May, the month I first became a mom, the month we celebrate Mother’s Day, and the month my sweet mother departed for heaven 14 years ago. I also am supposed to become a grandmother for the first time this May… but we will see if the little guy decides to make his appearance on time!

So in the spirit of honoring mothers and grandmothers, may I tell you a little about the one I was blessed with for 44 years?

Alice Harriet was the second born of the four “Smith Sisters”. She was born at home in California Junction, Iowa, an unincorporated town of less than 100 people. Whenever she would talk of her childhood, it was recollections of how poor they were, one pair of shoes each, and homemade dresses cut from patterns that her mother designed. Photographs were a luxury, but the few we have of her childhood I cherish, like this one of the sisters all in a row.

Their father battled his demons, and their mother suffered because of it. But despite the challenges of their home life, all four girls graduated high school, married great men, and soon starting giving birth. (Case in point, my parents married on August 3^rd, and I was born on June 2^nd.) My mother truly was destined to be a mom. She came by it so naturally. My earliest memories are the birthday parties she would throw for me with crepe paper tacked to the dining room light fixture cascading down to all four corners of the table. My brother and I were sent off to school everyday after a hot breakfast, and came home to a home cooked family dinner at 6:00 every night.

It wasn’t until I was out of high school that I discovered not all parents attended their children’s school events. I seriously thought it was part of the “parental code of conduct” that came with the title! When I moved into my college dorm at Kearney State, my mother started scrubbing spots off the wall, and ended up scouring the entire place before she left. When my brother decided to attend Asbury College in Kentucky, we made the trek together to make sure mom could settle him into his dorm.

When my mom finally became a grandmother for the first time in 1987, she embraced that role with even more gusto than motherhood. Ask any of her eight grandchildren about their Grandma Schenzel and they will have memories to share; sleepovers in Fremont with the obligatory trip to the ½ Price Store for a new toy, homemade mac ‘n cheese, and the Christmas tree overflowing with gifts—because gift giving was definitely her top love language.

 

But in 2001, our world changed drastically. When my mom went in for basic gallbladder surgery, my Dad and I were shaken to the core when the doctor came out and said, “I have no good news, “ in his broken English. He proceeded to tell us he had found cancer and it had already spread to her liver. The prognosis was dim, but God gave us a beautiful 18 months to journey with her, and during that time I had the privilege of witnessing the true character of my mother. She kept her sense of humor, she never was rude to her caregivers, and she kept giving despite the battle she was waging. One of my most special memories was when I traveled with my dad and her to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. While in the waiting room a dear stranger struck up a conversation with us, and we became fast friends, bonded by the commonality of the disease, our faith, and my mom’s sense of fashion. Sally mentioned that she loved my mom’s purse that she had bought recently. Later that night we saw Sally in our restaurant having dinner. My mom asked our waiter for a “to go” bag, dumped the entire contents of her designer purse into the bag, and proceeded to give it to her new friend. I was not surprised… my mother, ever the gift giver.

About four months after her death, it was the first anniversary of 9/11. It was the catalyst I needed to finally put my thoughts down on paper. I wrote pages and pages about the 18 months we were given, as I didn’t want to forget God’s faithfulness in all that had transpired. Here is an excerpt from that journaling about our final days together, including Mother’s Day…

“The next two weeks were full of company. Of course all three sisters came. Joan was your nurse, anticipating your every need and providing you the comfort that only a sister can. Marge was the cook, making her comfort food so we could all feel at home. Barbara Jo was the little sister who couldn’t bear to see her beloved Alice slipping away. I looked forward to coming over every day to be with you and give Dad a chance to get out of the house for a bit. I wish we could have talked more during those last days. Mother’s Day was the absolute hardest day of my life. I sent the kids to the pool with Dad so we could be alone. I just sat by your bed, holding your hand, and let the tears flow. I asked you what advice you had for me… “Keep being the wonderful wife and mother that you are,” is what you said. That’s my Mom, always by biggest fan. We told Ty it was time to come to Florida as the end was near. The last words I heard you speak were when you looked up as Ty entered your room after flying in that day. “Oh my God!” you said, and then again closed your eyes and drifted away. The next day, as your breathing slowed, Ty and I stood on one side of the bed and Dad on the other. We started telling you again how much we loved you and that it was OK to go. I told you of the beautiful crown that awaited you with lots of big jewels. I told you how your grandchildren would someday come to you again, and listed their names. And as you breathed your last breath, it was a sacred moment. The woman who had given birth to my brother and me had breathed her last… the perfect circle of love, just as it had started so many years ago.

Now as I watch the coverage of the anniversary of our nation’s tragedy, I can understand the grief I see on the faces. I have lived that grief these past several months. I know it is good to cry, I know it is good to remember the details of your loved one’s life. I know that none of us were ready for this to happen. But I also know the One who holds my life and who still holds yours Mom. Except now you are with Him face to face, while I still struggle down here with everyday life. I still am striving to make you proud. You are my wind beneath my wings, even more so now. I know you are interceding on your family’s behalf, for our protection, our well-being, and that we will all join you in heaven.

I miss you so much Mom, it sometime feels like my heart will break. I get these waves of homesickness for you, just like I would when Dad and you would go on your vacations, or you would send me to Girl Scout camp. Except now I can’t count the days down until I see you again. I have to leave that in God’s hands. But I do know heaven is a much sweeter place to think about going to, because you are there. I think about how you now are realizing how much the Father loves you, and always did. And I thank God for allowing me to be your one and only daughter, and for the invaluable legacy you imprinted in my life. I am working to do the same in the lives of my children, and someday my grandchildren. I so wish you were still here to share life with us, but God knew best and I choose to trust Him.” 9/11/02

Now my dear brother and sister have joined my mother in heaven. I don’t claim to know how relationships work in heaven, but I will tell you if there is such a thing as a family reunion, the one with my mother and Ty and Terri no doubt topped the “joyful” scale. My brother was rocked to the core by my Mom’s death, and it makes me smile to think of them together again.

As for me, the one “left behind” for now, I will continue to cherish the wonderful role of being a mother to my four children, an aunt to my nieces and nephews, and now a grandmother (at last) to my grandson. I was taught to love well by one of the best.