Till We Meet Again

When I was younger, I called my mother “Momma”; I think all of us kids did at one time. 

Sandra Kay Tucker August 28, 1939 - October 26, 2016

Sandra Kay Tucker
August 28, 1939 – October 26, 2016

She was a compassionate person, a caring person, an encouraging person. As I grew up and explored my interests in writing and art and music, there wasn’t a story or poem she didn’t praise, a picture she didn’t appreciate, or a tune I played on my guitar that she didn’t enjoy – even if, in hindsight, it wasn’t that good.  She always had a good word for me.  She laughed at my jokes and told me how clever I was.  That doesn’t mean she was always pleased with my “cleverness”.

She helped make things possible and made tough choices for us, while, later, allowing me my own choices for she gave me the knowledge that my life’s choices were mine to make.  In contrast to that side of me that valued logic and seriousness, she was the part that said, “take a chance”.  She celebrated my successes and consoled me in my failures.  But in her eyes, there were no failures, my siblings and I were her children and she was proud of us all.  We are her legacy.

She was a dreamer, an indomitable spirit, a singer with a powerful voice, yet even among us children, we knew her in different ways, but that is how life works sometimes.  She had her own choices to make, as well.  To me, she was simply Momma, and without her guidance and understanding and patience…and love, I wouldn’t be who I am today.  She was what a mother should be and I could have asked for nothing more than the blessing she was.

A few days after I spoke these words – or a facsimile thereof – at her memorial, a poem came to me.  She was always fond of showing me the various shells she had collected when she went to the ocean.  I hope she would put this in her collection:

Seashell

I found a shell today
as I walked the beach
by the sea.
It glittered in the sand
as if to be seen
and I thought of you.

It had whirling patterns
etched in translucent white.
And it seemed to fold
into itself somehow
and I thought of you.

And I held it to the sun
and looked at how it was made;
and it seemed a mystery to me
alone, where it was laid.

And the salty water splashed
over the beach
by the sea.
And the places I had walked
were washed away
And I thought of you.

©2016 James Montgomery