My Mother’s Chair

Another post in this site by Lori P. inspired me to write about my mom, Becky. She passed away December 20, 2019, and things haven’t been the same to me since. I mean, literally, we are in a global pandemic, a racial crisis and a political shit storm all since her passing. But I digress. I know that isn’t the reason for all of the above, but you see, I’m still numb and a little lifeless from losing her even though we knew for several months she didn’t have long to live. They are right (whoever “they” are) when they say you are never prepared to lose a loved one…especially your mama.

Mom was 87 when she passed away. Born in November of 1932, she was the youngest of five siblings, three brothers and a sister, with the sister being the eldest. They lived in a big two story farm house in the country. Her mother ran a boarding house for the local teachers that taught at the Board Elwood country school and her dad was a farmer and ran a general store for the local sharecroppers. My great grandmother lived in a little two room log cabin behind the farmhouse. My mom adored her grandmother and would spend countless hours there as a child.

Mom used to tell me stories about her childhood, like her brothers putting baby mice in her overall pockets, and the time her brothers were playing Dick Tracy and locked the “bad guy” in the closet. The bad guy (I think it was my Uncle Robert) had a pencil with him and wrote “Dick is mean” on the closet wall. I remember my cousin and I going in that closet when we were kids. It led up to the attic where we weren’t supposed to go, but we did a time or two anyway. Anyway, we found the words my uncle had written there many years ago. My grandfather’s brother, Russell, lived just down the road, so my mom would visit them and her grandmother to see what was for supper, and eat at whichever of the three homes she fancied what was on the stove for that night’s supper.

My mom was a firecracker. She was beautiful, smart and a force to be reckoned with if you angered her. She was sharp tongued and quick witted. She was loving and nurturing as a mother, but she loved to have a good time. She and my dad divorced after several years of separation and trial reunions when I was about 12. I didn’t see my dad much after that. That is a story for another time.

We moved back to Texas after they divorced to be closer to family. We settled in Alvin, Texas, and mom got a job with NASA. I remember thinking we were going to be rich because my mom was going to work for NASA! Ha! We ended up moving back to our hometown not long after that, and mom started working at LTV in Greenville.

So let me explain that in my teenage years, our house was one that all the kids hung out at and my mom was cool. Many of my ex boyfriends would come by and visit mom after we had quit dating. I would raise hell with her about that, and she would simply say with a sly smile on her face, “He didn’t come to see you, Lana, he came to see me.” I hated it when she would say that, but what could I do? It was true.

My mom loved to garden and grow her own vegetables and can or freeze them for the winter. She came by this honestly from her mother and generations before her. Even up until she was 85, she gardened and canned. She was an active member of the home extension club in her county and loved to enter her goods in the county fair. She won several ribbons over the years. She loved family and cooking for whoever would stay and eat. She came by this honestly as well, because her mother was one of the best cooks in the county. Mom stayed active up until she became sick. Until then, she lived her life to the fullest and enjoyed every minute.

So when she was sick and on her death bed, she told me she had given me her little rocking chair that she had as a child. I didn’t remember her saying that so I’m glad she reminded me. After she passed, which was all pretty much just a blur (I mean the funeral and all that), I made sure I dug that little chair out from underneath the pile of clothes on top and brought it home. It was in poor shape, with very little paint left on it, wiggly joints and lots of wear. I could actually see my mom’s little butt print in the chair itself. It made me wonder what she did while she was sitting there. Did she have a doll she rocked, did she sing songs or read books? I’m sure it had some sentimental meaning for her to tell me I could have it when she passed. She didn’t have that many things from her childhood left , but she had that chair.

I studied that chair long and hard when I brought it home. Should I repair it and repaint it? Should I leave it alone? The wood was dry and cracking from age and neglect. After several days of contemplation and several recommendations from friends, I decided to clean it with Murphy’s Oil Soap and leave it as mother had left it. Some of the paint that was left came off when I gently rubbed the wood with a soft rag soaked in the oil soap. But some of it remained as well, a reminder of days gone by, well lived and much loved, just like my mother.

Now that chair sits in my bedroom by the window with my favorite teddy bear, Turner, in the seat where my mama once sat. When the pandemic started and we had to self isolate, an idea was posted on Facebook about putting a bear in a window so the kids could go on a bear hunt as they were riding down the street or walking, or whatever. I thought mama would like that idea so I put Turner in the chair and set it beside the window in my room. It is still there and will be there until this pandemic ends and another chapter of life closes. I hope the next chapter is much better than this one. Make the most of every chapter you have left. My mama did until the angels carried her to her next life, which I know is a better one still than the one here. Live, love, laugh!