The Depth of Her Love
Remembering my sweet, funny, wonderful mom on her birthday
She hugged my sweaty body, fresh off the basketball court, and I could smell the familiar mix of cigarette smoke and recently-applied lipstick in the air between us. She’d been outside with all the smokers at halftime, shivering in the winter air for a quick nicotine fix. Mom, the only woman taking a smoke break with a bunch of dads and high school basketball devotees.
We were an exciting basketball team in the 1980s—chock full of state championship caliber talent, we packed the stands. The Lady Cougars were the big draw, bigger than the boys basketball team, bigger than football. We were the superstars of the late 80s in my small hometown, and my mom and stepdad were always there to cheer us on.
“It’s so nice that they let you cut down the nets even though you lost,” Mom said.
I laughed.
“We won, Mom,” I said. “That’s why we cut down the nets.”
“But the visitors score was higher,” she said, confused.
“We were the visitors,” I said. “This was an invitational tournament, and we were the visitors in the final game. I know it’s our home court, but tournaments work differently.”
“Well, I’m just proud of you girls,” she said, her chestnut eyes shining. “You’re always so polite and talented on the court.”
My mom, the most devoted and enthusiastic sports fan, who—despite my participation in numerous athletic endeavors in my youth—knew virtually nothing about sports.
What she never failed to do, though, was show up, our sweet Caroline.
My mom showed up in the all biggest, most important ways. Being both mom and dad when my father left, in the bleachers during all my games, in the audience whenever I sang, walking me down the aisle when I got married, holding my babies when I was an overwhelmed young mother, supporting me during my divorce, loving me through my coming out.
But she didn’t just show up for me. She showed up for everyone she loved. She was a daughter who cared for her aging parents, a beloved sibling to seven others, a devoted aunt to so many, a loyal and hard-working employee, a trusted friend, an empathetic confidant, a doting grandmother and great-grandmother. Whenever she was needed—before she was even needed—she was there. And no matter what the situation, she never failed to make us laugh.
When she left this earth, she left a hole as big as her heart—and her heart was the biggest of all. I miss her more than I can convey, but I am far from the only one who longs for her voice, her laughter, her sense of humor. The only good thing about her leaving when she did is that she didn’t have to watch Carrie go. Watching one of her daughters die would have been a cruel and unusual punishment.
We were her world.
She was ours.
Today is her birthday. Elvis’s, too. She always loved sharing a birthday with The King. And she swore Neil Diamond wrote “Sweet Caroline” about her. For years, I believed it, too. I’d listen closely to the line where she swore he was singing, “Reaching out, Sis… touching me, touching you…” (Sis was her nickname.) I believed everything she told me. She was trustworthy and honest and hilarious to her core. She’d place a bet on everything she did, much to my kids’ delight. A game of Go, Fish for a quarter? They were in. Always in with their Nana.
I’ve already received multiple texts from friends and family members wishing Mom a happy birthday today. Everyone loved her. Everyone remembers. Everyone misses that bright and shining light of a human being.
Especially me. Especially today.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Remember: When you spot a batter that goes to the opposite side of the plate as all the other batters, that’s me. I’m left-handed. I’m #22. I’m your daughter.
Thanks for being my mom.
Oh, my dear. Happy Birthday to your mom. Today is my father's birthday. He left in 2011. He didn't anything about sports, either. He loved me and I loved him. I miss him. How old would she be if she were still here? My dad would be 89. xo
We haven’t known each other long, but my gut tells me you’re just like her in all the best ways. She sounds like an amazing human. Which tracks.
Holding sweet space for you here, friend.