The Inspiration

When a memory is painful, it's best to try to find the lessons

the memory has left behind. How did it affect you? How can you

learn from what happened? My mother's life was an inspirational

story everyone can learn from. It brought me severe pain, and yet it

taught me the type of person I truly want to be. Many years have

passed since that tragic day when a knock on the door informed me

of her murder. I can still feel the roller coaster of emotions, as if it

were yesterday.

Mom was a 5 foot 2 inch tall tiny woman, with chocolate

brown eyes and mousey brown shoulder length hair. At work she

could be seen in her business casual skirt, blouse and heels. When

the clock struck four, she raced home to lounge in her tight fitting

jeans, Harley shirt, and open-toed sandles. Like a chameleon, she

blended into society. The appearance of confidence surrounded

her. Born August 3, 1957 in Stuttgart, Germany, Mom was an Army

brat. She moved to the United States with her parents in 1961. In

1972, barely fifteen, she met a young man, and became pregnant.

She married, dropped out of school, and gave birth to me on

February 9, 1973. The next year was full of anguish. She lost her

father to a heart attack, her marriage failed, and I was taken to live

with my great-grand parents. During the next few years she floated

through life, her atmosphere constantly changing. In 1980 she met

a man, fell in love, and though her marriage again failed, she

pulled herself up by her boot straps and established a stable home.

She returned to school and earned her GED, regained custody of

me, and became a social worker for the Department of Human

Services.

My mother locked years of co-dependency, alcoholism, and

depression behind the bubbly, outspoken, social mask of

helpfulness. Her life was a never ending story book of co-

dependence, caring for men who were either alcoholics or dead

beats. Time and time again she found what she called the sick

puppies who were emotionally unstable and needed her. These

relationships would end in divorce or separation. She hid her

depression that resulted from these events quite well. She always

found a way to pick her self up and dust herself off. Her persistance

touched everyone she came in contact with. To hide the ghosts in

her closet, she was always spurting phrases of inspiration such as;

"If you're ever gonna see a rainbow you've got to stand a little

rain," or "Good things come to those who wait." On the evening of

July 4, 1992, that inspiration turned to sadness with the news of

her murder. Another co-dependent relationship with yet the most

tragic of results.

As we drove up the narrow driveway, I remember looking at

the parking lot. I remember the knot as it grew in my throat; and

could feel the tears slipping down my cheek, hitting the sailor

stripes of my prenatal dress. In my mind I wondered where all the

people came from, most of whom I had never met before. Slowly I

opened the car door, took a deep breath, and stepped out. I

thought to myself "This is a horrible nightmare. I want to wake

up." As I approached the door to the funeral home, I felt my knees

go weak. I could hardly breathe. I recall someone taking my arm

and leading me to a nearby chair. I remember the fear of reality

and how hard it slapped me. I watched as people gathered. Time

stood still as I sat paralyzed in that chair for more than two hours.

People approached me, but their voices were only white noise.

Finally, I found the strength to stand; but, thoughts of "If I had

only" rang in my mind. In moments, I found myself in another

room; sitting in yet another chair. I recall listening to each person

as they told their stories of extreme shock; how they found out what

happen and how the woman I took for granted had inspired their

lives.

With support, I rose and walked slowly to the main parlor.

Teary eyed, I stared at the people to see who was watching. Their

faces were blurred. I glanced briefly at the thousands of beautiful

flowers that had been arranged all around the room. Then and

only then did I look at the lifeless shell of a woman I once thought

was invincible. Tears streamed from my eyes as I reached over and

felt her cold painted face. I recall someone bringing me a chair. I

sat in shock and all I could say was "Why?" For the remaining

hours, I never left my mother's side. People from every walk of life

stopped to talk to me. Some would say, "Jessica, you don't know

me; but, I was a client of your mother's and I want you to know

how much of an inspiration she was to me." Others said, "Jessica, I

knew your mother her entire life. She really was a courageous

woman and I'm going to miss her." I listened as each told their

touching story of what my mother did for them. I watched their eyes

and their body language. I felt their pain.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized just what my

mother had accomplished in her short life. I realized how she

touched the hearts of so many people. I realized that even though

she had faced years of turmoil and heart break; she had left a

legacy that would live forever in the hearts of those she knew and

loved. It was that day that I learned it's the quality of life that you

lead that makes all the difference. I remember the loss; but, more I

remember the lessons. You never know when something will

happen. You never know when it will be too late to apologize and

make amends. You must live life to the fullest and never take for

granted the beauty that is all around you. My mother's murder was

a tragedy, and yet it became an inspiration.

Written By: Jesilyn Montgomery