Baby Liz in Her Summer Best, 1947The long days of summer inevitably remind me of my mother. She loved this season. Probably because it meant she was off work, free to spend her days buried in her latest novel, sleeping in until noon, staying up to the wee hours of the morning, shuffling me to the local cabana, organizing some closet in need of meticulously-labeled Rubbermaid bins, and playing endless games of Uno and Crazy Eights.
Crazy Eights. A card game requiring more luck than skill, but one that I still absolutely Had. To. Win. Although my competitive nature would eventually serve me well in my future career, it caused me great angst as a seven year old during consecutive rounds of meaningless card games. Losing a hand meant I lost my mind and my afternoon deteriorated into fits of crying and irrational frustration. I would throw down my clown-clad fist of cards and scream, “That’s not FAIR!!!” Embarrassing. I know.
And what would Liz do? Certainly not enable my immature tirade with any empathy. Nope. She would fix the deck of our next hand to ensure I lost again. And again...until I stopped the ridiculous display of huffing and crying and stomping around (though I'm guessing I was pretty entertaining). But my summer streak as a Crazy Eights loser taught me:
Mom’s Life Lesson #2: Life is Not Fair.
She would tell me this every time I tried to make the fairness argument (yeah, it wasn’t limited to Crazy Eights). How many times I must’ve said, um, whined about that. And it never worked. Mom was quick to point out that life isn’t fair. The sooner I learned that, the happier I would be. Other people will get things I won’t, do things I can’t, go places I will not, win when they shouldn’t. Friends, grown-ups, and strangers alike will disappoint me, break promises, make bad choices. I cannot control what happens, but I can control my reaction to it. I have no guarantees except my own attitude.
Mom knew this to be true. And as if to prove her own point, she got cancer. The ultimate in unfair. But she met it with an attitude that buoyed her up, rallied her loved ones, impressed her doctors, and allowed her to survive with it longer than she should have. And though sometimes I miss her so much I’d like to stomp around, throw my frustrated fists in the air and scream (at nobody in particular) that it’s just not fair, I remember, I’m right. It’s not. But it’s not supposed to be. And mom would think it ridiculous that I dwell on it.
So I don’t. Instead, I think I'll play some Crazy Eights.
That picture is too darn cute! And I think of her each time I play Farkle. On another note, I think you need to write a book. You're so good with words!
ReplyDeleteI totally thought that you should write a book too, Paige! Well said! Still do and always will miss your sweet Mom!
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking of you both this past week, hope you've had a great trip and know I love you guys and love the updates, although Liz is gone her memory lives on through you guys and the so many other lives she touched..
ReplyDeleteI miss your Mom, and my sweet dear friend. Thank you Paige. I appreciate your thoughts and memories.
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