For Sure, For Sure!

An Attempt at a Thank You to My Mother

A fast trip to San Antonio for my Uncle David's funeral gave me an opportunity to be with several family members on my mother's side.  Weddings and funerals will do that for you - they bring family together for reconnection - whether it be voluntary or compulsory - it is an opportunity to solidify those roots that I spoke about in the last blog posting.  

A beautiful tribute to a beautiful life provided us with the chance to ponder upon the impact that one person can make upon the world and the legacy that is left.  

As the youngest grandchild of my Uncle David (Cody) put it to me,"I think I remember you at the last reunion when I was five.  I think you were nice then, so I guess you are now too."  

"Thank you," I said - "I try to be nice whenever I can."

My Uncle David was an inspiration to me as he was an elementary school principal in San Antonio for many years.  He married my Aunt Darlene in 1967, and I was honored to serve as a junior bridesmaid in their wedding.  He then sang the Lord's Prayer at my wedding in 1978.  David and Darlene were blessed with two sons, two daughters in law, and five grandchildren - all of whom meant the world to him.  Here is the marquee sign in front of their church this weekend:

As timing would have it, my brother, Glen joined us in San Antonio which gave us both the opportunity to be with our mother, Beverly, on Mother's Day.  This does not happen very often - when she has both of us with her at the same time, so she was "over the moon."

As I was with my mother on Mothers' Day Weekend and interacting with all of my relatives, I began to think about how to best thank my mother for all she has done for me.

How do you tell the person who gave you life thank you in a way that even half-way approximates the magnitude of the gratitude that you feel?

It's sort of like - "hey - if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here, so thanks for thinking it might be nice for the world to have me in it for a while - I really appreciate it."

That rather lacks something, don't you think?

Try as I may, I have not come up with a way to tell my mother thank you.  I only hope that I can live in such a way that my gratefulness will be evident to her.

My mother has a saying that has become part of her.  I think she got it from my step-dad, Dwayne, or maybe he got it from her, but it is part of their conversational dialogue to a great degree - to the point that I know that she will say it at least once in every conversation that I have with her.

I spoke with her today, and it came out twice - "For sure, for sure!"

Me:  The kids (Mary Beth, Kevin, Katie, and Curt) are going rafting on the San Juan River in Utah. They will have an amazing experience.

Mom:  For sure, for sure!  It will be great for them to have this time together!

Me:  We are wanting to plant some flowers and vegetables in our backyard, but the news report says that we should wait until after Mother's Day due to the chance of a freeze.

Mom:  For sure, for sure - it is best to wait.

"For sure, for sure" is her way of having a little impact on the way things will turn out.

... because you know if we "push the envelope" toward the positive, the likelihood of whatever happens turning into a positive in our lives just might come to pass (and it does more often that it does not, so it is worth the gamble).

That is my mother - always looking and ensuring that things will turn out OK for all of us - even in the midst of hardships and challenges.  She is continually looking for the good - especially when it would be easier to accept the negative.

Born to Karl and Evelyn Dague on May 9, 1933 (almost two years after my Uncle David), my mom was bestowed with the name:

Beverly Jane Dague.

Growing up in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, my mom learned about the power and sacredness of family.  The second of four siblings (boy, girl, boy, girl), Beverly excelled academically and socially.  She was known to set high standards and goals for herself as she went through school.  My Uncle Dan once told me that it was hard to follow my mother in birth order because she was such a "Goodie Two Shoes."

My mother and my father, George Bounds Babcock met each other at Harlingen High School in the 10th grade and became high school sweethearts.  On the day my dad died in 1991 my mother was wearing a heart locket that he gave to her when they were both 14 years old!

They married in 1955 after their graduations from Southwestern University in Georgetown, Texas (Mom 1954), and Texas A&I University in Kingsville, Texas (Dad 1955).  I was born in 1956 followed by my brothers, Doug in 1959 and Glen in 1966.  Lubbock, Texas became the place that we called home in 1961 after my dad became general manager of Grower's Seed Association - a major provider of varieties of cotton seeds to the farmers of West Texas.

Here are some photos of my parents over the years:

While my brothers and I were young my mother stayed home to care for us, but she ensured that she also went back to school to obtain her Masters Degree in elementary reading and literacy instruction. She then started her teaching career in Lubbock, Texas with a few years in second and third grade at Arnett Elementary followed by a stellar stint in first grade at Hardwick and Whiteside Elementary Schools.  I have often said that my mother could teach anyone to read.  I think she could count on one hand the number of children who were not reading on grade level by the time they left her purview - and even those had made more than a year's worth of growth while in Mrs. Babcock's class.

Here are a couple school photos of my mother:

I have so many memories of my mother over the years, but here are a few that demonstrate the influence that she had on helping me become the person that I am.

President Kennedy's Assassination

I remember being in First Grade at Lou Stubbs Elementary School in the fall of 1963.   One day in November of that year, the principal, Mr. Ollie Tomlinson, came on the public address system and attempted to gently tell the teachers and students about President Kennedy's assassination - because no one in the building would have had instant access to breaking news like we do now.

I remember my teacher, Mrs. Spikes, sitting down with us and crying about how this was such tragic news for all of us, and especially our country, as a whole.  She helped us know that she would be talking with us about it the next day, but that we needed to discuss it with our parents that evening.  I remember thinking that I needed to walk home very quickly because my mother would be at the house ironing, and that I needed to bring this important information to her.  I distinctly remember thinking about how I would break the news to her as I was walking briskly home.  I wanted to do it gentle - like Mr. Tomlinson had done with all of us.

I entered the house and went straight to her.  I said, "Mommy - I have some sad news about our country." She, of course, knew already, but she did not let on to me that she did.

She said, "What is it, sweetheart?"  I said - "Mommy - this will be hard for you to hear, but our president, Mr. Kennedy, has been "sassinated."  "Mommy - it's OK if you don't know what that means.  It means that he has been shot and killed."

With a loving gaze, my mother took me in her arms and told me thank you for telling her this very important news.  She and I cried together about this terrible tragedy, but she also told me that our country is very strong and that even though we will be very sad for a while, that we will get over it and even become stronger because of it.

It was only after I was nearly grown that it dawned on me that my mother allowed me to be the one to inform her of the news without putting me down or letting me know that she already knew.  She let me be the owner of that extremely important information which I imparted to her.  She was the recipient in that exchange.  The power of that gesture has impressed me for all of these years because I am sure that she had been crying all day with the knowledge of the tragedy.  She put her grief aside for the time it took for her well-intentioned, but clumsy seven year old daughter to be the keeper of the news and to share it with her as gently as I could.  It was a small exchange with my mother that day - but one that would certainly have an impact on the formation of my self-confidence as I grew over the years.

Sophomore Year of High School - Trying Out for Everything and Not Getting Anything!

It makes me sad when people tell me that their high school years were the worst of their lives.  For me, high school was mostly great!  Of course, there are always a lot of growing pains that go along with 16-18 year olds. It is just part of it.  When I think  of my most difficult year of high school, it would have to be when I was a sophomore.  I struggled finding my niche for a while.  I was always on the periphery of the popular crowd, but never quite made it in officially.  I tried out for so many things and came up just short all year long.  My high school had a practice of announcing winners of contests or elections over the speaker as soon as possible after votes were counted or decisions were made.  It was their attempt to give us all timely information.  The problem with the practice is that they did not give the candidates or contestants any advance warnings of the results.  Consequently, I recall many instances of sitting in class and hearing the news of not getting something at the same time as my classmates.  I even remember one time asking my science teacher if I could be excused to the restroom just when a result announcement was being broadcast.

The way my mom plays into that year with me has stayed with me my whole life.  I recall countless counseling sessions with her in the evenings.  Now - you have to remember that at this point my mother had three children spread out between ten years in age, and she had started back to work as a third grade teacher.  I can never recall that she ever said anything like, "Could I get with you later, I am preparing lesson plans, or I am tending to something with Doug or Glen, could you come back to me in a bit."  Never - not once.  

I am certain that my daughters have felt that they played second fiddle to my job on many occasions, and for that I hope that they can forgive me!

But, not my mom - I always felt that I was the most important thing to her at any time.  On the days that I learned that I had not gotten something I had tried out for, she was always there to pick me up and tell me that everything would be all right.

  "Karla - the perfect spot for you has not surfaced yet, but it will come.  You just wait and see!"

"Wow - the power of that little word, YET!"  She always said that there is not one experience in life from which we can not learn something.   All experiences build on the ones that have come before.  All of these layers combined on top of each other continue to shape us into the adults that we ultimately become.  As an adult now, I know that these experiences will continue to shape me until I have that final adventure - that of leaving this world.  I hope that I will always use each one in the positive way that my mom taught me.

Doug and Dad

OK - I have really had to gird myself up for this section.  Parts of it are still very hard to address, but just because something is hard does not mean that it should be avoided (I think that concept was taught to me by my dad, by the way).  

A blog post dedicated to Doug and another one for my dad are probably waiting in the wings for me, but this one is focused on my thank you to my mother, so please forgive me if I insist on keeping myself pinpointed on my objectives of thanking my mother.

My three years younger brother, Doug, was with us only long enough for our world to fall in love with him, but not to get a chance to truly know him.  He also was not able to receive from life what it had to offer him.  And even more sad - the world did not receive but a fraction of what Doug had to give.  

My mother has often said that Doug was a mother's dream son as he was growing up.  Quiet, reserved, deep thinking, analytical, and philosophical would be adjectives that I would use to describe my brother, Doug.  My mother did her best to help Doug see the beauty in life, as she did me, but when you are fighting against mental illness, you can only do so much.  To say that he broke her heart when he left her would be the most understated comment that one could make.  Psychologists have always said that losing a child is the hardest experience that one can ever survive.

Much of the latter part of 1987 is a blur to me because we lost my mother's mother, Evelyn, in July, then Mitch's grandmother, Talbert, in August followed finally with the unabashed exclamation point of Doug's death by choice in November.  I have never been so happy to see a year end and a new one begin than I was when midnight arrived on January 1, 1988.

My mother's naturally sunny disposition was shaken to its very core.  My dad's bulldog personality was crushed.  I have often said that even though losing my brother was one of the hardest things that I have ever experienced, what was harder still was watching what it did to my parents.  My youngest brother, Glen, and I wanted to do everything we could to ease their pain, but there was just no way that it could be lifted by anyone.  The work that my mother and father did together and within themselves during the next four years (until my dad's death in 1991) was nothing short of courageous. They could have easily become bitter, retreated into themselves, turned against each other, or any other unhealthy manner of dealing with life.  I mostly credit my mother for her role in insisting that they stay strong together, that they stay focused on the blessings in their lives, and that they maintain their stance as partners that life is good and worth living to its fullest.  How hard must that have been when her heart ached each and every day?  

And then, speaking of heart ache, at the very beginning of 1990 my dad's heart literally broke.  It lost all but 30% of its pumping ability.  How does that happen when you're only 56?  No actual heart attack was ever confirmed.  A virus - maybe?  Whatever it was, our focus had to change - grieving for Doug was transformed into "what can we do to save Dad's life?" 

I also need to make sure you know that my mother was teaching full-time at Whiteside Elementary School during all of these years.  She threw herself into her first graders.  When things were crazy in her personal life, she took solace in doing all she could to help those children get the strong foundation that they needed to succeed in school and in life.  There were many days that she would teach all day and then go to the hospital to be with my dad all evening.  He was in and out of hospitals for the remainder of 1990 and into 1991 as he waited to receive a heart transplant from the Texas Heart Institute in Houston, Texas.  Finally, in late September of 1991 my father received a perfect new heart.  We were elated, but our joy soon turned to immense sadness as his other organs started to shut down,  He had simply had to wait too long, and all of his other organs had been starved of oxygen for too long.  He died the day before Doug's birthday on October 12, 1991 at the age of 58. 

I am sure that you will agree with my analysis that my dad literally died of a broken heart.

Needless to say, my mother was yet again heart broken, herself.  We felt as if we had lost the anchor in our family.  We swayed around in the wind for a while trying to decide the roles that we would each take on. My brother, Glen had temporarily moved home from Montana to help with my dad's business and then to help my mother in closing it up and in a multitude of other matters.  I was busy with a couple of elementary age daughters and as a school counselor.  

None of my counseling skills helped me with my own grief, however.  No - the only thing that helped was focusing upon what I must live for and counting my blessings each day.

What my mother did not know at that time was that I was still watching and learning from her.  She was back at school teaching soon after my dad's death.  Pouring herself into helping her students helped her.  Getting up each day and making a difference for others made a difference for her.

During this time my mother was the living image of the Nike slogan of "Just Do It."  You just get up when the alarm rings in the morning, get ready for the day, and then go accomplish something.  You spend less time worrying about what you can't change and more time focusing upon what you can.  You smile and say thank you when people want to help you, and you never forget to do what you can do to brighten someone else's day.  Family and friends are supporters, but they also deserve our time and attention to the development and maintenance of the relationships. These are tenets of the way my mom chooses to live her life.  I say "chooses" because she, like all of us, has had many choices to make as she has made her way through life.  

Even though there are things that are out of our locus of control, our lives are mostly formed by choices that we make,   My mother taught me this - not by her words, but by her actions.  In the five and a half years that my mom was alone after my dad's death and prior to her beautiful 20 year marriage (and counting!) to my step-dad, Dwayne, she taught me life lessons that have served me well and are deserving of my gratitude. 

As I said earlier - the full expression of my gratitude is not possible with words either spoken or written.   

So when I say, "Thanks Mom," she knows what I mean.  For sure, for sure!