murphy; but if I had to describe her in one word, there is no doubt that the word would be
storyteller.
I have a sense that those of you who knew her are nodding your heads right about now.
This week I want to tell you some of her stories, and let her tell you some. I want to tell you about how hilarious she was, what a devoted and life-changing teacher she was and I want to tell you about her bravery. I don't want to make her perfect. That would not be fair. I won't tell you that we got along perfectly in all of our twenty seven years together or that my Mom's life was full of bliss. No one's life is perfect and that wouldn't do justice to the many layers that were her life. I remember a conversation I had with my good friend and priest, Martha, just after Mom died. Martha gave me insight about remembering my Mom and she urged me not to do the 'easy thing' and make her perfect in death. That was good advice. Lives are too full of too many different things, and sweeping the hard stuff under the table seems too much like erasing part of the life. My Mom's life was wonderful and hard and complex and interesting and rich and so much more. I can't tell that story in one week, but it will be fun to try. Thanks for coming along on the ride.
I've read that blog posts should be short and concise - excuse me, as I ignore that rule. Today I want to let my Mom tell a story. I want you to meet her (or reunite with her) with her as narrator.
Narrator was a role she liked!
Like me, my mother had close relationships with both of her grandmothers and they meant a great deal to her. She often told me about all that she learned from each of them, different things that made her life richer and wiser. Mama Jones, her mother's mother lived in the country and Mama Dean, her father's mother, lived in the city. They couldn't have been any more different.
Mama Dean (the town grandmother) and Mama Jones (the country grandmother)
I knew Mama Dean (the one from the city) and loved her. If I could do her justice, I would write a book about her. She was larger than life and left us with
boocoos (did you get that flashback to an earlier post?) of stories. Mom never got to write her story about Mama Dean, and she wanted to. She told me often that she was attempting to come up with the right story, the one that would paint a picture of Mama Dean. She had figured out how to illustrate Mama Jones, but she was working on what to say about her other grandmother.
So, this story is about Mama Jones, her country grandmother. When I came into the picture, Mama Jones was a tiny woman, quiet and very old. My mother could make me
see what she had been in life, but I did not witness it myself. My mother told me some of her
magic, and I've always been grateful to have this story.
It's long, but I hope you'll find time to read it. I think you'll enjoy it. I imagine that it can be a fun respite from this world to take a few moments and read about another time. Maybe you can wonder about some of the folks in your family who lived before.
Enjoy this gift from my Mom . . .
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