Fifty-Seven: My Three Moms
My Three Moms Today, I want to honor not one, but three extraordinary women. I only ever had one mom. Brenda. The most amazing mom anyone could ask for. But the universe knew I’d need more. And He sent two remarkable women who became mothers to me in every way that mattered—when it mattered most. This is a tribute to my three moms. Let me start with my Aunt Helen. She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known—heart as wide as the sky. She named me. Literally. My parents couldn’t decide, and it was her suggestion they finally chose. She cut my hair through my teens—never took a dime. She let me crash at her house anytime, no questions asked. She taught me card games—spades, boo ray, and more—and not just how to play, but how to enjoy the little moments. And when I got kicked out of my dad’s house—I deserved it, too—she took me in. No rent. No judgment. Just love, food, and a warm place to be. She didn’t just only help me. She treated every kid like they mattered. Because to her, they did. Then there’s my Aunt Margaret. She lived right next door. And growing up, she became my home away from home. We didn’t have TV at my house, so every night I was at her place, laying in the floor, eyes glued to her screen watching the dukes of hazard and other favorites, till 9 p.m which was my strict curfew. And then I was out the door, run across the lawn to our house, and get ready for bed. And she never once made me feel like a burden. I always felt at home. She fed me. Put up with me. Took me on family fishing trips, vacations, field days. She made sure I didn’t miss out just because we didn’t have much. My dad wasn’t really a get out and do things kind of dad. He was always working at work, or working at home. And my aunt Margaret (and uncle Melvin) included me in so many family trips and activities I never felt like I missed out on much. But the greatest act of love came after the worst day of my life. When my mom passed away. It was just me, Aunt Margaret, and Aunt Helen in that hospital room. In the wee hours of the morning. I had been in that room for weeks. Not leaving moms side unless I had too. And in those final days of the final week there was three of us in that room. Right up until my mom took her last breath. The three of us, me, Aunt Helen, and Aunt Margaret, their love and strength holding me up in the silence. In the years that followed my mom’s passing, Aunt Margaret literally saved me. She called or texted me every single day for at least two years. Some days, her voice or text was the only thing that reminded me life was still worth living. Dinner invites, holiday invites, “I love you” texts. And simple Gentle check-ins that didn’t let me disappear. I will never forget that. Ever. And then there’s my mom. Let me focus on her for the rest of this tribute. My mom Brenda. Or as my dad often called her “sue.” Or as the members of her church and the young girls she loved to mentor called her “sister Brenda.” My first love. A woman that could never be matched in my eyes. My first safe place. My lifeline safe place. There has never been a more selfless person. She gave without asking. She hurt quietly, forgave fiercely, and loved unconditionally. She was frugal, but so generous. With her time, her prayers, her acts of caring. She prayed for people who hurt her. She checked in on the sick. She cooked for the hungry. She volunteered at church, the fire department, the election polls, and in countless other little ways. She held pain in so others wouldn’t have to. She always put others first. Even to her own detriment. I often thing of the lean days of my childhood. When dinner every night seemed to be Lima beans with a big ham bone in it. Very little actual ham. And biscuits. Every night it was remarkable that my mom revealed she didn’t really like ham all that much. And what was there found its way on mine and my dad’s plate. Interestingly enough she would always often reveal she didn’t really like beans that much. Not as much as the soup. So those would find their on mine and dads plate. And she would take a biscuit and sop it in the bean soup. And say how full she was. She was a devout Christian in the most sincere sense—not in show, but in spirit. She played piano like a virtuoso. She taught piano like a maestro, teaching me to play. She sang like an angel. She lived her faith with quiet grace and tireless devotion. She never judged me—even when I was at my worst. She just loved me. And prayed for me. Mom passed in 2017. And not long after, Aunt Helen passed too. But Aunt Margaret is still here. Still showing up. Still texting, still calling, still mothering. Even with everything she carries in her own life—she never forgets to check in. So this Mother’s Day, I say this with a full heart: I was blessed with one incredible mom. And then I was blessed again. Twice more. Three women. Three hearts. Three lives that wrapped themselves around mine when I needed it most. This is for Brenda, Helen, and Margaret. My three moms. I love you. And to my mom Brenda. I haven’t stopped missing you for one single second since the day that you left. The pain is relentless. Never ending. I miss you more than you could possible ever imagine. I love you.
Ireland