The Echo of My Momma's Wonder

"And she loved a little boy very, very much – even more than she loved herself."
~Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree

My Momma and me, 1973

"There is no love greater than that of a mother for her child; there is no love greater than that of a child for his mother."

~Me

This statement seems to presents a paradox, but actually it unveils a profound truth about the essence of love. It's an acknowledgment of love's multifaceted depth:

A Mother's Love: It's the epitome of sacrifice, care, and unconditional support. This love sets the foundation for security and emotional development, characterized by an instinctual, almost primal, protective quality that doesn't diminish with time. It's unconditional, enduring through all phases of a child's life, unwavering despite the child's actions or choices.

A Child's Love: Starting from a place of pure dependency, it grows into a complex tapestry woven with threads of admiration, gratitude, and reciprocal care. As the child grows, this love often seeks to give back what was received, embodying a cycle of nurturing. This nurturing transforms into a complex blend of gratitude, understanding, and a reflection of the mother's own sacrifices.

Complementary Greatness: Each type of love is "the greatest" in its own right because they fulfill different emotional roles. They are not measured against each other but appreciated for what they uniquely offer to the relationship.

The Cycle of Love: This mutual affection creates a continuous loop where love is given, received, transformed, and returned in new forms. It's about the depth and quality of connection rather than a measurable quantity.

Incommensurability: It's not about which love is comparatively "greater" but about appreciating the qualitative uniqueness and depth of each. They are different expressions of the same profound emotion, each boundless in its context. This statement serves as a reflection on love's capacity to be both boundless and uniquely intense in different forms, particularly within the mother-child dyad.

My Momma and me, California, 1973

moth·er 1 (mŭth′ər) n. A woman who gives birth to a child.

Technically true, but the essence of motherhood transcends this simple definition.

• It's the inception of love for a soul unseen, yet deeply known.  
• It's the stewardship of a life entirely reliant on you.  
• It's the shared sorrow when tears fall, where solutions are absent, so you join in their vulnerability.  
• It's the role of educator, protector, confidence builder, dream supporter, and the epitome of unconditional love.  
• It's the delicate balance of release and embrace.  
• It's allowing for stumbles to teach resilience.  
• It's a love that evolves, perpetually seeking to give more, to be better.  
• It's the silent fear of being unable to shield from life's pains, injustices, heartbreaks, or the finality of death.  
• It's the tough love that aches within, teaching lessons that are hard but necessary.  
• It's displaying strength in moments of weakness, laughter through tears, and tears of joy amidst pride.  
• It's the comfort of routine, like reading a beloved book for the hundredth time on the couch.  
• It's an eternal blessing, an unending gift, a bond unbroken by time, and a love that persists beyond life itself.

Me loving on my amazing Momma

My Momma passed away peacefully on Saturday, May 4, 2024. Surrounded by her three children and extended family, her final days were filled with love and comfort.

My Momma, an angel in life and in heaven

I was blessed with the very best mother. Her absence leaves a void that echoes with memories, and I miss her. Tremendously. You might wonder why she was so special. Allow me to share a glimpse into who my Momma was.

The cuteness of my Momma as a little girl

The cuteness of my Momma as a little girl

"If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam."

~Lord Langdale (Henry Bickersteth)

She was born in Columbus, Nebraska, to Emil and Louise. The eldest of three children, she was a devoted big sister to her brothers, Ted and Junie.

My Momma and her brothers

She loved books. A lot. Precocious and perspicacious, at nine years old she saved up her own money to buy a set of Encyclopedia Britannica and spent most nights on the roof outside of her second-story bedroom window reading her encyclopediae and mystery novels (Nancy Drew being her favourite) or, when the moon and stars did not cooperate, reading under her covers by flashlight. Her mother's calls from downstairs, "Virginia, turn off that light and go to sleep!" were ubiquitous in the house. She could oftentimes be found among the stacks at the Columbus Carnegie Library, reading a book in Pawnee Park, or studying at the Y-Knot Cafe.

Columbus Carnegie Library

Impassioned by her love of learning and supported by her family, in 1955 she enrolled at Monticello College, a 2-year female junior college and academy in Godfrey, Illinois, known for its beautiful campus and rigorous academic programs patterned after Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, and became a proud ‘Monti Girl’.

Monticello College

Studious and smart, she excelled in the challenging curriculums of Monticello and was a frequent tutor to her fellow pupils. While attending her Monticello class reunion, many of her classmates made declarations such as, "I would have never made it through algebra without Ginny's help!" My Momma was good at algebra? I had no idea.

After final exams, which were public examinations that attracted big crowds of people wherein the students had to write a personal essay, answer questions from their professors and from anyone in attendance from the community on all the subjects that they had taken, as well as give a musical or theatrical presentation, She returned to Nebraska from Illinois to earn bachelor's and master's degrees in social work from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. It was during her time as a Husker that she met my dad, George, the love of her life, who was also studying social work.

My Momma Daddy

My parents were married in 1960 at St. Bonaventure Catholic Church in Columbus, Nebraska.

My Momma and Daddy's wedding

Swept off her feet, she traded in the cornfields of her youth for the high-mountain desert of New Mexico. Her Nebraska roots grew very well in the New Mexico soil and she soon came to love the Land of Enchantment as her own. (She was proudly recognized as an Honorary New Mexico Native, complete with an official certificate, in the 1980s, after 20 years.) She and my dad were a dynamo team, raising a family and building their community, including schools and daycares. 

Family was so very important to my Momma

Throughout her life, her generosity and kindness touched the lives of countless individuals. Whether as a devoted mother, supportive wife, cherished sister, doting grandmother, or loyal friend, Her presence brought comfort and joy to all who knew her. Known for her quick wit and her kindness, she was always soft-spoken but insightful. A feature at extended-family gatherings, everyone looked forward to her famous brownies—always one pan with nuts and one without—with in-laws, cousins, nephews, and nieces all clamouring for their favourite and always asking for her secret recipe.

The secret recipe brownies

Her love of books and learning was a constant theme throughout her life and she was always involved in teaching and caregiving, both in her home and in her professional life. From case worker to teacher to librarian to bibliopegist, She was always busy with her hands and her mind and her heart. She was the librarian at my high school, not, she attested, to keep an eye on me, but because someone had to love all those books.

Always a lover of books

Beyond her professional endeavors, she was a tireless volunteer, embodying the values of generosity and community spirit. A consummate doer, she was a lifelong Girl Scout, a 4-H parent and volunteer, a Master Gardener, a book archivist at the Zimmerman Library, active member of American Association of University Women (AAUW), a constant volunteer at her grandchildren’s schools and sporting events, and much more.

Always socially active, she had many friends with whom she shared many interests, including books (she and my dad helped form a book club in the 60s that is still active to this day), cooking and baking, sewing, colcha embroidery, scrapbooking, horticulture, arts and crafts, and attended and hosted many events.

That's what she did in life.

What about the who?

She was an interesting and captivating person who disguised herself with unassuming grace and a quiet manner. She was fierce and precocious and piquant and even outré, but you had to really know her to discover this. The who of my Momma is too capacious, too vast for anything less than a book. So instead, here's one of my favourite memories.

Momma reading to me. Snuggled up against her on that horrendously ugly orange couch that only the 70s could produce, I’d listen to her voice, a soft, soothing voice, and marvel at the unfolding of the magic of storytelling. She loved stories, especially those that hinted at something more—more around the corner, more behind an unopened door, more alluded to but not fully explained or explored. A good author, she told me, can tell you everything there is to know about a scene but a great author does that yet still leaves you wondering about what’s in the desk drawer, behind the curtain, or just outside the window. Not as a distraction, not in a way that takes away from the story being told, but in a way that gives you a sense of the vastness of the world, hinting at continuation. That gives you a sense of, well, wonder.

My Momma on that ugly orange couch, reading (of course)

About that word, wonder. It can be both a noun and a verb. As a noun, it means something that causes amazement or awe or curiosity or something that is astonishing and seemingly inexplicable. As an intransitive verb it means to be affected with surprise or admiration, to be struck with astonishment, to be amazed, to marvel; and as a transitive verb it means to ponder, to feel curiosity, to wait with expectation, to query in the mind.

That was my Momma.

She gave me many things, taught me many lessons, but the most valuable gift she imparted was her sense of wonder.

I don’t remember the first book she read to me—there were surely dozens and dozens before I understood the words—but I vividly remember the first time she read "The Hobbit" to me. It was one of her favourite books. She had cheap paperback copies of “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings”—the same ones I have in my library and that I have read to my children, renewed by her amazing talents as a book binder into something even more beautiful. When she read, it was never just the recitation of words; it was an impartation of the wonder she felt. Her curiosity and excitement were palpable. On that ugly orange couch, in the safest, most comfortable place in the universe, held in her arms, that wonder seeped into my very bones and has stayed with me ever since.

The lovingly restored and bound-by-hand copies of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings

Because of her love of wonder, I am a lover of wonder. She gave that to me. Because of her, I love mysteries, dragons, heroes, and quiet bravery. I love wizards and detectives and robots. Because of her, I am captivated by roads and paths that wander off into the distance, hinting at what could be, what might be. Because of the time she took to sit with me on that couch and share her love of books and reading and learning, I am who I am. I always want to peer around the corner. I always want to know what will happen next. Because of her, I am always curious, always asking questions. Of the many things that make up who I am, my Momma’s sense of wonder is a quintessential, foundational element.

Reading The Hobbit to my Momma just like she read it to me half a century ago

That word, wonder, has another meaning as a noun. It can also describe someone very talented at something. And my Momma was very talented at many things. Not only did she have wonder, she was a wonder. Her curiosity was matched by her creativity. She not only loved beautiful things, she created them as well. In the same way she was always busy with her mind she was also busy with her hands. Always creating and making something valuable, beautiful, and useful. She consumed voraciously all that she could find in stories and art and music. She took so much in. And then she gave back. She created, contributed, and effectuated.

My Momma with my daughters

The end of things is always sad. When you’ve read the last chapter and closed the book, there is an inevitable sense of loss. Endings are woeful. And I miss my Momma deeply. I can’t imagine anyone who knew her not missing her. But remember this and take comfort: there’s more around the corner; there’s something interesting in that closed drawer; if you peek your head out of the window, there’s always something else to see. Though she may have left us, she left behind her wonder. And in that wonder, she will always be with us.

More than just a mother, wife, sister, grandmother, friend, altruist, humanitarian, good neighbor, philanthrope, giver, champion, fan, Good Samaritan, my Momma was a truly good soul—a beacon of light whose kindness and compassion left an indelible mark on the world.

Quite the card when you got to know her