Mom and I talked every day, from the moment she woke up, right before falling asleep each night, and a few times in between. If she didn’t hear from me, she feared for my life. And though we had little news to share, it was nice to hear her voice. I couldn’t stand the thought of being unable to call her for no particular reason. 

When Mom visited me, she expected very little besides meals and television–CNN, soap operas, talk shows—and, unlike me, she could hold a perfect conversation with the volume full-blown. I’m not a fan of television, and Mom couldn’t fathom how I made it through a whole day without it. But I admit she knew more about current events than I did. In 2020, she kept me up to speed on world affairs, namely the presidential election and the “pandemonium” or “carnivorous” as she referred to the COVID-19 pandemic. She was sharp, reflective, and didn’t hesitate to share her point of view.   

Mom tolerated my non-traditional meals like quinoa and arugula, with goat cheese. And she seemed to enjoy my taste in music. When we played rummy, I would quiz her about artists of songs on my playlist, giving her hints, and she guessed most of them, like Neil Young or Joni Mitchell. Once, I gave her this hint: “He was married to Carly Simon.” Smirking, she replied, “Of course, it’s James Taylor. He used to come to my house for chicken on Sundays!” 

Mom’s life of 97 years was gratifying and rich with history, yet she endured challenges and loss. At the tender age of thirteen, she lost her dad to double pneumonia. He lovingly called her “Kilopo” and she recalls finding a note from him on a brown paper bag, asking her to go to the local merchant for a bottle of claret wine. The day he died, Mom answered the door to a woman saying to her, “Your daddy’s dead.” Just like that. And, as the little girl left the sight of her father’s burial, she repeated desperately: “Bye, Daddy, Bye, Daddy, Bye, Daddy, Bye Daddy,” as if hanging on to the tiniest bit of hope.

Despite experiencing adversity in life, Mom maintained her sense of humor. When it was quiet, she shared stories about growing up in a small town and the trouble she got into, nothing serious, mind you. 

As a kid, she borrowed sugar from a neighbor (just for fun) and intentionally spilled it along the path back home. She once tied her dad’s ankle to her own, so when he stood, they both toppled over. In high school, Mom was often caught passing notes in study hall. She played tricks on her teachers by placing book covers upside down, and when confronted, she gracefully proved she was reading. And, she confessed to paying a classmate fifty cents to write her book reports.

Mom recalls old boyfriends, music, and fashion from her era. When we Googled songs from the 40s, they reminded her of people and stories from her past, which she eagerly shared. Popular music included swing, big band, and country. Mom loved dancing the jitterbug to “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller. 

“We wore knee-length A-line dresses or skirts with sweaters and pearls, and peep-toe heels or penny loafers,” she quipped. “Molly and I were called ‘the sweater girls’ of Morenci High!” 

Mom loved telling the story of Dale Mueller, a handsome boy visiting Morenci as a student intern. “Boy, could he dance,” she recalls, with a radiant smile. “Maybe you can look him up on Google.” Anyway, she and her friends were out for the evening at a tavern called the “Wagon Wheel,” where nice girls could not be found. She met Dale Mueller there and enjoyed dancing with him. A few days later, she ran into him in town and he asked, “Would you like to go out dancing sometime? We could go down to the Wagon Wheel.” She replied with disdain, “I don’t go to places like that!” And to that, he said, “But isn’t that where I met you?”

Another good-looking guy Mom crushed on was Frances Hudson. She met him at the post office. It just so happened every day, at precisely 3:30 pm, when he got off work and stopped to pick up his mail, she was there unlocking the combination to her own mailbox. Mom and Frances flirted a lot, but she didn’t let him kiss her, and when he asked her on a date, she declined. Nearly eighty years later, she revealed her regret for turning him down. They wrote letters while he was in the Navy, and sadly, his ship went down somewhere in the Pacific during WWII. 

Another boy attraction was no longer of interest when Mom noticed a large hole in his sock. She didn’t even remember his name.

Then there was Jack. She set her sights on “that man” and never let go. He was smitten when he spied her strolling along the street beneath his apartment, her curls bouncing effortlessly. In that moment, he confided to a friend, “One of these days, I’m going to marry that gadget.” 

I always dreamed of a marriage like Mom and Dad’s. They loved and respected each other, were committed to family, and enjoyed spending time together with friends. Yet the day Dad passed away, Mom reacted with surprising calm. 

The shrill ringing of the phone at 6:00 am startled me from a deep sleep. Our family had stayed late at the group home with Dad, settling him in to watch 4^th of July celebrations on TV, in his white tee-shirt bearing an eagle and the U.S. flag. After watching my hero, in all his strength and wisdom, decline physically and mentally during the prior six months, I knew the caller was Dad’s nurse with news I didn’t want to hear. She said she had spoken with Mom, so I quickly hung up and dialed the number I had dialed so many times over the previous 40 years. 

Mom said she would shower and be ready when my sister picked her up to go see Dad one last time. Married to the same man for 66 years, sharing a contented life with children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and having lost him, she sat quietly in denial for several hours. Still, she remained strong and resilient for her family.  

Growing up, I expected to become my mother. Now, I realize our differences in lifestyle, tastes, and ideas. I wish I had Mom’s quick wit, capacity to remember details from decades before, and ability to total up scores in rummy lickety-split. Thankfully, I inherited her curiosity, love of family, and unfailing Christian faith. Our differences may have been a sign of the times. Perhaps women of her generation were idealistic and set in their ways. But, over time, Mom did become more open-minded. She reluctantly, yet without protest, accepted my son’s lip piercing and my daughter’s tattoo, and each living with their spouses before marriage. She would never have condoned my doing those things. They knew the way to her heart. 

When I was a teenager, Mom indulged in my extracurricular pursuits, especially cheerleading. She and Dad bought a 1978 Ford Elite in our team colors and attended every game. Mom loved hearing details about high school dances—who was there, what they wore, who danced with whom. Possibly, she was reliving her youth through me. One night after a football game, she let me cruise by the bowling alley in the Ford Elite. Since I only had a learner’s permit, she sat beside me in the passenger seat. When a group of guy friends waved me over, Mom quickly ducked onto the floorboard, attempting not to “cramp my style.” As I rolled down the window, my friends peered into the car, “Hey there, Mrs. White!” 

Two years later, I drove off to college, crossing the desert in a loaded-down Ford Pinto, music blasting, tears streaming down my face. Mom and I remained close, but I never returned home for good. 

Like her own mother, and like me, Mom loved her family without limits. At 97, she joked and laughed with the younger generations, shared her love of music, and played with her great-grandchildren. She and Dad helped raise Nick and Courtney while I worked. They attended band concerts, dance competitions, and piano recitals. Into her 80s, Mom stood up front at punk rock shows to see her grandsons’ band. Once, she was so captivated that she was swallowed up into a mosh pit. Not a surprise, considering she was only 4 feet, 8 inches tall. She reacted with laughter as two big guys wearing blue mohawks gently picked her up and set her on her feet to continue clapping through the song. 

Mom encouraged my kids to be involved in church activities, attending their baptisms, first holy communions, reconciliations, and confirmations. She taught them to pray almost as soon as they could speak. Later, mostly homebound, she never missed Sunday mass on TV. 

Mom was my sounding board when things were going well, or not so well, in my life. She listened intently when I grumbled about the stress of my career, taking mental notes and trying to understand its complexities. In her mind, every situation was about right or wrong, and she was always ready to take my side and fix things. Mostly, I needed her understanding smile or touch to let me know she was there. 

I’ll never fit perfectly into the mold of my mom. Her unique sense of humor was hers alone. If my only quibble was loud TV and her constant worrying, I was pretty damned lucky. Mom’s children and grandchildren were her world. Through her inspiration and example, mine are my world. Her sense of curiosity and her values thrive within me. Despite our differences, the bottom line is about faith and love. A legacy she will leave with me, and one I hope to leave with mine.