by Suzi George

Created on: July 06, 2009

No one expects their parent to die when they are children but all too often, it happens. My mother died when I was just nine but was it a sad thing? Absolutely. Did I end up better off? Not too sure about that one but still, things would be financially better for me later. My mother was manic depressive and in the seventies, this was not a well known disorder. She, however, was unaware of this condition and seemingly had not a care in the world where we were concnered. My entire life with her, what I remember of it from age three to nine, consisted of her being gone to the club every night where she was the local entertainment and being asleep with a new man when I left for school in the morning.

I wanted to know so much more about my mother than what I knew which was nothing positive really. She never showed affection to me nor did she say she loved me so often I wondered if she had that within her. When I was grown with a few children of my own, my oldest brother decided to share stories about his childhood with our mother and the difference was so contrast, it was almost bizarre. His recollection included PTA mom, cookie baker and boo-boo fixer. Mine included being told to be quiet, go get something to eat for her and to shut up, she was trying to sleep. So when I got a letter in the mail from a long distant aunt I was more than shocked to learn she had something for me.

My mother thought she would be the next Loretta Lynn.She wore the wigs, played guitar and sang her heart out. What I was unaware of was the in the fifties, she and my father went to Nashville, to Stop records to be exact, the same place Elvis Presley recorded and she recorded four songs on two records. To say I was shocked was an understatement. The memories I carried of my mother included many I'd like to forget but there are a few I enjoy and one of them was when she would take me to the club and put me on stage to sing with her. Now, a five year old singing in a bar is probably not the best of parenting skills but for me, it was time she spent with me doing something we both loved. The fact the drunks handed me money as I left the stage was plus too, she enjoyed extra cash.

My aunt sent me my mother's records in the mail. She mailed them in a yellow envelope wrapped in paper towels. Your question would be: did they break? By the grace of God, no. They came to me unscathed. I was 33 years old when I heard my mother's voice for the first time since she died when I was nine. The emotion of hearing her sing was unreal and unmatched. This was truly my link the the past and with the miracle of modern technology, I could hear my mother's voice forever.

Learn more about this author, Suzi George.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.