The Wonder of You

It’s almost been one month since Mom passed away and every day I miss her a bit more. It’s the little things that get to me. Tonight I pulled green beans (Kentucky Wonders were the only ones Mom would buy) out of the refrigerator to cook for dinner and immediately put them in a strainer in the sink to snap them. It would be just as easy to leave the ends on and cook them, but Mom taught me to snap them, and then soak them. So that’s what I do. And as I leaned over the sink, participating in that age-old culinary ritual, I missed my mom.

I miss standing next to her at the sink snapping green beans, or sitting across the dinner table from her. I miss the “old” version of mom -- the mom I had when I was a kid. The mom that would give me a row in the garden to plant whatever I wanted, and since I hated vegetables when I was 8, I planted marigolds. The mom that mopped the kitchen floor and sang along to “Michelle” by the Beatles on the radio.

In 1969, when I was in love with Elvis, she bought me the 45 record to Jailhouse Rock and marked my initials on the “A” side of the record so I would know which side to play, since I wasn’t old enough to read. And later, she never complained when I played “Kentucky Rain” over and over in my room. She sat through four seasons of Starsky and Hutch, four years of band concerts, and listened to me practice my “Pegasus” trumpet solo every night for an entire marching season. She was a mom that would usher me into our walk-in pantry to hide when Mr. Horn came knocking during his Amway years, and later, when the preacher and his wife would come to the front door. Mom and I would stand in silence in the pantry until they went away and she would use that time to take stock of what groceries she needed. When I went off to college, she wrote every week, and included stamps and coupons. When I came home for the weekend, she stocked me up on groceries (and Jen up on Vienna Sausages).

I have always been a bit envious of people who could quote wise things their parents or grandparents told them, such as “when things don’t go your way, jiggle the handle a little bit.” I always thought it was cool to have these neat sound bites of wisdom to share…but I never got anything like that from my mom. In fact, Mom never once offered her advice or opinion, unless I asked for it. She never interfered in my life, never told me what to do, never ONCE started a sentence with “I think you should…” So, as a result, I missed out on those pearls of wisdom most people get from their parents. But, I guess what she gave me instead was freedom, responsibility and the ability to think for myself. She never told me about those things, but she taught me about them.

So tonight I was flipping through the channels and an Elvis special was on PBS, and so after cooking Kentucky Wonders for dinner, I heard Elvis sing “Kentucky Rain.” And the sound of his voice singing that song and the memories that came with it made me miss her so much I had to cry. In the end, I guess having pearls of wisdom to hold on to aren’t important. It’s the marigolds and the green beans that you’re going to remember.

“When no one else can understand me,
When everything I do is wrong,
You give me hope and consolation,
You give me strength to carry on.

And you’re always there to lend a hand,
In everything I do,
That’s the wonder,
The wonder of you,

I’ll guess I’ll never know the reason why,
You love me like you do,
That’s the wonder,
The wonder of you.”