My mother, Mildred Zora Goble, passed Dec. 21, 2007. She was 86. It has been nine years. My younger sister said, “We miss them (both parents) more, because we had them for so long.” I so agreed.
My new project of rural women’s stories makes me yearn for my mom’s story. Hearing what she remembered would have been a true gift. I wonder what events would have been laced with emotion, making them a part of her memories to share.
My mother was tall, thin, and large framed. She had spiritual hazel eyes, and a cautious smile. When she was young, she wrapped her feet tight to keep them from growing, a practice of the Chinese. She did not want big feet. As an adult she wore size ten shoe, so all she gained from the pain of confining growth were bunions.
She was classy. She dressed haute couture with clothes she made on her Necchi sewing machine. She especially loved Vogue patterns and Pendleton wool fabric. She carried herself straight and poised.
Her dad was one-half Choctaw Indian. An aunt showed a picture of her grandma sitting cross-legged on a dirt floor smoking a pipe. Mother had ten bothers and sisters. She and one sister married brothers, therefore giving us double-cousins.
Mother only went to school through the eighth grade, but she was one smart women; she educated herself. She saved money to buy a set of Encyclopedia Britannica, along with the annual volumes, and I’m pretty sure she studied them all. She was so very proud when my second sister graduated from CSU, the first in her family to finish college.
Mother said, “I love you,” with high expectation of receiving the statement in return. Her grandkids didn’t much like the pressure, but I found it rather endearing. Because of that, I told her I loved her thousands of times, and I’m glad, because I did, and do.
I miss her every day, but especially on Mother’s Day. She is always on my gratitude list, not only for who she was, but for lessons I learned and standards she set. She wanted the best for us and from us, and gave her best in. return
My mom liked to be called Millie and I named my logo stick figure after her. The tower of a woman I call Mother, lives on in my published writing.
Until the next time: Live while you live!
Your mom was a class act. I enjoyed knowing her.
Linda, thank you. I agree, although I could be a little prejudice.
She taught us by example and loved us unconditionally. Would love to sit and have a cup of coffee with her and visit!
Oh, yes… Wouldn’t that be the most marvelous!?!
I love the opening statement, “We miss them (both parents) more, because we had them for so long.” My father was 97 and my mother was 94 when they went to heaven. They had good memories and good health until a month before they died. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t want to ask them a question or tell them something. My dad died in 2001 and my mother died four years later. They still lived on the farm until dad died and then mom moved to assisted living; she loved that place and gave up living when she entered the hospital and found out that she could not return to taking care of herself. She died in the nursing home where she spent the last 30 days of her life. Memories, how precious they are. I remember meeting your mother several times through our 4-H activities; yes she was precious!
Merle, thank you for following my new project of rural women stories. I know, we had them so long we miss them more. I believe it’s true. I remember your mom too. She was sweet – precious is a good word. We were lucky to have 4-H in our lives too:-)