The Dumbass Carpenter: Becky Mothershead 4-29-39 to 5-8-01

Happier times. L to R: John, Me, Jaime, Emily, and Mom.

I wrote the following (below in blue) on Saturday, May 8th, 2010, but it feels longer ago than that. Her death, however feels closer in time than that, as if she'd died just a couple of years ago. It is truly hard to believe she died ten years ago, when Jaime was four and Emily was two. Anyway, I thought I'd repost it here, on Mother's day, my Mother's day.

I would only add that the things I miss about mom the most are the little things she'd do for us, and I mean the littlest things like her eating the chicken wings out of a bucket of chicken from The Golden Skillet in Greensboro so us kids could have the legs. How her hands felt. How she used to "jog" but we kids could walk beside her. How she'd eat corn on the cob like a child and it'd get everywhere on her face. Or the way she never changed her hairdo...until she didn't have any.

I remember the look on her face, the smile to herself when my kids would reach out for her to hold. She'd wait for them to come to her, never grabbing them against their will even though she would have loved to. I used to think to myself, "Grab 'em, mom!" but I don't think I ever said so. I did get to school mom on how to burp an infant Emily one evening, and I'll never forget that moment.

And one of the saddest things I ever saw after mom died was four-year-old Jaime telling my dad, "Sorry Gran'ma B. died, Gran'pa John," before we all left for the funeral that morning.

Jaime dressed for mom's funeral.

At the funeral I cried in front of everyone there, people who would have never thought it possible. I looked into the teary-eyes of my future stepmother (though of course I didn't know it at the time) and saw the sense of loss we all felt, but more meaningful somehow from someone not in our immediate family. I don't know...I have just never forgotten her look.

She was the lady, my new mom, who kissed my bruised head while I was strapped down in the hospital with my broken neck. And, of course, two weeks later she'd find out that her husband, my dad, would head down the same tortuous path as my mom.

Anyway, it's been ten years, and I still think about those regrets as often as I do the good things I like to remember. Our lives sure have changed since she left...of course, that's one of the only things we can count on.

Rebecca Sue Richards Mothershead 4-29-39 to 5-8-01

I was at work, of course, when dad called in the middle of the week, and I could hear in his voice how scared he was. I mean, he was calling me, the black sheep, the dumb ass carpenter for help and support...so it had to be bad. He couldn't even say it, so I went right over.

When I got there, it was quiet, and we sat by her bed and we both quietly cried and held mom's hands. I couldn't speak (I had that problem all the time back then) so I just sat and listened to dad tell mom it was okay if she couldn't wait any more, that it was okay if she wanted to leave just then, that he would be okay. But it wasn't quite her time.

A couple of weeks before her birthday while we sat on my couch, I had asked her what she wanted--the awkwardness of looming death making me more of a fool than ever, and she said, "I just want to be here." Dumbfounded, sitting beside her, I could only say, "Me too." I couldn't bear to hug her or tell her anything, like how scared I was, or how much I truly loved her, or anything. She was so small, thin, and frail...

I hate myself for that moment; the moment I failed my mother.

So weeks later, May 8th, we had gathered at mom and dad's house and were around the bed waiting. Not like vultures, but like a family. Of course at 10 o'clock that evening I had to go and retrieve the company work trailer before some white trash emptied it of our livelihood so I left them all there and headed to the jobsite and then home.

I hadn't been home ten minutes and the phone rang. I had missed the moment Mom slipped away because of work. I had failed again and by the time I had returned, she of course was long gone.

She had fought long and hard. She had suffered the likes of which we can only imagine. And I couldn't tell her I loved her. It wasn't until Dad died later that I realized, that if I could have one of them back, it would have to be Mom. She was the enigmatic, sometimes silent, and sometimes decidedly NOT, support system for the whole family. When she left us, we really fell apart and separated onto several different paths...

We laughed over mom's body with the hospice nurse about the nurse's story of her white friends who had adopted a little black girl but were clueless about how to take care of her hair! The trials and tribulations were just so funny at such a sad and relieving time that we all, my sister, my dad, my brother in law, and even the nurse and I just laughed...mom would have liked that and would have laughed too...

So yeah, hug your mom, your kids, your dog, whatever...TELL them what you think you cannot say. It's the oldest lament in the world to not have done so...