She Took Care of Us, Even After She Was Gone
I’ve been a little quiet lately.
If you read this blog post, you know my mom recently passed. And let me tell you, there’s a lot to handle when you're grieving. Some days, just thinking clearly feels like I’m trying to pass the MCAT.
Even so, I’m feeling grateful. My mom, like me, was incredibly organized. I know exactly where I get it from. While her passing was unexpected, she had already managed her own parents’ estate and didn’t want us to spend hours trying to piece information together. She made sure everything was in place. Accounts, documents, records, all of it, sorted and accessible, both on paper and digitally.
She used 1Password to share her online logins with us. I’m the digital one, so that was a huge help. My sisters are more hands-on, pen-and-paper types, and the Nokbox she used made things a lot easier for them.
I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this. None of these are affiliate links. I’m not being paid to mention them. I’ve just been feeling grateful for them, so I wanted to share.
Gratitude has been a part of my life for decades. Every day, I write down five things I’m thankful for. Today, this was one of mine. I’m thankful that my mom found a way to take care of us, even after her passing.
And while I’m talking about her, I have one more thing to share.
My mom was a prolific writer. She was also a proud member of the grammar police. When I was in college, she would edit my papers. And by edit, I mean she would completely rewrite them. She used to say, “Joanna, you write like you speak,” implying that I would have flunked my professional writing courses if not for her. I took a resume writing course in college, and my mom wrote my resume for me. I handed it in, and the following day, the professor asked me to share my approach to the assignment with the rest of the class. While usually someone who LOVES to be on stage, in that moment, I had to feign embarrassment. I couldn’t get up in front of everyone and say, “I write like I speak, my mom did this assignment from start to finish.”
I know what my mom meant with that gentle criticism. But I’m glad I didn’t take it to heart. Writing like I speak became my superpower. It’s the reason I’m a storyteller today, performing on stages all over the city.
A few years ago, I gave my mom a Storyworth subscription. (That link will save you $10 if you're curious.) Every week, my siblings and I received a new story she had written about her life. We treasure them now more than ever. Since she passed, we’ve read and reread every single one. In them, she shares many stories about weekends with her maternal grandmother in Tennessee and her paternal grandfather on the Eastern Shore. There are so many details that would otherwise be lost.
Today, I’d love to share a brief one of her stories with you. I think, given our love of family history, it will hold meaning for you.
Thanksgiving
by Patricia Tiger
Recently, the most senior generation of my family gathered at my table for a pre-holiday feast. Looking around the table at my siblings and their spouses, I could see their younger faces shimmering still in the ones touched now by time, like my own. Sitting together, we were warmly wrapped in decades of shared memories, and surrounding us as we lingered over our meal were our grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, alive again in stories told with love and laughter. The past and present blended seamlessly together.
We spoke with pride of our children and grandchildren, the generations that will follow us, looking forward to spending Thanksgiving Day with them again this year. We know someday we too will be present at their celebrations only as memories; we trust the stories they tell of us will be good ones. The future is unknowable, but of one thing I am certain. Then, as now, their traditions will be honoring the greatest gift of all, the thing we value most: the joy of family.
