My mother passed away after an unexpected stay in the hospital on March 3. Mom went in for a gastrointestinal problem, but she was too weak from late stage metastatic cancer to get the treatment.This was a whirlwind of activity for my sisters and I as none of us knew she was sick before she went to the hospital earlier in the week. 

I wrote a short  obituary for my mother to be published in the local newspaper.   My mother’s life was so much more than this snippet that I wrote:

“Marjorie Ann Jones of Brighton, TN passed peacefully on Sunday, March 3, 2013. She was the beloved widow of Bill Shahan, a caring mother who instilled her daughters with a strong-willed, independent spirit and brought creativity to all she held dear. She is survived by her mother, a sister, two brothers, three daughters and five grandchildren.”

The funeral director had a slight pause at the fact that my mom’s name didn’t match to my stepfathers. If she was Bill Shahan’s widow, he wondered if he should add Shahan to her name. I explained that she never had Shahan as part of her name, and it was actually written correctly. My mom was a complicated lady. We often didn’t see eye to eye, but I think we mostly understood each other.

My mom craved independence. She protested the conflict in Vietnam and petitioned for civil rights. She told of leaving home several times during her teens, but she didn’t stay away until she married my Dad. My mom was 19 and gorgeous.

My mom couldn’t stand cities and loved being in nature. She seemed to be happiest during the years she spent in Hawaii, but she did ok in Tennessee as well. She never learned to drive, but that never stopped her from strapping on her giant orange hiking pack, grabbing a stroller for the baby and walking us 5 miles into town to do errands.

My mom loved being a mother. For a long time, my dad was away on missions or overseas, so it was just Mommy, Carla and Sammie. Then Celisa came along and joined the fun. We had adventures, walked everywhere, and laughed. Carla was reading Shakespeare and cooking Thanksgiving dinner at 6, I was painting landscapes and writing in cursive when I started kindergarten. We had Star Trek,Thoreau and Tolkien for our bedtime stories. My mom loved kids and always was looking to make kids in stores laugh or smile. 

My mom was unendingly creative - she danced, she painted, she made up characters to entertain. She could do any craft from bedazzling (with an awl and hammer!) and needlepoint to tatting and crocheting fine lace. She could cook anything - and did. Living out next to the Hatchie river in the middle of nowhere, we might have a stir-fry for dinner, Ramen made the Taiwanese way, or just a nice batch of biscuits with beans. My aunt says that Mom got all of the creativity so that there was none left when my aunt was born. My mom saw possibility and beauty in things others threw away. I loved this about her while it drove my neat freak side insane. 

My mom always surprised me with her stories - I never knew what to believe. I learned not to question her, because the times that I thought it was a made up story, she’d have proof. I kind of expected her memorial service to be like the ending of Big Fish - but it was too rushed for my unexpected guests to show up. 

I want to remember about the amazing things my mom taught my sisters and I and hope that she knew she is making the world better through us. She taught us to cherish nature, love the earth and look for the good in people amongst many other things. I may be adding in notes about memories now and then as I need to.