I had a productive session with IC today, and I will post notes either tomorrow or the next day.
Something IC and I discussed last week and this week is an upcoming event. This Friday, my work is dedicating a memorial garden for my mother.
I'm very pleased that it has come together, and it's going to be a very nice ceremony. However, it will probably make the experience raw for me again.
There's one person who I hope is able to come, but I'm not sure yet.
I've mentioned being an only child several times (right, Mindfull???), but I have some exceptions. I have the omnipotent half-brother, the former stepsister, and a former stepbrother (who has yet to make an appearance in my thread). I also have some "siblings" who my mother took in and informally adopted. I tell people that I have an older black brother and a younger black brother--because I do! They were very dear to my mother, and they're very dear to me.
The older brother, C, was one of my mother's 6th-grade students in the late 70s. His parents were deceased, and he lived with his aunt. She was 21 years old and had become the guardian of six children.
C was an outstanding athlete and a boxer, and my mother often took C's classmates (her students) to watch him box. My mother noticed that he kept slipping during a match and asked him about it. He told her that his aunt didn't have money for boxing shoes but that wouldn't stop him from boxing.
The following Saturday, my mother took C shopping for a pair of boxing shoes.
She continued to take his classmates to see him box, and they were there to see him win the Golden Gloves championship that year.
After he left 6th grade, my mother and C stayed in touch, and she continued to watch him box whenever she had the chance. When he graduated from high school, he joined the army and boxed for their team. He later became an alternate for the Olympic boxing team.
No matter where C lived or traveled, he sent my mother postcards and always headed them "Dear Mom." He eventually went to live at a base overseas. When he would return to the States, he would visit my mother at school. He spoke to her classes about working hard and doing well in school. Sometimes he would even bring his old boxing shoes she bought for him.
Five years ago, C sent my mother a picture of himself in cap and gown with a letter that said that he was graduating from college and planning to become a teacher. He thanked her for everything and credited her for inspiring him to become a teacher.
When my mother died, my mind was a blur, but I knew that someone had to get in touch with C. He was now living just one state away. I worried that he wouldn't hear the news or be able to come.
A friend of my mother's contacted him. He came.
He asked if he could speak at her memorial service and gave the most beautiful tribute. He told the story of the boxing shoes. He said that he had succeeded because of my mother's unconditional love and her sincere interest not just in his education but also in his life.
He also brought me a beautiful potted hydrangea. Staked in the soil were his boxing shoes and his report card from that school year.
I'll never forget how wonderful his words were and how much his presence meant.
C, the younger brother, and I got together for a day last summer. We took our first ever family portrait.
Thanks for indulging me in telling this story. I'm not a weeper, but I tear up every time I remember those events.
I also want to mention that the younger brother is a teacher, too. He has a wonderful story as well, but I've typed enough for the night!
Thanks again. I hope everyone's week is off to a great start.
