My Mother...My Inspiration

I finally got around to locating my external hard-drive, organzing it, and "rediscovering" a lot of the things I have written in the last few years. This piece was published by the Hattiesburg American online edition, a couple of Mother's Day's ago. I hope you enjoy...


A “short Coke”, a Bayer aspirin, and some TLC. Most of the time that was all that was needed to
recover from whatever “deadly illness” overtook me during my childhood. Perhaps a good old fashioned “whoopin” to motivate me to get out of bed and get ready for school…or to complete
that long overdue assignment. My Mom set a standard and held us to it; and while it made little
sense to me back then, I am thankful for it now.

When skin allergies took control of my hands and feet, she was there each night to apply
ointment and wrap my hands in bread sacks so I would not scratch in my sleep. She patiently
carried me to the doctor many times a week for my injections, and then brought me by the lunch
counter at the drugstore for a tuna sandwich while we waited for the noxious creams and potions
to be mixed. She argued with Dad about carrying me outside to the grass and into the shop
where the grease was. She was the one who had to listen to my cries when I would break out as
a result of exposure. In an almost ironic way, she was also the one who argued with my Dad
when I reached the age that those things no longer affected me. “Take him with fishing with
you,” she said; “Spend some time with him”. I can only imagine the confusion he had when the
once “hands off” sick kid was now being presented for him to train and mentor. Looking back, I
am sure it caused him to chuckle in his frustration.

She gave birth to six kids; she reared eight. She went back to college and earned a nursing
degree while keeping Dad’s business afloat as his default accountant and sounding board. We
were each a problem child in our own little way; headstrong and stubborn, apt to buck the
system at any given moment. She kept us in line without breaking that independent streak that
she knew would sustain us through the pitfalls of adulthood. She had to endure the disrespect
from the sons she was not maternally connected to. She had to endure the seemingly
endless in fighting and disharmony when Dad passed away. She had to face moving away from
her home of so many years as result.

In all this, my Mother hitched up her bootstraps and “put on her big girl pants” as she likes to
say. She moved back to her family’s land, built a home, and carried on as a fifty-something
widow. The years seemed to fly by as one-by-one new grandkids came on the scene, sons and
daughters-in-law came and went, and loved ones were called away. Before we knew it, we were
surprising her for her 70th birthday with a reception hall full of family and friends. She was
delighted and knowing her, a bit embarrassed by it all.

A child of the economically depressed South, my Mother only knew hard work and hard times
growing up. Divorced young and remarried, she seemed to have spent the bulk of her life rearing
children. I cannot remember a time when she was NOT there in my life; whether it was a special
occasion or just a time when she was ready to disown me for something I had done. Momma is
an icon to me and the standard by which I based my judgment of other women throughout my
life. Even after retiring from the local hospital, she continued to make the drive to Hattiesburg
each day to work at a nursing home. She would say she needed the money and while that may
have been mostly true, I knew she cared for her patients and truly enjoyed the profession she
had chosen. Strangely enough I see the same traits in my sisters.

When family strife affected me, she was there. When I changed jobs so many times, looking for
that one perfect fit, she was there. When I was called into a singing ministry and needed help
packing dozens of CDs and flyers into mailing envelopes, she was there. We have sat and drank
coffee late into the night as I sealed packages and she wrote addresses. She has always been
ready to help any of us, from modifying school uniforms for that perfect fit; to lessons in canning
and preserving, or her famous dumplings. Years I ago I remember we had to “rein her in” when
my sister had been offended by something someone said at a church she had attended. Mom
was ready to go into battle and defend her baby.

The worst day of my life undoubtedly was when I got the call that Mom had suffered a heart
attack. Though 180 miles offshore, I was able to be connected to her by phone in the CCU. I told
her I was on my way home and true to form, she admonished me to drive carefully and not get a
ticket. God was gracious to Mom and she came through her surgery with flying colors. A week
later, she began to suffer problems with her kidneys. As we walked back to the ICU waiting room that night, not knowing what the next few hours would bring, we all had a chance to reflect and pray. I remember asking God to give us the grace to accept His will, but if I had a say in matters I wanted Him to know that I was not ready to give up Momma. He listened.

Mom turns 75 on May 5 and she is still as feisty as ever. Even after two total knee-replacements
Momma shows no signs of letting up. Her days mostly consist of doing housework, crossword
puzzles, and chasing her four ½ year old great-granddaughter. Sarah phones her each morning
and then comes over for a visit. The two have a “special” relationship indeed. I watch her pull a
chair up to the stove and “help Nana cook”…and it reminds me of myself so many years ago.
Often we cajole her into a road trip to visit our siblings in Georgia and Tennessee. Sometimes she
travels with my family to whatever location we may be in concert. Mom is always ready to help
someone in need; serve at her church; or administer wisdom and advice.

We do not always agree…we sometimes argue. I suppose she would not expect it any other way.
My mother, Mary Helen Cooper, is one-of-a-kind and I thank God for her. She instilled in her
children a strict work-ethic, a strong backbone, and a determination that has never left us. That
will forever be part of her legacy.