The Queen’s Chronicles – Memories with Mom

Memories are a funny thing aren’t they? Do you ever wonder which memories are concrete and which are figments of your imagination pulled together from pictures, stories told by others or even just a familiar scent in the air? On Monday I set out to make memories with mom that were fresh and real.

As my mom’s own memories continue to be less and less clear I have had this overwhelming pull to hear the stories and pull as much as I can from them. At times it almost seems the ones she chooses to tell are giving me so much insight I didn’t even know into who my mom really is as they were critical building blocks.

When my mom was in the third grade, she was living her best life in Wharton, Texas with her parents. Her best friend, Jenny, lived across the street and was at her door ready to play every morning. She can point me right to the house they lived in so easily.

All that changed one day when my grandfather needed to help his mom with the farm and he uprooted the family and moved to Smiley, Texas. I doubt the population was much different than it is now if not even smaller. Instead of her friend Jenny to play with, she had lots of chickens.

I’m sure we all remember all the details of third grade right? Well, what my mom has always remembered is she felt like it was a time for criticial learning in math that she missed. She struggled to catch up after this year.

Apparently they rented a house in town at some point near the elementary school she attended. We drove right up to the school but were not able to find the house they lived in. She told me a story I’m not sure I ever heard before in which her parents weren’t there to pick her up from school one day so she walked home alone. It had been raining and she trodded right through a ditch full of water in her galoshes and her parents were not happy when she arrived home with her shoes full of water.

She was also able to point me straight to the Methodist church in town where they attended each Sunday. I loved envsioning her in her Sunday dress hand in hand with her mom and dad headed to Sunday school.

We ended our visit at the Bundick cemetary where my grandparents and great grandparents are buried. I love that the Whiddon plot holds the only statue in the cemetary, an angel. In a field with not many trees, my grandparents plot is under a large oak tree and in the spring there are typically fields of wildflowers.

This was the first time I’ve been to visit since my Meme passed away in 1999. It felt good to put out new flowers and just feel the peace of being closer to them. I wasn’t prepared for how emotional it would be seeing my own mom kiss her fingers before touching first her moms name and then her dads. No matter our age we can still miss our parents deeply.

While they only lived in Smiley a short while before returning to Wharton, it obviously had a lasting impact. On the drive home I asked my mom what ever happened to her friend Jenny. Didn’t they reunite when my mom made it back to town? Had Jenny also left town while my mom was gone? I guess that is a mystery I may never know.