Let me tell you just a SMIDGEN of the wonderful things about my mom …
(I meant to have this done and posted by last week in honor of her birthday in 2011. But I found that as I remembered more and more happy memories—and as I was laid flat in bed all week feeling terrible—I just never got to the end of the first draft. So, here is a repost of the 2011 THANK YOU that I wrote for my beloved Mother and friend …)
Happy (belated) Birthday, Mom! I love you!
By God’s grace, and only because of my mom’s permission, I have shared pieces of our story with thousands of women at events (plus thousands more via my video series, books, radio programs, etc. etc.). Our story is one of suffering and joy, estrangement and reconciliation, manipulation and trust, learning how to love (and be loved by) one another through her struggles with addiction, mental illness, hospitalizations, detox centers, etc., and through my own sin, unbelief, judgmentalism, selfishness, lack of love, etc.
I greatly appreciate her willingness to share our story. She has helped countless people to recognize that they are not alone; others struggle; life can be hard, but there is hope. She has also helped thousands of women to realize that they don’t have to hide their struggles in life; that actually, it is better to have authentic friends with whom we can be real. Vulnerable. Loved. Our joys are doubled and our grief is lessened when we walk through life with a friend.
So please indulge me a bit as I tell you how my mother has been (and continues to be) a friend to me.
Yes, yes. I know you’ve heard other parts of our story before. But today? I just want to focus on the wonderfulness of getting to be Kathryn Kroncke Ford’s daughter …
My mother is a wonderful artist. Did you know that? I still have sketches she drew for Kali and me when we were just 4 & 6 years old. And I have a distinct memory of her trying to teach me china painting. Oh! I was terrible at it. Never could I ‘push the paint’ like Kali and her and create their beautiful china plates. But I still remember the pungent smell of the paint and her being very patient and kind toward me. I’ve always appreciated how artistic my mother is.
My mother is also a profound wordsmith—especially as it pertains to poetry. She has written ‘adult-only-appropriate’ poetry but she also wrote fun and insightful and lovely poems that are appropriate for children and that I still cherish to this day.
Though many people in her life were bigoted and racist, I have never heard my mother utter even the tiniest bit of the evil ugliness of racism. She was quite purposeful in raising us to ‘see people as people’ and never judge another based on their skin color or economic status. Honestly? At the time, I didn’t really LIKE the baby dolls and barbies that looked differently from me that she intentionally mixed into our toys. But as I grew older and I saw how biased and rude and hateful people were to other people based on the color of their skin? Oh! I was (and still am) grateful for my mother’s intentionality on this important topic. And that was even before I understood that all people ‘are created in God’s image and have souls that will last forever!’
Due to her decades-long, deep friendship with ‘Mrs. Parat’ (famed creator of Sophie & Ella’s kikis), I saw at an early age that friendship was important and could last a lifetime. Through thick and thin, for decades now, Mrs. Parat has loved my mother (and my mother has loved her).
My mother never talked to my sister and I about ‘IF’ we go to college. She taught us to read and she read to us and she always said, ‘WHEN’ you go to college. She said education was the key to a good foundation for adulthood and at that time (the 1970’s and 1980’s), she was very right.
My mother (sometimes) played great music very loudly on the stereo (LP records!) and I always thought that was very cool. Helen Reddy. Tom T. Hall. Bach, Mozart, Chopin. Elvis Presley. The Beatles. Kenny Rogers.
My mother kept great books around us: Plato. Socrates. Shakespeare. I don’t ever remember her actually reading those to us or talking with with us about them, but, I knew they existed. And that was a lot more than most kids in my life at the time.
My mother was and is fiercely patriotic. She taught us to always honor the flag and honor veterans.
My mother taught us good manners. We always honored our elders, stood when we were introduced to someone (and made eye contact and greeted the person by name, with a firm handshake), held doors open for people, and never stayed seated if a person in need (elderly / pregnant / disabled) needed a place to sit.
My mother was pretty much the reason why I got a piano when I was eight years old. We didn’t have a lot of money, but she saw me ‘practicing’ on the PICTURE of black and white keys on the last page of the book and realized I was serious about being diligent re: lessons and practicing. So I got a piano. It has been with me for 33 years now. I worked out much anger, fear, hatred, disappointment, rejection, abandonment, etc. on that piano. I also have some of my happiest memories in life tied to that piano. Oh! How I loved to accompany choirs and jazz bands and swing choirs and musicals. Solo & Ensemble Competition? I’m there! Running from room to room? You bet! And then college — being a Deisenroth Scholar; getting to play the Bosendorfer in recital and play in the Symphony Band under Dr. James Lambrecht? All because my mother believed in me and (persuaded my dad to) purchase a piano for me. That piano changed my life.
My mother introduced me to Broadway quality musicals when I was a teenager. Cats. Les Miserables. Phantom of the Opera. The King and I. Camelot. We were still extremely poor. I was actually living with a family from my church at that time. But every once in awhile, my mom would drive me in her little Ford Escort to see a great show. I know I love big shows now because I loved them as a child. (And now my girls are musical geeks too!)
As my mom continued to recover from her institutionalization in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, she and my stepdad (Happy 80th Birthday, Charlie!) made extraordinary efforts to attend my piano recitals, symphonic band performances, graduations, etc. This couldn’t have been easy on them (financially, physically—long drive!, relationally—since my dad and his second wife would sometimes be there so there would be, um, let’s just say unpleasantness), but they were faithful to try.
I do so appreciate the many times throughout my childhood when my mom would try. Hard. She was in a very unhappy marriage. We moved almost every year of my childhood. Her mania often swung into depression—and she did not have a strong community around her to help her when she was caught at either end of the spectrum. She was self-medicating her undiagnosed mental illnesses with scotch. She was, at times, suicidal. (Thank God she was not successful!)
It has not always been easy to love her (just as it has not always been easy for her to love me.) But I think that we would both say that it has been so very, very worth it. I can’t imagine my life without my mom. I am so happy that my own children have gotten to know her and enjoy her and love her! I thank God for this great blessing. And I thank God for my mother.
I love you, Mom. Thank you!
Your baby girl,
Tara
