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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Mother (as in maternal parent) (04/24/08)
I stood in the hall of the doctor’s office impatiently listening as my mother rambled on with the receptionist about her family. How many times had I heard these same stories? I was tired and hungry, and it was past dinnertime! The office was now vacant and the rest of the staff were rushing about in an attempt to close for the day. I had been the last patient of the day and it was obvious to me that they were anxious to go home to their other lives. Glancing at the young woman sitting behind the counter I couldn’t help but notice her gracious attempt at exhibiting interest in Mom’s trivial details about how her sister had become a nurse during World War II. Embarrassed, I placed my hand on Mom’s back in an attempt to politely steer her towards the exit. It accomplished very little. Mom continued with her never-ending story that only escalated into another story about a friend of her’s whose cousin had decided to become a radiologist.

Frustrated, I finally turned and walked away without her. Wandering into the empty waiting room I found a seat to plop into. I was fifteen and in the throes of mental growing pains. I had become the sullen, snooty, know-it-all teenager whose opinions were the end-all answer to every question that ever crossed the minds of all humankind. Yet secretly, at the same time I was still the frightened, naive child that clung to her mother’s neck when the world became confusing and sinister.

It was well-known among all friends and family that Mom was a woman of many words. She also had an insatiable appetite for information on everyone she met. Whether we were standing in line at a grocery store or passing people while walking in a parking lot, she would strike up a conversation with others. It didn’t matter if we were running late to an appointment, she had to share a story with someone along the way. Most reactions from people were polite, and some even seemingly grateful for the attention. But shy victims became obviously embarrassed and unsure how to react. Obvious to everyone else but Mom.

My father was a man with a sense of humor and very witty. He kept everyone laughing at his quips. Mom didn’t mind his humorous opinions about her incessant talking. After many years of marriage he gave the reason he believed the Lord allowed his hearing to fail.

“I asked the Lord to bless me, and He made me deaf,” Dad often said with a good-natured grin.

Sitting there in the silent waiting room that evening I could only focus on my irritability of the moment. The distant sound of Mom’s voice grated on my nerves. I sighed heavily and ask the Lord to forgive me for my impatience once again.

****
The skies were overcast that Mother’s Day. I reached for the white rose corsage I had purchased the day before. Mom always wore a corsage on Mother’s Day. She would create it from the flowers of her garden. Unfortunately I didn’t inherit her green thumb, so mine originated from the local flower shop. Mom always reminded me that a red corsage signified your mother was alive, and white meant your mother was not alive. Pinning the flower to my blouse, memories flooded my mind of Mom and her family. I remembered something my grandmother said.

“Your mother is a chatterbox,” she said with a rare smile. “But she can’t help it, she’s a people person.”

Mom often defended herself by saying she couldn’t help but be interested in people. She had a great love for the Lord, for His creation, and an interest in the spiritual condition of each individual. I now knew that was something very rare in the world today.

Before Mom passed away, she suffered a series of strokes which affected her speech. She became difficult to understand, and it took great effort for her to speak. However, she remained very observant of others and would tell me what she could about her fellow residents and nurses in the retirement home she lived in.

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I straightened my corsage thinking about the people who knew my mother and still spoke about how much they missed her. I understood what they were saying. At that moment I would have given anything just to hear her wonderful voice once again.
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This article has been read 864 times
Member Comments
Member
Date
Fiona Dorothy Stevenson
05/02/08
We so often lesrn too late. Poignant memory, well told.
Julie Arduini
05/05/08
I smiled at dad's quote about the Lord blessing him with not being able to hear. This is one of those that makes you stop and think, and appreciate those around you.
Paul Potenza
05/05/08
AWESOME article.

My bride of 15 years has recently lost both mother and father within a one year span.

One of the things that keeps her going is a plant that we took from her mother's funeral. I planted it in our garden and although it's not supposed to grow in our soil, it has budded each year for the four hears since her death.

Your point about being able to hear your mother's voice one more time is especially poignant because my bride says that all the time.

Her Mom was a chatterbox too and Jeannie would get a little impatient. How she wishes she could hear one word from her Mom again.

Truth be told...so do I.

Keep writing. You have a beautifully engaging style.

Pauly
Sara Harricharan
05/06/08
A people person indeed! I liked the switch between the two times and how at the end, with the flower, it showed what had happened. Your last lines were great, to hear her voice again. This is very well done. ^_^
Marilyn Schnepp 
05/08/08
Such a wonderful, well told story of a chatterbox a/k/a a "people person". The writer wrote this exactly like a 15 year old would think...and then changed to the feelings of an adult in the end. Kept my interest throughout. Thanks for sharing these memorable thoughts of your mother with us. I enjoyed the read very much. Good job!
Lollie Hofer 
05/12/08
I liked the two different "voices" in which you told you story...one young and one reflective. I too had a mother who was a chatter box. She cared deeply about people and would come away from the grocery story knowing the woes of the stock boy and cashier. You also did an good job at showing instead of telling the story. A good example was the flowers. Instead of saying her mother had died, the reader knew by the choice of the flower. Well written story!