She grew up next to the ocean in Norfolk, VA. It seems as if every conversation I had with her during her last few years included some reference to the beach or the ocean. Her favorite painting that hung in her office throughout her career featured beautiful sand dunes with a hint of blue ocean and blue sky beyond the dunes. When she was 82, I took her on a cruise and we were able to rent a little beach cabana on the cruise line’s private beach day. She wanted to go in the water and I watched as she slowly made her way down to the shoreline. I had offered to walk with her, but she wanted to do it by herself. As soon as the water was up to her ankles though, the sand became too mushy and she lost her balance and plopped down on her bottom. I raced down to the water to help her up. I asked her what she wanted to do, prepared to do anything for her in that moment, even swim into the ocean with her, which is not my favorite thing. But Mother, embarrassed by her public tumble, wanted to go back to the beach chairs. After a few moments, she turned to me with tears in her eyes and confided that her fantasy had been to run into the ocean as she had done so many times as a young girl. In her mind, she was still that young girl, running free, unencumbered by age or physical restraints.
My Mother loved blue.
Her favorite ring was a turquoise and sterling silver ring that she bought while visiting her Aunt Ruth in New Mexico back in the 1960’s. If you know her well, you know that she always had that ring on. She had many rings, but wore that one the most. It's a huge ring and her hand was small, but it looked like it belonged there. She also had another ring which featured a small aquamarine surrounded by diamonds. She bought it with a portion of the money that she inherited from her mother when she died in the 1970’s. By today’s standards, that ring isn’t all that fancy, but Mother kept it in the safety deposit box at the bank for the longest time, only bringing it out to wear on very special occasions. Then, she simply kept it in her jewelry box. At some point I told her that she ought to wear that ring every day. Why not enjoy it all the time? But taking the ring out of her jewelry box and putting it on meant the occasion was very special and she liked doing it that way.
My Mother loved blue.
Unfortunately, Mother also frequently got the blues. She suffered from major depression and did throughout her entire life. She took anti-depressants but did not want to. So every now and then she stopped taking them. Eventually another low point would come and she'd go back to the medication. But perhaps because she was trained as a counselor, Mother was not the type to be ashamed of being depressed. She served as a kind of poster child for the Mental Health Association of Georgia, the year that the organization focused on depression. She was interviewed and appeared in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution discussing her struggles and even toured around the state doing public speaking engagements. After each trip, she would come back and tell me about whatever group she had spoken to and the interactions that she had after each speech. The stories were very colorful and sometimes quite poignant. I like to imagine that she touched a lot of lives through her frank and unashamed discussions about her own experiences, not just that year, but always.
My Mother loved blue.
When I moved into a new house in 2008, Mother sent me a check to buy some new towels. She always said one should buy new towels at least every other year or so. I looked at a lot of towels. My master bathroom was devoid of color. The huge walk-in shower was surrounded by glass, so there was no need for a shower curtain. The large picture window had the look of stained glass, but was all just pattern, no color. The towels I kept going back to were a beautiful marine blue. I finally bought them, two bath towels, two hand towels and four wash cloths. Mother always said to buy more wash cloths because they don’t last as long. When she came to visit for two months that winter, she exclaimed about how beautiful the color was. I didn’t realize until that moment that I'd bought the towels for her.
My Mother loved blue.
But when I think of her, she's a kaleidoscope of colors with her rich life experiences and her broad knowledge of so many subjects. She joked that she was a jack of all trades, master of none. But that's not really true. She was a well-read and smart woman. She could have done or been anything during the course of her life. She chose to be educator, counselor, missionary, mother, musician, music lover, minister, world traveler, speaker and avid reader. She was many things to many people. She was my worst critic, but also my sometime champion. She rescued me when I needed rescuing. She laughed deeply at my stories and antics.
Sometimes I like to think about her as that little girl, on a beach somewhere, running in the surf, arms outstretched, hair flying, legs covered with sand, the smell of sea salt in her nostrils. For the rest of my life, I'll look for her in the blue ocean, in the blue sky and in every young girl I see running on the beach. Maybe you will too.
