In honor of Mother’s Day, I’d like to introduce you to my mother, Anna Marie Dearsmith, who passed away several years ago. She was the best of mothers.
On January first, 2011, the woman I’d known and loved the longest, my mother, left this earth to join her husband in Heaven. Looking as peaceful as in the nap she never awakened from, she quietly took her last breath.
For four years, she had lived with us, which we considered an incredible blessing. During that time, she became “Grammie” to our son’s children in Spokane. On vacations to California, Mom visited our daughter’s children.
Although her presence had altered our lives by necessity, it was mostly in positive ways. Her gentle wisdom helped remind me to give my husband more grace and sometimes more truth. She assisted with household tasks in small ways, such as folding clothes, always anxious to help.
Mom faithfully attended church with me preferring to sit in the back. We had a habit of slipping out during the last song so we could slowly and carefully creep down the stairs before the crowd surged out. Many times she would sit on the sofa, surrounded by mothers of little ones, engaging them. Being the oldest one in the church didn’t impress her as much as just being accepted for who she was.
She also enjoyed going to a senior ladies’ Bible study with me several times a month. It was there she met with her peers, discussing Bible passages and singing the old hymns she loved the best.
I made an effort to provide good meals even during my absence while working late for my husband to warm up. He didn’t mind, since she had been like a real mother to him. Quite often, they had a date and ate out. She always liked my cooking, no matter what experiment in the kitchen I attempted. Mom would have eaten Kentucky Fried Chicken every night if we had let her and could afford it. On the healthier side, she considered salads to be a special treat.
Every evening after finishing a reasonably-sized meal, Mom would complain about how full she was. I had to chuckle, when, not long after dinner, I’d say to her, “I suppose you don’t have room for ice cream, then?”
She’d brighten up. “Oh no, I always have room for ice cream!” Over the years she shared our home, our collection of gallon ice cream containers grew substantially.
My mother had a keen interest in the world around her in spite of her age. This showed itself in her desire to watch the news. She didn’t always get details straight, being hard of hearing, and usually hadn’t caught the location of a newsworthy event. This confusion on her part could be unnerving when focused on serious weather activity.
“Where is that tornado supposed to be, Mom?”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear,” she’d reply. She almost had me headed for the basement more than once.
Toward the end, her balance worsened to the point that we tried to persuade her to use a cane. Mom agreed to go through sessions at Physical Therapy begrudgingly. More often than not, she would peter-out midway, but she did try. We had come to the conclusion that a walker was in order.
However, now she doesn’t need a walker or cane. In fact, right this minute she’s probably doing the jitterbug with her late husband Ike. My mother is seeing with new eyes all the beauty of Heaven and hearing its glorious sounds. How she must be laughing about the sneaky way she got out of going through a test for that hearing aid we’d been threatening.
I thank God for giving us a mother who loved and cared for my brothers and me, growing up. She was a mother who worked hard at keeping our home clean, providing us with timely meals, acting as a loving wife, and encouraging honesty and hard work. Her main goal was our happiness. I had a hard time convincing her that being happy doesn’t always provide the desired outcome. Her generosity at times was exorbitant, but her heart was true to her loved ones.
I loved her dearly, and liked her as an interesting woman with definite opinions, in spite of her rhetorical Whatever! reply. I miss her greatly, but realize she’s at home with her Lord. What else could I possibly desire?
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
