From Ada Goff…
This is now three Mother’s Day anniversaries I have experienced without my beloved mom in my life—at least in this plane of existence. While many of us here have already experienced the loss of a mother, I also know the Grohmanns, the John Comeau family, Diseree Stallings, Celeste Cloutier, are all still reeling from the recent deaths of their moms and are adjusting to this world being radically different, for this is now a world without their mothers in it. My heart goes out to you each and all, and particularly today, this first Mother’s Day, without your moms.
Those of you who met Mom when she would come to visit knew her to be a southern girl through and through! She was raised in the MS delta and carried that heritage throughout her life and even unto her death. She even had a spray of southern magnolia on her casket for her service. For me, she epitomized the good and finer aspects of southern gentility.
She worked with kids all her life, mostly with children living in poverty, and I believe much of her enthusiasm in life, what helped inform so much of who she was, evolved out of her commitment to and her life-long interaction with children. She understood in a very literal way Jesus’s directive, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
We received a letter after her death from a woman, BettyAnn Ware, who had been a teacher’s aide under Mom. BettyAnn had little education, she had five children, the oldest of whom was in high school, and her husband had taken his life. BettyAnn told us that, with Mom’s consistent urging and support, she found the motivation and determination to return to school and finish her education toward her teaching certification and ultimately her masters, thereby being able to provide for her family. Through Mom’s en-courage-ing BettyAnn, BettyAnn found her own courage to move forward with her life. And I know Mama touched many more people than I’ll ever know in such similar ways.
She was a lousy joke teller, but she really, really, really loved to laugh. She was also FIERCE, and never backed down when she believed she was right. So, she and I sure had some powerful set-to’s over the years! Late in life, she adopted a stray cat that showed up on her doorstep. She named him Ginger, or “Gingah,” because all dogs are boys and all cats are girls. She adored that cat, and they finished out their last years together. She was small in physical stature, but she was an emotional and spiritual titan. My sister Debbie and I often joked that if somebody could get prayed into heaven, Mama was the one who could get that done. Those of you who zoomed her funeral service might remember the officiant, our friend and childhood neighbor the retired Rev. Dee Shelnutt, joked we would be reading some of Mom’s favorite scripture as part of the service, and then invited everyone to get comfortable because we’d be reading the whole bible! She loved powerfully and intensely and was deeply committed…to her kids, to her family, to her church, to THE Church, to her Lord.
I miss her every single day. I long to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to hear her say, “Hey my darlin.” I know she is with me, for I have seen her, experienced her. There have been several occasions where I have been putting on my make-up and have raised my eyes to the mirror and there she is, looking back at me. Not her hazel eyes, but her eyes nevertheless. So I know she is here…but I miss her. And I expect I will, all the rest of my days on this planet.
Nanci Griffith, a singer/songwriter, wrote a tribute to her mom, called “Last Song for Mother.” I share some of the lyrics: “If I promise not to cry, will you look me in the eye / and tell me that you’ve known me. / Even I can’t comprehend / What a mother’s love has lent / to all that is me.”
I am grateful indeed that I was born into the life and Love of Neill Clark Goff. I miss you, Mama. Happy Mother’s Day.
From Sharon Gaudin…
“Set a few extra places at the table and go get them.”
That was my mom, Merna Gaudin, on any given holiday after several women on the street where I grew up became widows. She knew their grown children might live far away or were otherwise absent. And she wasn’t going to let them spend a holiday alone. So she told me to set extra places for them at our table and walk down the street to bring them home with me. I remember one Thanksgiving in particular when my boyfriend at the time danced in the kitchen with my mom and our neighbors. There was so much laughter… and for that moment those women weren’t sad or alone.
“I’ll be right there.”
That was also my mom. I don’t know how many times she said that to me. And it often came when I was brokenhearted or alone.
Once I was in college in Vermont. It was the beginning of Christmas break and my ride home had left without me. Campus was deserted. It was dark. Mine was the only light on in the dorms on the quad. And it was snowing. It was snowing so hard. I called Mom and told her I had no way home. She said, “Don’t worry, Dear. I’ll be right there.” It was a three-and-a-half-hour drive on windy, mountainous back roads when it wasn’t storming. I told her to please wait until the next day. I’d be fine. She wouldn’t hear of it. She and my dad came to get me that night.
Several years later, I was heartbroken when my longtime boyfriend left. I called Mom sobbing. “I’ll be right there,” she said. And she was.
But I should correct myself. Earlier, I said she always dropped whatever she was doing and came when I was in trouble or alone. I had Mom, though. She might have been in another town or another state but I was never alone. I always knew if I needed her, she’d be right there.
So when the home health aid called me one day years later and said Mom was in trouble, I said, “You tell her that I’ll be right there.” I drove to her house, picked her up, packed her things, and she moved in with me. She spent the rest of her life with me. She never told me I had to take care of her. But she’d shown me her entire life how you treat people you love – how you take care of people. That was one of her greatest gifts to me and to all the people she loved.
Sweet Memories of my Grandmothers and my Mother
By Paula Norbert
Florence LaMontagne Hall, Pauline Deringus Norbert, Joanne Hall Norbert
May 14, 2023
When I think about many of the happiest moments in my family growing up, many include times when we gathered for a celebration or a meal. As far back as I can remember, the sights and smells of amazing food are central to those gatherings. My “Gram” who was my mother’s mother was an amazing cook and baker. An early memory I have of her is going to her house on Sweet Memories of my Grandmothers and my Mother
Florence LaMontagne Hall, Pauline Deringus Norbert, Joanne Hall Norbert
May 14, 2023
When I think about many of the happiest moments in my family growing up, many include times when we gathered for a celebration or a meal. As far back as I can remember, the sights and smells of amazing food are central to those gatherings. My “Gram” who was my mother’s mother was an amazing cook and baker. An early memory I have of her is going to her house on Washington’s birthday where we enjoyed a beautiful cake with cherry frosting to honor President George Washington. Every holiday was celebrated by my Gram and then by my own mother. Each one had its own special food or treats connected to it and even today, my brothers and sisters still prepare many of our favorite dishes that we first tasted as children.
On our birthdays, we always had a special homemade cake or other treat of our choosing. At Easter, we would join my cousins at my Gram’s house where the table would be beautifully set with little favors of small yellow baskets filled with candies at each of our plates. We would enjoy baked ham or roasted lamb along with delicious accompanying vegetables, sauces, and warm rolls. And then, the pies would be served: chocolate cream, strawberry and lemon chiffon, lemon meringue…all too delicious to choose from. And along with the food were the stories shared, the laughter echoing around the table, and the gift of hospitality of which we were the recipients. We knew we were loved and we knew we were incredibly lucky.
My own mother made sure to decorate for every holiday and I still follow that tradition. She made each holiday special in our home. In June when the fresh strawberries were ripe, we’d be called to the dining room in the early evening to enjoy homemade strawberry shortcake and whipped cream. I can still smell the shortbread baking in the oven and I can taste the local berries and the real whipped cream. Before Christmas, she’d bake tons of cookies and whip up big batches of colored icing and we’d all gather to decorate a million cookies in anticipation of Christmas Eve. We always had a big Christmas Eve gathering, called a Reveillon in the French tradition. My Gram and great Aunts would arrive in the afternoon and unload a feast of homemade brownies and cookies, along with other amazing food for our Christmas Eve celebration. We often had a Baby Jesus Birthday Cake on Christmas Day after finishing a delicious meal together. On New Year’s, the French Canadian traditions continued with a meal of Tortiere or French meat pie. At Halloween, we had warm cider donuts and the 4th of July would be celebrated with a cake topped with blue and red berries on white frosting.
My father’s mother had her own special recipes she had carried in her heart in memory of her native Lithuanian which she left at the young age of about 15. When she would come to visit, she would stand in the kitchen for hours grating potatoes to make homemade potato pancakes or bleenus for us and her specialty called Kugala which was like a potato casserole with salt pork and other delicious flavors. I learned to eat raw rhubarb dipped in sugar from her back garden and recall the taste of candied ginger which she sometimes nibbled on.
Looking back all these years later, I can still recall the amazing flavors of these many delicious meals. What I understand now is that these foods represented part of our cultural heritage; they were a way for these amazing and strong women to gather us with joy around a meal, a sacred moment, and to teach us the value of family. More than anything, we knew we were loved. Each of these women also had a deep faith and shared that openly with us. Their faith inspired how they treated others which left a big impact on us as children. I find myself still thinking about them, the worries they carried, the lives they lived, the joy they sought to share through their presence, their words, and the food they so lovingly prepared, and that continues to inspire me, to give me strength, and to enrich my life with my own children.
Ther’s Day Reflection Washington’s birthday where we enjoyed a beautiful cake with cherry frosting to honor President George Washington. Every holiday was celebrated by my Gram and then by my own mother. Each one had its own special food or treats connected to it and even today, my brothers and sisters still prepare many of our favorite dishes that we first tasted as children.
On our birthdays, we always had a special homemade cake or other treat of our choosing. At Easter, we would join my cousins at my Gram’s house where the table would be beautifully set with little favors of small yellow baskets filled with candies at each of our plates. We would enjoy baked ham or roasted lamb along with delicious accompanying vegetables, sauces, and warm rolls. And then, the pies would be served: chocolate cream, strawberry and lemon chiffon, lemon meringue…all too delicious to choose from. And along with the food were the stories shared, the laughter echoing around the table, and the gift of hospitality of which we were the recipients. We knew we were loved and we knew we were incredibly lucky.
My own mother made sure to decorate for every holiday and I still follow that tradition. She made each holiday special in our home. In June when the fresh strawberries were ripe, we’d be called to the dining room in the early evening to enjoy homemade strawberry shortcake and whipped cream. I can still smell the shortbread baking in the oven and I can taste the local berries and the real whipped cream. Before Christmas, she’d bake tons of cookies and whip up big batches of colored icing and we’d all gather to decorate a million cookies in anticipation of Christmas Eve. We always had a big Christmas Eve gathering, called a Reveillon in the French tradition. My Gram and great Aunts would arrive in the afternoon and unload a feast of homemade brownies and cookies, along with other amazing food for our Christmas Eve celebration. We often had a Baby Jesus Birthday Cake on Christmas Day after finishing a delicious meal together. On New Year’s, the French Canadian traditions continued with a meal of Tortiere or French meat pie. At Halloween, we had warm cider donuts and the 4th of July would be celebrated with a cake topped with blue and red berries on white frosting.
My father’s mother had her own special recipes she had carried in her heart in memory of her native Lithuanian which she left at the young age of about 15. When she would come to visit, she would stand in the kitchen for hours grating potatoes to make homemade potato pancakes or bleenus for us and her specialty called Kugala which was like a potato casserole with salt pork and other delicious flavors. I learned to eat raw rhubarb dipped in sugar from her back garden and recall the taste of candied ginger which she sometimes nibbled on.
Looking back all these years later, I can still recall the amazing flavors of these many delicious meals. What I understand now is that these foods represented part of our cultural heritage; they were a way for these amazing and strong women to gather us with joy around a meal, a sacred moment, and to teach us the value of family. More than anything, we knew we were loved. Each of these women also had a deep faith and shared that openly with us. Their faith inspired how they treated others which left a big impact on us as children. I find myself still thinking about them, the worries they carried, the lives they lived, the joy they sought to share through their presence, their words, and the food they so lovingly prepared, and that continues to inspire me, to give me strength, and to enrich my life with my own children.