Stephen

Mom,

I remember distinctly you telling me that you didn't like the way I was treating you whenever I was acting like the smart-mouthed teenager that I was.  I don't know if I remember you saying this because you said it many times (as you probably would have had the right to), or because the few times that you said it just really grabbed me.  You didn't have any reservations about telling me, "Hey, I don't think I deserve that." You would say it with a matter-of-fact tone, because it was fact.  You didn't deserve it.  And it wasn't a matter of me "not knowing my place," as it so often is with adults who misunderstand our relative positions in the world.  It was a matter of how one human treats another.  I have thought often about the treatment that people are due, and how to respond when treated wrongly.  Your example has often guided my thoughts on both.

I also remember you coming and sitting on the floor once while Doug and I were engaging in one of our less constructive activities as middle school boys - watching professional wrestling.  I remember you actually taking interest in it, asking us the names of the wrestlers and what the background to the event was.  I know I've told you this before, but looking back on it, I recognize that you, being a mature adult, had no interest in professional wrestling for its own sake.  You were interested because you wanted to know us. The relationship was the valuable thing.  Anyone who has attended a party or a holiday at our house knows that you care about the event, but what we did was never more important than who we were with.  I know that, because you also taught me to be content just sitting on the couch talking about anything, but without "doing" a thing.  I hope that, in 35 years, I have picked up some of your ability to see the importance of people.

I remember one night being particularly overcome by a fear of venomous spiders.  It was only item on a long list of things that caused me anxiety.  Your advice was to the point.  "Son, you can choose to live your entire life afraid of these little things, and you'll be miserable.  Or you can let God worry about you and have a chance at enjoying your life."  It was exactly the blunt honesty that an overly-worried little boy needed.  I have since told myself and others the very thing.  If you didn't steal the thought from Abraham Lincoln, it only goes to prove the old saying about great minds.

I love that you never got sarcasm.  It never seemed to annoy us, because it just became fodder for another laugh.  We thought it was so hysterical when us teenage boys started heading for the front door, and you would ask Doug and I, "Where are you going?" and we'd reply, "To go get the booze and the hookers." only to hear you yell back, "You'd better not!"  Still makes me laugh.

I can't remember when our marathon talks started happening.  I think it was when I was in college and so homesick and confused about life that I didn't know what to do with myself.  I'm so glad that they've continued.  Whenever you visit, I can always count on getting less sleep than usual, because we'll find some topic to beat to death.  I wish I had recordings of the wisdom you've imparted during these conversations.  Please know that if I ever sound as if I am trying too hard to display my own wisdom (as I have the tendency to do), that it is only because you have set a fine example of being a person who is both informed and wise about it.  It's a shadow I don't mind walking in.  I can't wait to have many more with you, and I think that at least one of my children won't be long in wanting to make an appointment for one, also.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  I hope you realize how many people love you.

Stephen

Ellen,

There are so many things that I admire about you, but I think it's your wisdom and unconditional love that blow me away the most.  I'm so thankful to be in your family because I get the benefit of both of these traits on a regular basis.  I'm sure you have no idea how many times you have impacted the way I think about life just by a simple comment that you made.  Or how many times I thank God that you accepted me as your own daughter, from the very beginning of my marriage with Stephen, eleven years ago.  Thank you for truly embracing who God created you to be...he's using your advice, your hugs, your great laugh and your listening ears in wonderful ways. 

Love,

Joy

Doug

Mom, I've told you this before.  But when you were diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent treatment, I didn't make a big enough deal out of it.  By which I mean I didn't give you enough personal support and I didn't contemplate it enough.  I never really comprehended the impact you'd had on me or the effort you'd put into me, and I always took you for granted.  Well, having children changes your perspective in life quite a bit.  Our boys have only been with us a few short years, but I already recognize that they'll never know all that I do for them or all that I endure for them.  Looking back through those lenses, I can remember only a small fraction of what you've done because you love me.  Even so, it makes me feel grateful, and it makes me feel loved.  Here you are at sixty, and here I am at thirty-three.  You have an empty nest ... as of a few days ago.  I'm grown, I'm married, I have my boys, and I'm so glad you've been here to see all of it.  But you'll never stop being my mom.  You will never not feel compelled to be there for me.  I know I can't repay you, so I'll say thank you and I love you.