I betcha even June Cleaver burned at least one piece of toast and maybe one batch of cookies. If not a four letter word, surely an “ugh” escaped at some time in her life. No mother is perfect. …. Thank heavens.

Mama would sit outside at night and watch the stars hoping to see a falling star or maybe even a UFO. She watched every eclipse from start to finish. She would sit in her beach chair and stare at the Gulf’s waves. She worshipped the sun and maintained a tan that would make skin doctors cringe today. She adored her birds, flowers, nature, and the shadows created by the sun. She loved the moon. She could muscle furniture and even fallen trees with strength that would put most men to shame. She could dress in simple elegance that not even the red carpet glamor could deny or compete. It took years before she would dare to wear slacks to the store, mall, doctor’s office, or any public place. Looking nice, even though simple, was how she was raised. She always thought herself stupid and would voraciously read the World Book Encyclopedias she bought for my brother and I. She could charm the richest and well educated executive that my father had to meet in social situations. Though she never shared with me, I know she liked to write poetry. She was obsessed with cleaning and even fell and got a concussion when I called and said I was in town and coming over – she was trying to speed clean a house that would make Mr. Clean blush with incompetence. She somehow managed to make “Beth” into a multi-syllable name.

She tried so hard to make me into a frilly froo froo daughter. She gave up. When she bound between her knees trying to perm my hair I bit each knee. Easter frilly dresses barely made it through the Sunday service before they were splattered in dirt or torn. Ok, cut me some slack, I was young. She was so not perfect and she had the “fortune” of having an even less perfect daughter growing up in the tumultuous riots, civil rights, freedom movements, and experiences of the 60’s. The culture and world she had grown up in were being shattered and by gosh I had a huge hammer to help. A huge hammer.

Mama was afraid of everything. Even life. As much as she loved the little things of life, her world was shrouded in so much fear. I remember the day, about 18 years ago when she called me at work. She never did that. I had been away from home for almost 20 years. She had been battling cancer. I thought the worse when I heard her voice. Mama called me to let me know she was about to tell my father and brother she was admitting herself into hospice. She had found her peace and was ready. She wanted me to know first in case they enlisted my help to change her mind. Mama and I never talked or shared. That was probably the only and truly deep conversation we ever shared. A woman so afraid had found her courage and voice. I promised I would support her. It came with a condition – I was to make sure NO ONE who visited her, EVER saw her without makeup on. I laughed. I later cried as I watched my father try to put lipstick on his wife who was in a coma fading away.

A common “fear” so many women have is that they “are becoming like their mother.” I guess I share that sentiment. I think she would understand my shudder to think in many ways I have. I am. Well, maybe not the cleaning, cooking, and dress style….. hope that made you laugh Mama. Yes, in so many important ways Mama, I have. But Mama, it was that call that gifted your not so perfect daughter the most precious gift. Took a while for me to figure it out but I did. You taught me that fear and love have many faces. Some are elegant and beautiful. Some not so much. But in the end, we can find the love. We can find the love that transcends fear.

Happy birthday Mama. Hard to believe you’ve been gone 16 years. I still look for falling stars and say good night to the moon. I feed the birds and love the sun on my skin. And yes Mama, I get afraid. You’re not my hero, you’re my mama. The world has heroes. But this stubborn little girl needed a mama. Heroes leave. Mamas stick around in their glory of mistakes, misunderstandings, confusion, and pain. Happy birthday Mama. And just so ya know….you’re my falling star.