On mothers in all their marvelous forms
A small tribute to a woman who's impact was larger than life
We buried my sister‘s mother on Friday.
My sister is of course, not my sister, and neither are the other two women who drove across the country to hold hands and tell stories about Mimi — the amazing woman we lost.
The four of us were roommates. We met by happy accident as freshmen in college and grew together over the years into our own sort of family tree. As we grew closer, our mothers’ arms grew wider — taking us in and caring for us, each in their own way showing us how to be.
Mimi was a small woman with a chin-length blond bob and lithe, strong arms built on daily swimming and the demanding work of physical therapy — moving and lifting those who can’t until they can again. Her weekend college visits were a whirlwind. She would come to our little grey box of an apartment and tear through the mess, leaving behind a shine you could see your face in and fridge stocked with a month’s worth of homemade food. Between visits, she showed up in secret cases of Kendall Jackson chardonnay shipped to our (dry, Baptist) campus and magazine clippings for healthy meals.
She never missed cocktail hour, even if that meant mixing manhattans out of a mini-cooler in the backseat of a moving car and hopping out at stoplights to be sure everyone had a drink. She made sure we were never late, wouldn’t take no for an answer and always told us we were beautiful.
There’s a lot of talk right now about what it means to be a mother — some strange idea that a child must have been in your womb to qualify for the title, but I can’t think of another word to describe what Mimi was to us girls. A woman who taught us how to live through her fierce, undaunted love.
Her beautiful daughter and my dear friend Emily told us how she loved Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata and always kept the last verse with her, so I’m including it here. It matches with so much of what I’ve learned in the past year of research on what it means to live a full, vibrant life in a world that so often confuses greed with success.
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Such a moving tribute. And I appreciate your timely words about motherhood. I have mothered many children (and adults!) but birthed none. I've always had the desiderata with me, too (I even wrote about it in my memoir) and try my best to live by its words.
Melissa, for so many things then, now and always, thank you.