Thinking about Babe on Sundays…
I’m reflective today, not really sure why. Maybe it’s because I’ve been with Paschall all weekend, he’s kind of like my priest. I talk to him incessantly about my past, my fears, my struggles, and I even find myself confessing sins to him. Father Mike always offers me absolution, he’s gracious that way…
But today my reflectiveness is specific, it’s focused. I’ve been thinking all day about my mom. This should be no surprise, I always think about Babe on Sundays.
My early life was chuck full of Sunday church attendance - sunday school, morning worship, youth group, and evening services. We attended all the services religiously as an entire family. Now when I say religiously, I mean it in every sense of the word. Sunday was also a family day, so it only stands to reason that I would think about Babe on Sundays.
My first memory of her was when she bent down to pick me up off the couch I had fallen asleep on. We lived in a little trailer that my parents rented when I was a baby. I couldn’t have been more than two, but the memory is vivid. My mom had jet black hair that was wavy and soft. I hated when she used hair spray because the softness was gone. I wanted momma’s hair to be like her, soft to the touch. She also had incredibly deep brown lively eyes. I remember looking to them often for encouragement, love, and even correction.
I was thinking today about the last time I saw her. She was lying in bed covered by the quilt Kathy made her. Her hair was now gray, but remained wavy and soft. Her eyes were still deep brown, but on this day lifeless, she had left us to go home with daddy.
That day I lifted her up to kiss her goodbye one last time. I sat there as the funeral home wheeled momma out of her trailer. It’s funny, my first and last memories of Babe were in a trailer. Guess mom and dad weren’t so successful at the American Dream…
Before she died she had been very sick for more than a year. I remember pleading with her not to die 6 months before she did. I was leaving her place on a Sunday afternoon - I usually stopped by to check in. This day her breaths were shallow and her life had become a struggle. Upon walking out the front door, I turned and swung it back open, I selfishly begged her not to die today. She lived because no matter how self centered my requests were, if she had it in her, she would grant my wish. I’m a spoiled momma’s boy, always have been…
My mom taught me a lot of valuable lessons. She was the one who taught me to catch, to throw, and to swing a baseball bat. She taught me how to laugh, no one could laugh like my momma. She was always a little chunky (soft, remember) so she would shake, kinda vibrate, as she giggled, I loved to make her laugh. She also taught me to pray, to read (especially my Bible), to love, to be a gentlemen, and to release those who had done me wrong.
Babe prepared me well for marriage, I knew exactly what I wanted. A wife who was gentle, had lively eyes, soft hair, kind to everyone, straight forward with me, and great with sons. That’s exactly what I got…
The last night in my parent’s home, right after the rehearsal dinner, I laid my head on my mom’s lap, I promised her I’d be a good husband and one day a good father. I remember her crying as she told me how proud she was of me and how much she approved of my choice. She knew from the moment she met her, Kathy was perfect for me.
My mom was right about most things. So it should be no surprise that she was absolutely right about Kathy, the other Babe in my life.
I’ll write more later, the guy sitting next to me is very uncomfortable with all the tears. He doesn’t know I usually think about Babe on Sundays…
