Tomorrow is Mother's Day. A day set aside to honor all mothers, be they living in this world or beyond, be they young or old or carrying an itty bitty zygote. A day to celebrate women and their capacity for love.
How ironic is it then, that our deepest, truest lessons of love are learned in retrospect?
When I was 11 years old, my Aunt Betty Bob gifted me with a little golden razor. She took me into her bathroom, taught me how to lather up my legs with soap and gently glide the razor along the skin of my embarrassingly hairy legs. Left to my own devices, I cut the crap out of my legs with that razor. But I will never forget how grown-up and feminine my Aunt Bob made me feel.
We were the best of buddies and loved
to go shopping together. She was always on top of the latest trends
and fashion. She was that person
who always made me feel infinitely special.
When Dickie asked me to marry him, my
Aunt Bob was the first call I made after telling my parents. She
whooped and hollered her congratulations across the phone. A few
days later I received a beautiful and outrageously expensive crystal
cake pedestal from her in the mail. She said she wanted to give me a
totally impractical gift, one that would remind me of her each
time I used it. It was my favorite wedding gift of all. In 35 years
of marriage, I've never even glanced at that cake pedestal without
thinking of her.
Still, I didn't realized how much my
Aunt Bob loved me until I became an aunt, as well.
I remember peeking around the corner of the living room, spying on Mama as she visited and sipped coffee with her friends. I would wait until she was totally absorbed by the conversation, then I would stealthily make my way to her chair and sit at her feet. I knew that if I sat very still and was as quiet as a mouse, before too long Mom would put her hand on my head and begin playing with my hair, distractedly running her fingers through the length of it. I coveted the touch of my Mom's hands in my hair.
Though I always felt her approval, she seldom gave me compliments. One afternoon, I came busting through the screen door after a busy day at school. I couldn't wait to show her my new note from the cutest boy in 3rd grade, telling me I was a 'pretty gril '(his spelling, not mine).
“Do you think I'm pretty, Mama?”
“You're cute enough,” She said.
“Pretty Is As Pretty Does.”
I understood that it was more important to her that I be pretty on the inside rather than the outside. Therefore, it became more important to me as well.
The day Dickie and I found out we were pregnant, we didn't know whether to be scared or ecstatic. On the drive home from the doctor's office, we decided to wait awhile before sharing the news, just so we could absorb our little secret in private. As we walked into the house, the phone was ringing off the hook. I answered “Hello?” in my best trying-not-to-sound pregnant voice. Mom's loud voice blurted out, “Are you pregnant? I just have this feeling that you might be pregnant?”
Clairvoyance aside, I never realized
how much my Mama really loved me until I had children of my own.
As Mom tells it, the bond between my Grandmother Flodie and I was immediate and true. In fact, Flodie was the one who suggested I be named Robin. It was the name of a beloved character in a book she happened to be reading at the time. Thus, Robin In Da Hood was born.
She let me make funny shaped biscuits out of her leftover pie dough. She made tiny little dresses for my dolls and taught me the basics of sewing. She was the best listener I have ever known, and had a way of making you feel as though you were the most interesting person on the planet.
In her last few years, she developed senile dementia and was often confused when taken from her familiar environment. On her last earthly birthday, we loaded her in the car to take her out for dinner. As we drove away from her group home, Flodie reached for my hand and nervously asked, “Robin, do we know where I am?”
“Yes, we know exactly where you are
Flodie. You're here with us. You are safe.”
“Oh, goodie.” She replied. “I wouldn't want us to get me lost.”
I always knew I inhabited a special place in Flodie's heart. But I never knew how much she loved me until I had Grandchildren of my own.
I have only one Mama. And she's an awfully good one. But the essence of who I am has been greatly influenced by three beautiful strong, and amazing women. A trinity of estrogen that shaped my soul.
I have always been gratefully aware of how blessed I was to have them in my corner. And as life has progressed, I have become even more in awe of the rarefied air that surrounded their presence...the gifts of strength and kindness and humor and love that they bestowed unto me.
Thankfully, I am not the only beneficiary of their largesse. I am not the only woman whose life has been shaped by this extraordinary League of Ladies.
Her name is Camille. She is my second cousin and Betty Bob's beloved Granddaughter.
Out of Flodie's nine Great-Grandchildren, she is the only girl. But she is enough.
The epitome of a girlie-girl, Camille was a cheerleader for the infamous 'Friday Night Lights' Odessa Permian Panthers...a Mojo Princess who competed in beauty pageants and modeled for Teen Magazine, when she wasn't dressed in designer cammo and taking out an 8-point buck.
And then, she went off to Baylor University and fell in love with a cowboy.
There was nothing in Camille's pre-marital resume that would have ever caused me to believe her life would turn out like this:
(Yes, I know...they are all ridiculously gorgeous. I swear they have not been photoshopped.)
After having two beautiful (and very girlie) daughters, Camille and John went on to adopt a son from Guatemala, a son from the state foster system, and a daughter who had grown up in a Ukrainian orphanage. For all practical purposes, their lives were complete – or at least filled to the brim. But God had other plans....
...and they named him Will Jackson.
On this Mother's Day, I especially want to honor my sweet cousin Camille...the one woman who shares with me the glorious distinction and dynamic DNA of the Fabulous Flodie and her daughters.
Camille and I both know exactly how blessed we have been to stand upon the shoulders of these incredible women who went before us.
My heart sings and my whole face smiles when I imagine how proud they must be of the legacy that lives on in Camille...the adoption ministry she helped establish...the amazing six-pack of children she has collected and nurtured into a family...the beautiful Godly woman she is today.
Happy Mother's Day to my Camilla Vanilla. If you don't already know know how much you are loved, someday you surely will.
