No Mom. At least not a physical one. Only in our memories. Last year I wrote too briefly how wonderful my mother was. Words still are grossly inadequate to describe her, or perhaps I fear sounding like the start of canonization (and she was oh, so Protestant – Evangelical, even.) Maybe a little irreverence would snap me out of it… Google “sainthood” and one stumbles upon a page on how to make someone a saint! My Catholic friends and readers please forgive me, but I had to try. Plus, if it’s good enough for the last Pope to be on the fast track, hey.
Below is the suggested information for a “Cyber Shrine” to my Mom:
Saint Betty Joyce of Texas (Have to put both names, and her goodness was large enough for the entire state)
Patron Saint of Pastor’s Wives. (She refused to adhere to the norm and was a role model for many women who adored her.)
Feast Day December 4. (Her birthday, obviously)
I am leaving tomorrow to spend this Mother’s Day with my family of origin. First trip back to parents’ home with only one parent residing. It has taken almost one year to feel capable of visiting without coming apart at the seams – strange since I never lived in their house or in that city, but my mom’s presence was so pervasive after the funeral. Joyce was gracious, giving, funny, ever smiling, ever loving, forever loved.
I’m eager to see my Dad and siblings, not so eager to trek out to the graveyard. This doctor doesn’t do death well.