Memories of Mother

As we enter the Mother’s Day weekend my thoughts have turned to my mother, Carol Deane Johnson.  Memories of my mother are both limited and precious.  I remember the night in Wichita, Kansas when she complained of severe chest pains.  The next morning, I was awakened by the noise of many voices downstairs.  My sister, Dayna, and I made our way down to the living room, which was full of friends and relatives, all looking sad and alarmed.  My father was doubled over in a chair and was briefly composed enough to let my sister and I know that our mother had died.  It was March of 1968, one month before my 10th birthday.  We were later to find out that Mother died from acute liver failure.  There was no warning, no symptoms, just suddenly departed from our family and this world.

I remember my mother as a pleasant, personable, and gentle woman who easily made friends.  Everyone thinks their moms are beautiful but there’s no doubt that she was very pretty.  Mother had clear brown eyes with high arching eyebrows and raven black hair.   Her father had a good portion of his heritage from the Cherokee Indian tribe, which might explain mom’s black hair.  Mother was hard-working and loved gardening, baking, and if she ever hated housework, I never knew it.  We lived on a farm in northern Missouri until I turned 8 and we moved to Wichita where my father began working at Cessna aircraft.  On the farm life was simple, to say the least.  My mother washed clothes outside in a tub with an electric agitator.  Two big rubber ringers were used to squeeze the water out of the washed clothing.  My sister found out that getting your hair caught in those ringers was extremely painful.  If we wanted fried chicken mom would chase one down, chop its head off, boil it in a large tub of water and feathers off.  What a smell! 

In the years of my young life with my mother, I can’t recall her ever raising her voice in anger or frustration.  Even though she wasn’t particularly spiritual, and church wasn’t a part of our life, I don’t remember her speaking any curse words or having any heated disagreements with my dad.  One of her strengths was that she was consistent in her positive attitude and was not one to gripe or complain, no matter what life threw at her.

One of my fondest memories of mother was how she came to my rescue on my 6th birthday.  Somehow my father totally forgot it was April 16.  I remember my mother getting an angry look on her face which was undoubtedly aimed at my father.  This was a very rare sight.  She asked him, “what did you get Michael for his birthday?”  My dad sheepishly answered her, “nothing, I guess I forgot”.  It was a Thursday and my mother told me, “When Saturday comes we’re going to town and get you your birthday gifts.”   We climbed into the family car and headed for town, about 10 miles away, and parked downtown, right in front of the Five and Dime store.  (think Walgreen’s) Mom and I headed for the toy aisle and she said to me, “Pick out three things you want and we will buy them”.  I remember Dad getting a concerned look on his face because we were poorer than I knew.  Fortunately for him, I was easily satisfied.  I picked out a little toy barn complete with chickens, lambs, and calves.  I also found a small bat and a rubber baseball.  I can’t remember what the third gift was but I’m sure that all three items came to less than $20.  I can’t think of another single event that communicated to me how much my mother loved me.  She had gone completely out of character in getting that upset with my father and then actually giving him orders with no “ifs, ands, or buts”.