So this week was my mom’s birthday. On Sunday, August 12th, Margo, a name she never ever would have let me call her, would have been 58 years-old. I’m not a sappy person – every time I cried she, she, my mother, would say “snap out of it!” – and this post won’t be such. It will be a lesson to you and I
She was a unique breed of a person. She showed up to my brother’s football games with a bottle of Kendall Jackson. She poured herself into the games, pun intended. She spent her weeknights watching Fox News and reading journals she had kept of her father’s, mother’s, and other relative’s correspondence with each other and themselves. She wore Ann Taylor blouses (which I still have) button to the top button and a pair of heels most days.
These memories still twinkle in my memory; they’re dwindling but still there. What shines through though is her stubbornness. She was one hard-shelled lady. A midwesterner from Souix City, Iowa, she ran six miles a day, regardless of what your plans were. She also did not hesitate to hang up on you if she did not agree with what you were saying. And when she was partied out on a Saturday evening, she got up and left, even if someone told her to please stay. This stubbornness of hers is something I tattooed on my attitude the day she died. “You blog? And sew” many people said and continued, “so what are you really going to do with your life?” Think of where I would have been if I listened to them? So thanks mom. Thanks for being one stubborn ass bitch.