A letter to my mother-in-law, who died in April of 2006.
Dear Janet,
I’ve been thinking of you today, the day before Monty’s birthday. I wonder how you were feeling on this day before he was born. Were you hoping for a son? Did you think of the baby you were carrying and dream great dreams for it? When Monty was placed in your arms, what did you think and feel as you looked down into his little face, at his eyes looking up into yours? I wish I knew. I wish I had asked you when I had the chance. There are so many things I wish I could ask you now. And things I wish I could tell you.
Time has softened the blow of your death somewhat, so Monty and I are able to remember you and talk about you with more happiness than sadness. My memories of you are much different than his, of course, because you didn’t become a part of my life until I was sixteen. Two years later, when Monty left for college in Texas, and I stayed in Ft. Collins to go to CSU, you invited me over for Saturday night suppers. The first one was only a few days after Monty left, and when I walked into your house without him, I started to cry. Without me saying a word, you understood. You put your arms around me and said, “I miss him, too.”
When Monty transferred to the Colorado School of Mines for his last three years of college, he was home on the weekends, and we continued our Saturday night suppers. We played games, watched movies, and sometimes went out to eat. You were always game for anything we came up with—Monty even convinced you to play snow football with us once. You were quite the competitor. At four foot eleven, you were so small that you should have been easy to tackle. But I grabbed the bottom of your coat and you dragged me all over the yard, through the snow, before Monty finally helped me take you down. The three of us laid there in the snow, out of breath and laughing. You loved to laugh almost as much as Monty and I loved making you laugh; we could make you laugh so hard that you cried—you’d take off your glasses, wipe your eyes, and try to stop, but we knew how to make you start again. We also went bowling, and I was terrible at it. The rest of you were amazingly good—you’d been in bowling leagues and knew all the ins and outs of it. One time, when the men were telling me how to line up the ball with the arrows on the floor, you noticed my confusion. When it was their turn to bowl, you sidled up to me and said softly, almost like a ventriloquist, “You just bowl however you want. They’ve been telling me the same things for years, and I never pay any attention to them.”
One of my favorite things about you was the way you loved animals, especially birds. I remember your cockatiel named Joey, who sat on your foot while you read or watched TV. I was watching him one time, as he looked around with his beady little eyes, and I saw his gaze land on you. I swear I saw love in his eyes. I didn’t know birds were capable of love, but Joey was. And he loved you. You loved our cat Ricky almost as much as you loved Joey. You called him your grandson and bought him Christmas and birthday presents. He would climb into your lap and stay there until you left, covered in cat hair. We have three cats now, Janet, and I think often of how much you would love them, and they you.
I also think about the kind of person you were. In his poem “Autobiography,” Louis MacNeice wrote, “My mother wore a yellow dress; Gentle, gently, gentleness.” There is no better way to describe you than those three words: your way with people and animals was gentle. You walked through life gently, instantly putting people at ease. Your gentleness was your strength. I wish I’d realized that all those years ago. I wish I’d seen that your gentle strength was the glue that held all of us together. And I wish I’d told you how much I loved you for it—how grateful I was for it.
I’ve realized it now because I see it in Monty. His gentle strength has held us together through some very dark days. He’s so much like you, Janet. He loves to laugh. He has a gentle, kind way about him that draws people to him. He loves animals—our boys, especially—but other animals, too. A few months ago, when our elderly neighbor lady died, Monty noticed that all of the birds and squirrels she used to feed were still coming around, looking for food. So he put up three different bird feeders and a squirrel feeder. Every morning, he goes out and fills all the feeders. When I watch him, I think about how much it would please you that he takes care of God’s creatures. He takes care of me, too, the same way you loved and took care of your family—with a protective gentleness. He loves me gently but holds on tightly.
I remember how much you loved the song “The Wind Beneath My Wings.” You even asked me to record myself playing it on the piano so you could listen to it on tape. My piano playing was abysmal, but I played it for you anyway—and you actually listened to it. I doubt you ever knew this or even thought about it, Janet, but you truly were the wind beneath your family’s wings. And now Monty is the wind beneath mine. Thank you for the gift of him—for teaching him how to love. And thank you for loving me, with open arms and gentle strength. I carry you in my heart.
With all my love,
Renee
Share this Post
Comments 12
Beautiful tribute to my mom, Renee! I had forgotten about that day playing snow football. Mom was little but she was strong! 🙂 That was such a fun time! It’s right up there with the time she yanked a banana clip out of my hair because it was stuck!
I love you!
Monty–that was so funny when she pulled that clip out. It’s one of maybe three times that I saw her get annoyed. With you! But then she laughed, as usual. This was a tribute to your mom, but also one to you. What a gift you are to me because of her. ❤
Good morning Sparrow. First, Happy Birthday, Monty. May his special day be filleD with love, fun, beautiful memories. Monty’s Mom,Janet, you writing about her, conjures memories of my Mom, Marion. She was a very spiritual woman, always made sure we would spend couple of weeks during the summer, family camping. She encouraged my love for baseball, coming to m6 Little League games; my Dad, Harold ususally working at least one part time job, to“make ends meet”. Monty can re&lect o; his happy Days with his Mom, and you also Sparrow, as they welcomed you in to their family. You are lucky to have such fond memories. My credo, “do not leave anything unsaid, very important, tell your children,family, friends “I love you”, anD how much yo7 care for them, when they are here on earth with us. “JeNe Regrette, Rien”, on that beautiful” song by “The Little Sparrow”, Miss Piaf. I will close, Love your song selection, “Wind Beneath My Wings”, Debbie’s Mom, Shirley, had that song at Debbie’s Dad, Jack, funeral service. Powerful. I will close, Sparrow? Wonderful,blog, as always, your words, Sparrow, “keep me See ya,❤️TexGen.
TexGen–I always love hearing about your mom. Thank you for sharing your memories of her with me. I’m so grateful for the memories. Your credo is so important, and it’s another of the lessons that Janet taught me. I’m glad you liked the song. It still makes me cry, but in a healing way now. It would be difficult to hear at a funeral, yet beautiful and, as you said, powerful. Thank you for your words, TexGen. They always mean so much to me. ❤
I knew Janet when we were both kids the same age, but I don’t think I ever saw her again after I left for college. The qualities you described were there from the beginning. Thank you so much for this portrait of Janet, the adult.
Mary–thank you. I love knowing that Janet was the same person growing up as she was when I was blessed to know her. It will make Monty so happy to know that. Thank you for helping us to fill in the gaps in what we know about her. It makes her seem so real again, to us. Thank you for your words.
What a beautiful tribute !! You write so beautifully and are able to put into words ypur thoughts and feelings . What a gift and you share it with all of us. Thank you Renee and God bless you abundantly !!!
Thank you so much, Jeannette. Your words are blessings to my heart. God bless you, my new and already very dear friend.
What a tribute! She sounds like quite a lady. But knowing Monty ad I do, that’s what I would expect 💖
She was quite a lady. Thank you for what you said about Monty–it will mean so much to him. He is just like her.❤
Gentle is the perfect description of Janet. Sweet and gentle. Just like your /her Monty. This is a special tribute to a very special lady. ❤️❤️❤️
Author
Thank you, dear HRH–I can’t ever write a tribute that truly does her justice, but it’s a start. Thank you for what you said about Monty. ❤