Not Just Any Mother’s Day on May 13th

This is not the usual Mother’s Day for me because it falls on May 13 which is also my mother’s birthday.  I’m reminded of May 13, 1989.   That year, it was also Mother’s Day and my mother’s birthday. I was a mother, but the occasional convergence of my mom’s birthday with Mother’s Day made her the focus of our attention.  However, the festivities that day were abruptly interrupted by news that my father had a massive stroke in his office.  Yes, he was working that Sunday because for an accountant it was still tax season. That stroke ultimately ended his life. So, 29 years later, on another May 13th Mother’s Day/birthday without my mother, I’m smiling, not crying. My father had many brushes with death, being both a black man and an alcoholic.  That’s why it didn’t occur to me at that moment that he would die.  As my mother and I rushed off to the hospital, I remember thinking how crude it was for him to ruin her special day.  I thought to myself how he had grown accustomed to making her life difficult, so of course he couldn’t just allow her to have one joyful day. They were no longer married, but she still cared about him.  I believe they are laughing about it now.  Maybe that is why I’m not sad. But this is Mother’s Day and her birthday, so I want to remember my mother.

The elder “Juanita” Joni Andrews Ball was a beautiful human being, both inside and out.  She was able to transition from the best mom to my best friend when I grew up.  We never had one of those contentious relationships between mother and daughter.  I was never a rebellious teenager.  Maybe that’s because she was so warm and understanding that I didn’t need to be.  I recognized that she was my greatest cheerleader and advocate. Or maybe it was because I also recognized how difficult life was for her and I didn’t want to make it even harder.  So, I was always dutiful and respectful daughter and student.

She was a single mother of three who kept sliding in and out of abusive relationships.  I don’t know why she was so unlucky in love, but she was.  She kept choosing broken men. And once they were gone, with the exception of my father, I pretended as though they never even existed.  She had grown up with both her parents in the home and I know she wanted that for us, too.  I was 14 years old the last time my parents got together again and after some very rough patches, I recall saying to her that it was better for me that we were without my dad in the house than to endure watching her be abused.  She asked him to leave shortly thereafter.  His leaving the house actually saved my relationship with him.  Two years later, I was able to forgive him and restore our relationship.  Unfortunately, it was too late for my brothers–the damage to their relationship with him would not be repaired in this lifetime.

My mother worked hard, too.  At times she worked full-time during the day and would work weekends and evenings to make ends meet.  I accompanied her on weekends to make $5 ID cards for people outside a South Los Angeles grocery store.  My treat for sitting quietly all day beside her was a bag of Lays bar-b-cue potato chips.

In retrospect, I realize that my mother was a resilient woman.  She bounced back from every setback and overcame every obstacle to eventually start her own import export business while continuing to work full-time as a supervisor for the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power.  She did community service, working with gang members, and she served on our neighborhood council.  She had a lot of energy and was greatly admired by many.  She attended family reunions, church, and somehow managed to be an attentive grandmother and friend to me.  She enjoyed and was able to purchase for herself the finer things in life including a nice home, beautiful clothes, jewelry, mink furs, art, and nice cars.

But it was at her funeral, just four years after my dad, that I learned just how many lives she had touched.  The huge church was packed with well wishers including  Congresswoman Maxine Waters and many other dignitaries who spoke and commended her life of service.  The most touching to me were the  women about my age who told how she was the mother they had never had.  She meant far more to people outside our family than I had ever realized.

While she was alive, I never appreciated the fancy banquets I attended with her or the impressive homes of friends that we visited together.  I never paid much attention to the influential people she was introducing to me.  I met Oprah Winfrey one evening without even knowing who she was until I saw her on television.  My mother treated everyone with such love and respect, that it never occurred to her to name drop.

So, Happy Mother’s Day and Happy Birthday, Mom.  I have nothing but a grateful heart, wonderful life lessons, a great example of how to treat others, and fond memories of a life spent with too little time with you.