At the beginning of the summer, a local country station could not stop playing Keith Urban’s “Somebody Like You.” Specifically, they could not refrain from playing it every single time I got in the car. I am not even exaggerating - there was a week where it must have played every day, seemingly just for me.
When I was young, my mom would drive me on the “up, down, and around” roads from Jefferson City to Canton, MO to see her grandmother. Seated directly behind her, I would catch her eye in the rearview mirror as she zoomed around familiar corners, both of us singing at the top of our lungs. Most often, the album of choice would be Keith Urban’s Golden Road. Our favorite song was - you guessed it - “Somebody Like You.” We loved it so much that we memorized everything - the banjo and guitar riffs, Urban’s vocalizations, all of it.
The first few times I heard it unexpectedly this spring, I was angry. How dare she? I thought. I wanted my mom here, singing it with me, not commandeering some disc jockey’s set. With each new listen, I softened. I was reminded that this was the mom I was missing - the car karaoke speed demon mom.
Everyone’s experience of suicide loss is unique. For me, part of my healing has been accepting that the woman my mom was at the end of her life is not the mom I miss - and not who she truly was. Years of suffering from mental illness and the myriad of treatments she tried had robbed her of many of the personality traits I loved in her. The further I heal, the more I am able to remember the good. I thought I’d share a bit of that sweetness this week as we remember her and join together in prayer.1
In no particular order, here are just a few things I love about my momma:
Her penchant for making up new words while playing Nerts.2
Her sense of style - The Official Preppy Handbook, anyone?
Her beautiful handmade cards and thoughtful notes.
Her love for shelties: Knute Rockne, Sir Quincy Shimmens of Little Creek, and Pax Padraig.
Her absolute inability to read maps.
Her love for swimming (and infuriating ability to float without effort).
Mary Ellen = M.E., (water)Melon = a love for all things watermelon related.
The fact that each time we went to a craft show or saw something handmade she’d instantly look it over and say “we could make that!”
Her love for my music and her encouragement of my many music lessons.
Her dedication in teaching me about anything, really, but especially our faith. One of my best memories is of spending every Monday morning in the adoration chapel together. When I started school, I would look forward to the summers when I would get to go with her again.
Her refusal to slow down while driving around corners.
Her joy.
This week, instead of focusing on the hurt, my family is choosing to remember the love. The love we have for her and she for us, the love we were shown this time last year by an overwhelming number of friends and family that bore witness to the impact she had on their lives, and the Love that will reunite us with her one day.
It’s not too late to join me and my family in praying for my mom - and for the grace to accept the Lord’s invitation to lament.
If you’ve never played Nerts, or Dukery as it’s sometimes called, please do us a favor and play it with your family this week. It’s hilariously frantic and ridiculously fun.