Copies
"Your mom read these and thought they would be useful to you one day."
This was my dad, as he pointed to boxes filled with newspaper stories, clipped, copied and stuffed into manilla envelopes for my brother and me. This was my mother's way of passing down lessons, interesting facts, or stories she wanted us to know. They were marked by arrows at the four corners and the words "Keep," "Most Interesting," or just “Lynn” and “Rod.” It was good to see our names in her handwriting one more time.
There were stories filled with advice:
Use actions, not words, to address cruelty.
Give marriage attention to keep it vibrant and alive.
Know the signs of a heart attack and a stroke.
Before a hurricane, stock up on 3 to 5 gallons of water, windproof/waterproof matches, a pocket knife, a first-aid kit, and cash.
Clean splattered love bugs from your car. They are acidic and can eat through the clear coat and paint.
Pressure to prune can lead to ruin.
There was random information:
Voles are similar to moles but are not the same.
All of the salt in the world's seas and oceans would cover all of the continents to a depth of five feet.
The French bullet train tops 351 miles per hour.
Lower-fat foods make you fat.
Language can be confusing, for example, the bandage was wound around the wound.
Songbirds eavesdrop on the calls of other birds to survive.
There were notes in my mother's handwriting:
"Life itself can't give you joy unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space. It's up to you to fill it."
"When things run amuck, they aren't always what they seem."
She wrote on a church bulletin, "The Master who surrounds us with His grace whispers in our ear over and over again, 'Don't quit, keep going.' As we do, a work of amazing beauty will be created."
There were recipes for food I never saw her make: cantaloupe soup, crab meat muffins, chicken tetrazzini. Directions for a Vodka Slush made with cans of frozen lemonade, limeade, orange juice, and Vodka, but my mama didn’t drink.
She made copies of advice columns to guide me through the difficulties of parenting her two grandsons, who are now almost grown.
"Rather than fear the rebellion that happens in all teenagers, anticipate the dynamic time and understand it is their transition from childhood to adults."
"Ten tips for growing a happy child include: expect them to be responsible citizens of your home; happiness is not how much you have, but what you do with what you have; two of the most fun things to do are reading and travel; make memories."
Reading, traveling, and making memories. I passed these down to Hamp and Jake because my mama passed them down to me.
Her copies also preserved sweet moments.
A frustrated note from dad explaining that he could not find the pants he was looking for or a tie that matched. She wrote back, "I love you as you are!!!" Or the wedding toast he wrote for my brother’s wedding. He was proud of the character of Rod and Laura and reminded them that a successful marriage is 80 percent give and 20 percent take.
The copies also provided unknown details of my family.
I barely knew my dad's father, but an obituary revealed the name of his Hereford cattle farm was Hendercrest and he was once president of the Mississippi Cattlemen's Association.
A transcript of an interview with my father read that he experimented with catfish ponds in Marks, Mississippi (population 2,609) in the years before he chose Yazoo City for his farm in 1969. He changed locations hoping the catfish growing season would be longer on the southern edge of the Delta.
In 1924, my other grandfather, age 13, wrote a letter to his mother from camp bragging that he had his first nickname, "Rabbit Foot," because he ran so fast.
I also learned my grandmother was 17 months old when her mother died of typhoid fever. She moved in with my grandfather’s aunt for a few years until her father remarried. My grandparents knew each other all of their lives.
My grandmother sent letters and newspaper stories, too. She wrote that she felt closer to God in her garden because they were partners bringing beauty and happiness into the world. At the bottom, she added, "Do not wish to be anything but what you are and try to be that perfectly," from St. Frances De Sales.
She mailed a story titled "Faith, Inner or Other-Directed, Spawns Success” with a 5-cent Liberty Bell stamp, encouraging my mother to set goals and visualize what she wanted to happen. She also folded a 35-cent coupon for Brim coffee into a story declaring that “New Math is Out and Now-Old Math is In.”
Mama’s dementia ended the clipping, copying, and saving. She no longer remembers the boxes or the advice she wanted to give. After we moved Hamp into his dorm room on August 23, I sat on the curb in the parking lot of our motel, sobbing over letting go. I wanted my mother to tell how it felt the day she left me in Starkville 31 years ago. Knowing I would never really come home again. I needed to hear that she had cried like that and that I would be okay.
One of the last copies I pulled from the boxes was, "The Images of Mother:"
4 Years of Age- My mommy can do anything!
18 Years of age- That old woman? She's Way out of date!
45 Years of Age - Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
65 Years of Age- Wish I could talk it over with Mom.
I am not 65, but I wish I could talk things over with my mom. Her copies provide comfort in ways she never expected at the time I need her most.
And she taught me a vole is not a mole.
I love you mama. Thank you.
