My mother walked the mile to school half the year, not because she had to, but because it was easier. She roamed far from the house with Blackie, ran in the Cimmaron, and saved a bull from his date by befriending him. Grandpa never could say "no" to her. But she was never constrained to Oklahoma. She was always keen on a road trip, and she saw more of the United States than most. She didn't have to be in Oklahoma, but she took it with her. Oklahoma was always home.
My mother played basketball in highschool. Her eyesight was so terrible that her main strategy was to run faster than everyone else down to the far side of the court until the hoop came into view, where she could rely on her height to lob the ball in. She was an accomplished glazier. Her stained glass still enriches our house. She had a green thumb. Once, we grew enough okra to feed most of the state. I should know; I had to weed it. She was the best nurse on Earth because she spent more time with her patients than she did charting, and that's saying something: she was a meticulous and exacting charter. Her house was always as beautiful on the outside as it was on the inside, as much as I complained about the work. But work was simply work, and there was nothing be about that but to apply a little elbow grease. She was never afraid of things she couldn't control. She scoffed at tornadoes, sickness, and the end of the world. She feared only not making the best of the time she had with the people she loved.
My mother earned her nursing degree and worked nights in the emergency room in Oklahoma City. She met my father the week she gave up on men. She married him and threw out his platform shoes thirty seven years ago.
My parents moved to Michigan so Dad could earn a degree in Pharmacy, so he could work while she earned her NP. But we made it harder on her. Katy was born when Mom was thirty. I followed, and then Philip appeared. He was unexpected, but he was always her favorite. If you need proof, there are twenty photos of my birth and well over a hundred of Philip's. The cards were always stacked in his favor. Or maybe, actually, it was just that keen insight of hers. Katy might complain about the disproportionate responsibility she bore as the firstborn, but now my sister is the head of the association of Adventist librarians, so I would argue Mom knew. She taught me how to read before I ever went to school. I always used to hope that it was to give me a reason to sit still for once, but now I'm teaching people how to read and write for a living, so it shows how much I know. So, this business about Philip really sounds more like my mother taking care of the most sensitive and insightful of her children. Mom never played favorites. She just knew what we needed.
My mother was the best. I know I can never repay her, but—I wish I had been given more time to pay down the debt.
I didn't know how good I had it.
