She entered the world on a Saturday
The seventh of March in nineteen thirty-six
She left the world on a Tuesday
The twenty-seventh of July in two thousand eight
Mother of three girls who lived and
Others who never survived to be born
She came into the world, according to my grandmother,
Backwards, kicking, and screaming
The doctor advised her to not have any more babies
So she didn’t
Mom was apparently all the child she would have time or
Energy to keep up with
Frankly, Mom would have made Dr. Spock rethink the entire issue of birth control
Now, if they told her (Mom, that is) not to do it, she would do it anyway
Lost her cherry at eleven (eleven??)she told me,
And burned the diary at thirteen to make sure her mother didn’t find it
Married Daddy at sixteen and had me at seventeen
She had told him she was pregnant, but of course she wasn’t
I was born nine months and two days after they were married
In the same church in which I would one day walk the aisle with my true love
Her best friend was Jean … whose baby girl entered the world one month
After me … and, inevitably, Linda and I became best friends, too …
Hard to believe sometimes … that she’s gone from life …
She always had such a presence
A fighter from the start, she kicked back at life as hard as it kicked her
Loved horses, the outdoors, gardening, canning, cooking,
And making her own butter
She taught me how, but somehow I let most of it slide
In the pursuit of convenience and saving time when I’m tired after work
But really
She worked … mothered the three of us, married at least three men, (I think),
Tilled the earth, milked the cows, cleaned the stalls,
Plucked the chickens, gathered their eggs, and turned out wonderful
Things from the kitchen – my word, the woman could cook!
(That I lost my gallbladder at age 42 was largely due to her cooking) …
I let it slide and there’s so much I don’t remember now
And she’s not around for me to ask anymore
No more long phone calls … asking me for money or help …
I got to where I dreaded her calling because she rarely called for me
Without wanting something from me
Yet
I knew without a doubt that I was loved and accepted and cherished
Even when we disagreed, which was a lot and often
And now, one year later, if I could have anything I wanted
I’d just like to hear her voice one more time
Like all the times that will never come again
Because time for her finally ran out and she left without warning
Without good-bye
Like my grandmother … and grandfather … and my father …
Funny thing about mothering – babies don’t come with instructions –
You kind of fake it till you make it
And hope they turn out all right
She wasn’t the best of mothers, and she wasn’t the worst …
She resided in a bottle for most of my childhood before quitting when I grew up,
Smoked like a chimney, and her language could peel wallpaper off a wall!
I am truly blessed and truly thankful to her …
For so much of who I am and who I am becoming
For the gift of my life and all its wonders
For the strength of my convictions borne of disagreements
For the knowledge of my family passed down by word and by example
And now … one year later …
I am still missing her more than I can say, and …
It really, really would be nice … to hear her voice one more time …
For My Mom, Phyllis Ann Lynn Wright, 1936-2008
7/27/2009
All Rights Reserved
S. Ranea Noha-Wright
