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I am so proud of my mom.
She was an incredible woman, and she was a light for Christ. She was the best of all of us.
So many of our traditions, behaviors, and yes, even quirks, are because of her, and they will continue to live on in us and remind us of her.
I remember hearing stories about the paperboy who delivered the newspaper to my mom’s house in Memphis when she was growing up. He would strap albums to the back of his bike and he and my mom would listen to them after he was finished with his paper route. That paperboy grew up to be my dad, and their love for music stayed strong. We are a family that loves music, from jazz to the blues, from the Beatles to Elvis, from contemporary Christian to acapella. …That was my mom.
My mom let my dad know very early in their relationship that her faith in Christ was most important to her. My dad took the hint, and he has grown to become a deacon, an elder, and a leader at every church he has attended. Her two children were raised in a faith-filled home. …That was my mom.
I remember hearing stories about my mom running track in high school and her being one of the fastest at school. And later, stories about her, my aunt, and my grandmother spending nights winning bowling trophies. Then I remember watching my sister run like a gazelle across the soccer field, and I think about our family’s love of sports. …That was my mom.
Because she was from Memphis, I always figured that mom had barbecue sauce mixed in with the blood running through her veins. We are a family who loves good barbecue, and you should never have to ask them to put slaw on it. …That was my mom.
I remember her singing a wonderful song of her own creation to me and Heather when we were young, and she would even sing it occasionally to us after we were grown. I sang the same song to each of my children when I would rock them to sleep as babies. …That was my mom.
It may turn some stomachs, but I’ve been eating Krystal hamburgers for as long as I can remember. In fact, I enjoyed a sackful while compiling some of these thoughts. For better or worse, I am, and always will be, a fan of Krystal. …That was my mom.
At the beach, my mom was quick to remind us not to stray too far from the shore. At the pool, she made sure we did not run or dive. In high places, she warned us not to get too close to the edge. At those same places today, I hear the same warnings being involuntarily spoken by me to my own children. …That, and, I’m pretty sure, my present-day fear of heights, was my mom.
I remember my mom pulling for Georgia Tech from the day she moved to Georgia. She never said why exactly, even when I asked. Maybe it was the mascot, or the colors, or the location. Whatever the reason, she was a fan. And I am, too. I will always root for the Yellowjackets. …That was my mom.
She taught me how to vacuum, and not just in the places that could be seen. She taught me how to dust, taking time to move the picture frames from the shelves instead of just cleaning around them. She taught me how to do laundry, following rules about colors and whites, cold and hot, delicate and perma-press. She did such a good job that her mother would lovingly tease me – her own grandson – that I would someday make someone a good wife. …That was my mom.
I remember Friday nights consisting of mom and dad playing rook with friends from church. I remember mom talking about how much she enjoyed church potlucks and fellowship groups. I remember times with relatives, just sitting around the house sharing stories and memories, making time seem irrelevant. Laughter, jokes, and good times were a way of life in our house. …That was my mom.
No matter where we are or how far apart we ma
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