Growing up, on more than one occasion I heard the story about my mom being mad at my Grandma Hazel. I can't remember what the argument was about, but my mother's way of showing her frustration at the situation was to go into her bedroom and throw her hairbrush on the bed, and that was the end of it. My sister's and I used to really get a kick out of this story, mainly because when we were upset with our parents or each other we were loud enough that the entire neighborhood knew. Andrea and Kate had their own ways of showing frustration; mine was to play "Waltz in A Minor" by Franz Schubert on the piano as loud and as passionately as I could. I have that song memorized. I'm sure my parents know it note for note as well.
My mom never had to learn such an angry song on the piano because I don't believe she has an angry bone in her body. Patient, kind, loving, pious, she is these things. But never angry, never mean. Her name is Kristie (please refrain from spelling it wrong), and it's with great pleasure that I introduce her to you. Mom is the youngest of the five Braegger children: Jed, Nan, Ruth, and Wally. Besides my dad and sisters and I, there was never a question who the most important people in her life are. I spent countless hours with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins growing up, and still look forward to and relish the time that I get to spend with them. A big reason for this is the example my mother set for me on the importance of family; she is at her happiest when she is surrounded by hers. When someone in the family is struggling, you struggle along side them (and feed them pie). When someone in the family is celebrating, you celebrate along side them. You call them when they are sick, call them when they are well, and of course, you always feed them pie.
As of late, I have struggled with understanding my need to nurture. Ask my friends, I'm obnoxious about needing to take care of them. I have this built in urge to make sure that everyone is okay, that they are fed and their well-being is nothing but tip-top. I called my mom not long ago and asked her if she remembered just when, exactly, I started showing this behavior. As she was silent and thinking for answer, I had visions of my mom, my aunts, and my grandma at family dinners and holidays, busily preparing meals, serving them, and just as the rest of the family was finishing they were just sitting down to quickly eat and then were up again to clear the table and serve dessert. "Oh," I said to my mom, "Wait. This isn't just my instinct. I got it from you, from grandma. All the women in our family are like this!" to which she replied, "It's our culture. It's part of who we are." After that conversation, I've realized that my nurturing instincts are a gift, not a burden. As long as a Braegger lady is around, if there is someone to take care of, by george they will be taken care of! Again, my mom set this example for me.
I was convinced as a teenager and young adult that I had nothing in common with my mom. That she didn't understand me. However, the moment I had Lucas, I saw my mom in a completely different light. It's true, on the surface, we don't have a lot in common. She listens to Carly Simon, Neil Diamond, and the dreaded Michael Bolton, while I prefer loud classic rock, Radiohead, and sad ambient songs. She has faith without question, a devotion to church that is admirable, and lives her life with quiet and untarnished dignity and integrity; I am a skeptic, have loud opinions, and although I have integrity there is nothing quiet about it. Like I said, once I had Lucas I was able to see a different side of my mom. I'm having a hard time coming up with a good way to explain it, but I understand now why she is overprotective of my (as she coined it) tender heart. I understand why there are times that it's more important to be a parent than a friend to your children. I understand that there is validity to taking a hot bath when you have a problem, that more often than not if you go to the bathroom it will take care of your tummy ache, and if you just go to sleep when you wake up things won't seem so bad.
My mom has been by my side through thirteen surgeries. After my last, about two years ago, as I laid in my hospital bed recovering from my appendectomy, I would come in and out of my morphine stupor and my mom was just sitting in the dark and quiet room by my side. I told her she could turn on the tv, that she didn't just have to sit there. She said to me, "One day, if Lucas is ever sick, you won't need to do anything but just sit by his side and make sure he's okay." Although I haven't had this experience with Lucas, I remembered those words last Mother's Day as I held Loren's hand and watched him sleep. As usual, she was right.
There aren't words good or kind enough in the english vocabulary to describe my sweet mother. She is, without question, one of the best people I know. I am proud of any and every trait she passed down to me. My dad, my sisters and I are some of the luckiest people on the planet to have such a gracious and caring individual in our lives. So it is with great sentiment, awe, and love that I wish my mom, Kristie Badger, the happiest of mother's days.
I love you Mom, and am grateful and humbled to be your daughter.
Sincerely,
h.
P.S. It was me that destroyed your Michael Bolton "Time, Love, and Tenderness" cassette tape. But I'm not apologizing, because it was awful. I will, however, replace it. xoxo
