Mom’s Shadow

I was five and followed Momma everywhere. “Momma, how do you that?”, I would ask. 

“Do what?”, Mom would answer. 

”You know. Wash the dirty diaper out without dropping it?”

“What??”, She exclaimed. 

“I want to wash a dirty diaper! Please let me wash it.”

“Okay. You sure?” As she handed me the cloth diaper needing to be cleaned out. 

Very quickly, I cried out, “Yuck! I don’t want to wash out the diaper. Please don’t make me do it! I’m going to be sick!”

Momma very quickly took over and completed the job. 

Wherever she was, I was right behind her. If she went in the bathroom, I waited on the floor outside. I’d like to say I waited patiently. I didn’t. 

“Momma, what are you doing? Are you finished yet?” 

“No!” She replied, “Go find your brother and make sure he’s okay!”

And off I would scurry looking for Chris or checking on my new baby brother, Kevin. But always listening to hear if Mom had opened that bathroom door so I could take my place beside her. 

My Mom was a transplant to Texas. Originally from New Albany, Indiana, she came to Texas to hopefully meet a rancher with horses. She met and fell in love with my dad instead. 

She was resilient and resourceful. She could make the coolest stuff with the least amount of time and no money. She built us a playhouse. She made strap on stilts from old vegetable cans and wooden stilts from old wood we had. We thought we were something walking around on those. 

I remember when she decided to plant a garden. There were some people who told her she would have problems getting vegetables to grow. She just listened and said, “hmmm.” But the next time we were at Lovelady’s Five & Dime, she picked up seed packets for vegetables and flowers. 

She turned that West Texas dirt and sand into a small oasis. Somethings grew. Somethings didn’t. It didn’t stop her from trying new things. 

I remember the year she planted corn. I don’t remember eating any fresh corn. But I do recall the large amounts of tomatoes and peppers that were harvested. And I remember that she canned a lot that year and made jalapeño jelly too. 

Our front yard became a beautiful riot of color. If there were seeds for it, she grew it. One spring she planted “green” carnations. We waited expectantly for them to bloom. They really weren’t green. But they were pretty. 

Cockscombs, larkspurs, phlox, zinnias and marigolds. They all became part of my new language. One of my jobs was to gather the seeds as the flowers died. Out of death of one came the possibility of beautiful life next year. 

Our side yard hosted her dahlias. Some of them were a as big as her hand and in colors that had never been seen before. One year a white bulb and a red one grew together and a beautiful red and white striped flower resulted. 

I know Mom missed her home. She would cry for the family she had left behind and the green of hills she remembered so well. She would tell stories about her grandpa and her Daddy...he was a WW2 Navy veteran. 

Dust storms, heat, and a hard relationship with my Daddy all challenged her. And they changed her in small ways. Some days, it was way too hard. Some days she cried. 

But for us...for her kids...she endured. And she took a home in the desert and brought the green  of Indiana to fill her heart with a touch of home. And she always let us know how much she loved us.