Two years.
That’s how long mom suffered. She passed away on a pretty spring day in April.
“I can’t decide between Fall or Spring. I love them both.” Mom used to say.
“She’s gone.” Two tiny words with the power to cut my heart in half. The only ones I can make out through my sister’s sobs.
Paul and I drove in silence. I looked up at the clouds — wondering if she could see me.
Under a canopy of breathtaking blue sky and fluffy white clouds grief settled in.
Time stopped.
Days passed.
Her Children Rise Up and Call Her Blessed
I’d never seen a church so packed. Christmas service paled in comparison. The fire department showed up to turn away folks trying to walk into a standing room only crowd.
When the four of mom’s kids stepped down from sharing our hearts, I knew the legacy I wanted to leave my own four.
“Her children rise up and call her blessed.” The pastor kindly smiled.
My mom wasn’t a dignitary, or a political figure, and she didn’t have lots of letters after her name.
She was a mom who loved well.
I pray I’m doing her proud here. I live in the shadow of her death -in a beautiful way. You see, I believe she will ask me one day, “What did you do with the life God gave you?”
I plan on having a lot to share.
I love you Mom. Thank you for teaching me, correcting me, encouraging me and loving me. My four are doing well. There’s been a few bumps and bruises along the way, but they’re strong and kind and funny like you. You never met Samuel, but he has your green eyes. Oh, and guess what? You have fourteen grandchildren now–you would’ve loved being their grandma.
And, Mom, Just in case God let’s you know the day I’m coming your way, would you mind making your pot roast…the one you made every year on my birthday?
xo Joey
A few years ago, while visiting back in California I got up the nerve to knock on the door of my childhood home. I experienced in living color Miranda Lambert’s song, ‘The House That Built Me’.
Click on video and read more below…
I know they say, you can’t go home again. I just had come back one last time. Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam, but these handprints on the front steps are mine.
– The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert
I turn off the engine and take a deep breath.
My legs move in slow motion and take me to the front door. A stranger to the people inside— not long ago, I could walk right in.
A middle-aged woman peeks around the door, “Yes?”
“Hi, um..this might sound strange, but I used to live here. I grew up in this home….”
Opening the door inches wider, she pokes her head out a bit farther and looks me up and down.
I hurry with words to gain her trust, before I lose my nerve. “This might sound crazy, but there used to be hand prints in the cement on the side of the house..and, well..I was hoping…”
She smiles and interrupts me. “They’re still there. I love looking at them.” She opens the door wide. “I’ve often wondered who they belong to.” She smiles.
The lump in my throat grows.
I smile back in relief. “I have my camera with me. I’d love to take a picture of them if that’s okay? I’m visiting from Tennessee—I live there now.”
“Absolutely. Please come in.” She unlocks the screen door and steps aside. “Please, look anywhere you’d like. I understand.”
She begins to show me around the house I could walk through with my eyes closed. Rooms remodeled look odd. I explain their purpose forty years ago. Stories begin spilling out–snippets of memories in a kaleidoscope of colors.
In minutes, I become her tour guide.“This was my bedroom. It used to be yellow. My sister and I had bunk beds. Mom decorated them with Holly Hobby bedspreads. This room right here is the one my sister and brother shared. Dad put on the family room addition but not before I learned to roller skate on the patio that used to be there. That fireplace right there is where we snapped prom pictures and where our family took photos on Christmas day. We got ready for dozens of high school dances and even a few weddings in this bathroom here.” I smile remembering teenage arguments over curling irons and stolen earrings and years later, the bustle of wedding mornings and so much laughter.
“I spent hours as a teenager, sitting on this kitchen counter, talking to Mom as she stirred homemade spaghetti sauce or gravy or her chicken soup.”
When we make our way into the backyard four hand prints are front and center, in better condition than I imagined. I pull out a photo of the owners of those tiny hands to show this kind stranger.
“Jennifer is an amazing hair stylist. Amy is an R.N. and working on her nurse practitioner license and George is an attorney. Mom would be so proud.” I smile.
Grown up with families of our own, each of us wrestle with the deep wound of missing mom and the home this kind stranger let me step into once more.
Making my way to the front door I stop to take it all in. There was still one thing.
My throat feels thick and my eyes fill, “You need to know something about this home.” I take a second to compose myself, but my voice cracks. “There was so much love here—so much love.”
Joanne, what a story and what a legacy your beautiful Mother left.
Love, Mary
Thanks Mary–she was beautiful, wasn’t she?
So beautiful friend. Celebrating with you today, the legacy of mothers who love well.
XO!
beautiful and heartfelt. Tears streaming down my face!
Me too. 🙂
I know your Mom is smiling down at her oldest daughter. She would have been so proud of all of you and especially all that you have accomplished. Missing her today and everyday. Love you all!
Thanks Aunt Judy. I know you miss her, too. I love you. xo
Joanne,
I loved this article! I still go visit my parents in the home I was raised in. They’re in poor health and I know that time is coming. Getting rid of the house some day will be difficult but oh the memories and the many people I watched my mom lead to Jesus over the kitchen table. Thank you for sharing your heart in such a real way. I pray I leave a legacy of love for my kids some day!
Blessings,
Cynthia
That is so sweet to hear, Cindy. I sure wish I’d known your mom back then. I would’ve LOVED to have sat around her table, too.
Joanne, what a beautiful tribute to your mom, hard to believe it has been 15 yrs, she would be so proud of all of you and your wonderful families. Whenever I think of your mom it brings a smile to my face, she was so witty , I think you all took after her with your wit and sense of humor, bless you
Thanks so much, Nancy. She LOVED your sarcastic wit, too. I’ve so many sweet memories of our San Lorenzo years. All my love to you and your family!
Loved your mom, spent a lot of time with her out at soccer, softball, and baseball games (so many teenage issues LOL) She was so proud of all of you then and I know she continues to be proud now. This was a beautiful tribute to your sweet loving mom. Please send both Dave and my love to the family
Thanks so much, Laureen. Your words bless my heart. YES, she was one cool gal, wasn’t she?
Such a sweet memorial to your Mom.
Thanks Chris. xo
This is absolutely precious! What a wonderful gift, to be able to peek inside your childhood home and revisit the wonder of growing up there. I love you friend, even when you make me cry. Like now. And can I just add that you look fabulous! (I know, off topic, but hey, you do!)
Walking back inside was truly a gift. There’s something about “home” that reaches in and sticks to a heart for always. Sorry about your tears, but we both know you wear your tender heart on your sleeve most of the time. LOVE YOU!
Joanne, what a beautiful story. I find it impossible to hold back the tears that have burst from my eyes. I find myself envious of the beautiful treasure you have to cherish and the love that is obvious to anyone who would read this. Thanks for sharing. Although I don’t have a “house that built me” I do have some special memories of my grandmother’s house; one that I haven’t been back inside of for 45 years, but can still remember it as though I was last there yesterday. I’ve driven by it several times, but I haven’t stopped to inquire inside. Perhaps your story will nudge me closer to that day.
Debi, so happy my words have encouraged you to maybe one day knock on the old house of your grandma’s. You’ll have to share YOUR story if you do!
I cried all the way through this one Joanne. What a wonderful story you shared. I wish we could always remember it’s not the houses we build through life, but the lives we build in those houses that matter most. It sounds like your mom knew that and lived it. Thank you for sharing your heart:)
Knowing what a loving Heavenly Father we have, I can imagine that pot roast conversation taking place between Him and your mom…and it being there waiting for you!
Oh Charlotte, now YOU are making ME cry! Hope you are still writing and all is well back in Placerville! Hugs to you!
You know I’m getting ready to move out of the house our kids have known as “home.” I know family isn’t bound by the house we love in, but I so pray that as we leave this one, our kids will have the memory of love here. What a treasure this legacy is for you and your four!
Julie, what a hard time for you right now. I’m so grateful I had the chance to stay in your lovely home. It was SO WARM and so FULL OF LOVE. Your kids will ABSOLUTELY remember their home in Knoxville this way.
Oh Joanne, how this touched my heart.. What a precious legacy to your mother and a testimony to the Lord. Your deep faith has been an encouragement to me since the day I first met you. Now I read so many reasons why. I can relate to this article and the song you mention. May God use your pure heart and loving honesty written here to draw others to Him. That is what has always so struck me about you, You always direct others to Him, not to yourself. Your mother would be so proud of you. Thank you for sharing from the deepest part of your soul. You have so blessed me.
Kathy — thank you so much! I’m so humbled and touched by your kindness. So happy this post blessed you. THANK YOU so much for the precious encouragement. xo
Wow,, I can’t stop crying. Giggling too over the picture you chose. I love your writing Joanne. You are TRULY gifted! I think each one of us grabbed a handful of her sense of humor. I miss her sooo much. Thank you for this tribute, so needed it.
I love you xo
Jen
I TOLD YOU to grab a Kleenex before you read this. And by the way….I still haven’t gotten over all the earrings you stole from me. (I LOVE YOU little sis!)
Oh my goodness! The pic made me laugh and the writing made me cry. I have eaten lots of pizza and shared many cozy nights listening to many wonderful, wonderful stories about your Mom, and I almost feel like I know her (I really wish I could have met her, because I really like her kids). I can’t believe it’s been that long. I don’t have any other words, except Happy Mother’s Day – I know you had a GREAT example of what a Mom truly is, and you all are passing on her wonderful legacy. Xoxox
Awww, thank you so much, Coleen. She was quite a neat lady. I wish you’d met her, too. But, I think knowing alot of her kids is pretty close!
Joanne,
So beautiful. The laughter, joy and love in your family is and was undeniable! Thank you for the message your paying forward – today I am reminded to slow down because a house built of love needs to trump a house of busyness. By the way – love that picture!
Renee
So sweet of you to say, Renee. I imagine you understand the kind of home we had because you knew us those growing up years. Plus, you lived in the same kind of home as a little girl. Right? Hope you’re doing well!
Joanne,
I am so touched by this article! It is a wonderful tribute to your mom and your family! I think I have read it at least four times now and have cried all four times. Your mom was a one of a kind! She had the best sense of humor! I have so many great memories of her growing up in San Lorenzo. The Rice family loved her! You are truly blessed to have had such a loving mom! She is looking down on you smiling for sure. Hugs!
Thanks Kristine–the Rice family will ALWAYS be a part of our San Lorenzo story. My Mom loved yours so much. Memories of your green van, lemonade stands, 4th of July at your place, swimming, Nicholas your 3 legged pooch, 45 records played on your compact record player with our moms singing at the top of their lungs–so many precious memories. They’re colorful jewels that I polish ever once in awhile. So grateful to God that their legacy continues through all of us. xo