by Jim Bessey

Created on: May 31, 2011   Last Updated: June 01, 2011

No matter how I misbehaved as a child, I cannot recall my mother ever lashing out at me. Once I was grown, she most often called me "m'dear," as in "how are you, m'dear?". I can't recall her ever using my given name, though she certainly must have. She called me 'honey' and 'sweetie' and 'Jim-Bob' after The Waltons' character. She didn't reserve her pet names just for me, of course; my siblings all had similar terms of endearment.

To the four of us, Mom was an angel. She was nicer and more sincere than the syrupy mother on Leave It to Beaver. She was the maker of peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches (undoubtedly an acquired taste). She cooked dinners for sit-down each night, coordinated by color for maximum nutritional impact. She sewed clothes for us to supplement those purchased at Sibley's (two trips a year). Once she crafted super-fab Army uniforms for my brother and me, avid players of "War" in the woods out back.

Although we squawked about inter-sibling infractions and insults, we never raised our voices in anger at Mom. We whined about the stuff that other kids had that we didn't have, like all kids do. We pleaded for favors or baked goodies desired. We never ever, however, barked at Mom. Her rulings were unimpeachable; to question them unthinkable. And yet, I have no impression that she was a stern taskmaster.

Mom kept my father in check, a fact we discovered far more clearly after she was gone. In many ways my dad was a kindred soul to TV's Archie Bunker-lovable, but often embarrassingly outspoken. The hard edge of his language has sharpened considerably in her absence. Often nonplussed by Dad's outbursts, Mom could shut him down with a look. Where Dad's opinions were honed to a razor's edge, Mom was tolerant and compassionate in a perfect example of the ideal for her children. We've tried to emulate her, but often default to our father's harsh ex-military demeanor. At least we know better.

My mother took personal responsibility for our every failing. What a burden that must have been for her! If our grades suffered, she hadn't pushed us hard enough. When our adult relationships stumbled, there must have been something more she could have taught us about love. If one of us lost a job, Mom's distress surpassed our own. She was our rock and our safest confidant, not once displaying a hint of preciosity. Despite her vast wisdom, she was never judgmental.

She was beautiful, too. A movie star. Those aren't a kid's eyes talking; I still have the pictures. From the day he met her, my future father never had a chance. I've seen the letters he wrote her when he was in the Army. By the time we were teenagers our antics had aged her to a mere earthbound angel. Not that we noticed, of course-to us she was "Mom," not a fashion model.

Mom died at 69, twenty years before her time. My dad was devastated. They had married young, had children late, and raised us all to adulthood without a glimmer of marital discord. We kids shed unabashed tears filled with unblemished love for her. We all worried that dad would disintegrate without her; in some ways he did. Perhaps we all did, at least a little. She was the gravity of our little solar system.

She's up there, somewhere, I'm sure. In Heaven, or the azure sky, or wherever the Good Ones go. Was she really an angel? I have no memories to the contrary. The only proof I have shows that she was indeed mortal; but her legacy lives on in every admirable thing her children do or have become. Those small parts of us that are good and right testify for her. I can still hear her saying "how are you, m'dear?". I don't believe it's only in my head.

Learn more about this author, Jim Bessey.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.