Dear Mom

I was taking a break from my sewing this morning and made an innocent little stop by facebook. Two minutes later I was reaching for a Kleenex and swallowing around a lump in my throat, wanna know why Mom?

It started with a simple little notification: "Genice Motes Cardenas has a birthday today." It ended up with me in tears, thinking about you.

The fact is, I cannot think about Genice without thinking about you, Mom; there's no way.

Mom on the left, Genice on the right, 

Wilma Hochstetler in the back

From as far back as I can remember, you always had the best friendships with your neighbors, Mom. As a little girl, I remember Sunday afternoon visits to Lillie Tuttle. I remember sitting in her tiny living room, playing quietly with a mesh bag full of plastic Easter eggs. I remember once climbing carefully up the steep steps to the teensy upstairs under the sloping roof in her little house and looking at old quilts she had made. I remember clearly, seeing you wipe tears the day that Lillie passed away and, with the innocence of a little girl asking, "Why are you crying, Mom?" Your simple answer was, "Because we will miss her."

I suppose because I was the youngest, I got in on visits with your neighbor friends more than my other siblings. I remember visits to Ina Cannon, Marilyn Myette, Ava Baker and a string of Motes relations. There was always someone that you wanted to visit and you almost never failed to take something along to either give them, or show them. 

I loved going with you to visit Ava, the dear sweet lady with the name that she declared "You can't even spell backwards!" She had the best sense of humor and 'lived in the house that Jack built', as she always liked to tell people. Her little house was a museum of her paintings, with full wall murals that she added to when the notion struck and many, many framed pieces that each had an intriguing story. Even after I was married, you would pick me up and take me along to show off your grandchildren. I remember clearly, the day I went with you to Ava's funeral and held your hand as you said good bye. 

Last summer we stopped by Ava's 

daughter's house and I got to show my children some of Ava's paintings 

There were other special neighbor friends, but I think Genice was almost more like a sister to you than anything, Mom. You told her things that you couldn't talk about with just anyone and after a visit with her, you almost always had a story to tell us at the supper table to make us laugh. You would try to imitate the drawling, southern accent and the dry sense of humor and we could all just hear Genice saying it. To me, one of the most special parts of your funeral will always be the tribute that Genice wrote for her daughter to read. You were a friend to many, Mom. And you deeply shaped my view of people outside of our Mennonite world. 

That one little innocent stop by facebook brought back all these memories, Mom. And suddenly I missed you desperately and decided to talk about it. Some memories are bittersweet but I am still so very thankful that I have them. And, all in all, I reckon I'm glad that Genice had a birthday today and facebook reminded me of the fact.

Love, Bethany