“Mother’s Day”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-18)

McCray. Blessed be thy name.

The recent passing of my father, in April, has made us cling to Mom with greater emotions than ever before. Through tears of sorrow, we rejoiced in the spirit bequeathed to us by this humble woman from the area of Parkersburg, West Virginia. One quietly bearing the gifts of a family buoyed by faith and love in generous portions. For Rebecca, Ronald and myself, our reason to be alive.

She grew up in a brood held with high esteem by neighbors and friends. Her parents ran a general store that served their rural community, each according to their needs. Godly people in a traditional sense, but armored always with kindness. Dad, a lifelong Republican, liked to joke that “She and I agree on everything but religion and politics.” In literal terms, this was true. Mom held fast to old modes of conduct handed down across many generations. But her loyalty to the blue-collar outlook of Franklin Delano Roosevelt was just as sure. This quiet independence caused us to grow up with a perspective of inclusion, founded on humility rather than brash rhetoric.

The bloodline of Allie and Lulu had no pretentiousness. Only the ability to talk with anyone, anywhere about anything!

During my childhood, Mom offered the sort of encouragement one might expect from a mother. Yet her ability to make the day shine with hope was invaluable. When I struggled to find confidence, her embrace always provided rescue. I saw the same power in my aunts and uncles. Audrey, Faenon. Fritz and Ronald. Each seemed to glow with Christian love in its purest form.

Mom proved the adage that a person is a product of their environment.

When I was a teenager, we once saw young residents of our community with shaggy hair, wrinkled clothes and odd modes of speech. My own reaction was awe and curiosity. But she spoke out with a familiar phrase. “What are they trying to prove?” Her comment made me grin. She bore no hatred for anyone, even those different from herself. The reaction was one of genuine disbelief. We attended church each week, only after being scrubbed clean on Saturday night and freshly dressed Sunday morning in our best attire. She reckoned that wearing proper outfits was part of entering into formal worship. An outward manifestation of inner focus.

My younger brother, ever the scruffy junior, tried to argue this point with her for many years. He never won.

Dad taught us the value of books and study. His taste for unusual things had us always seeking new vistas. But Mom kept us grounded in reality. She was ‘country’ at heart. Fond of dogs and football and nature and singing in the kitchen while preparing meals. Despite battling health issues including bouts of depression, she kept us closely tied together as a family. The household knew no geographical location of permanence, shifting from one place to another with great regularity. But after moving from state to state, my parents finally settled in the Barbour County enclave of Philippi, 32 years ago. It was a homecoming of sorts for Mom.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze

Country roads, take me home

To the place I belong

West Virginia

Mountain mama, take me home

Country roads...”

As a grandmother, Mom seemed to flourish like a wildflower in the summer sun. She busied herself entertaining family, neighbors and friends at their little home on Union Road. Glad for the grace of God to be back on her native loam. Time could not dim the luster of this experience, only slow the pace of mortal bodies. Thus, after more than three decades, she and Dad had mostly retired to their easy chairs in the living room. Surrounded by trappings of a life lived in service and prayer.

This was how my sister found them, early in the year.

Our parents entered the Mansfield Place nursing home shortly afterward, thanks to the patient urging of everyone involved. Dad bounced between Ruby Memorial Hospital in Morgantown, and this facility, for a short span of weeks. But his physical shell had been exhausted. He soon graduated to eternity after holding hands with mother. Even death could not break the bond of their love.

Mom waited patiently in their activity room with her stuffed animals as we worked out the details. With ‘Penny Cat’ the kitten and ‘Ticonderoga’ who was a brown dachshund. Gifts from my niece and father, respectively. Her McCray nature carried us through the moment of grief. She chattered away with other residents over coffee and milk. In our infancy, she had given us a safe space to grow and thrive. Now, at this final chapter of life, she once again offered hope. As ever, thinking of us rather than herself. Like Grandma Lulu who had gone before, dutifully performing the most important job ever held on terrestrial soil – that of being a mother.

Having her far away, especially today, has my heart heavy and homesick. Yet I know she is happy being in the mountains, among friends and neighbors, especially those from the Union Church of Christ. So I reach out in print with this simple message from sister, brother and myself:

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!”

We love you, always.

Questions or comments about ‘Words On The Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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(‘Country Roads’ lyrics by Danoff/Nivert/Denver)