Like most kids, I never appreciated my mother. To me, she wasn’t cool like the younger moms. She didn’t wear jeans or use cake mixes and never made sloppy joes. My mom made me wear polyester stretch pants with the seams running up the front, just like she wore. We had homemade cakes for our birthdays and our house smelled of ham and bean soup. She wasn’t cool like most moms and she wasn’t like my BFF’s mom either.
I don’t recall if Mrs. Reed used cake mixes, but she did use Kool-Aid. I know because one day, my childhood BFF, Timmy and I had a Kool-Aid stand. It was short-lived and unsuccessful because we didn’t realize that Mrs. Reed used sugar, we…did not. I don’t recall her wearing jeans, but she dressed well. Mrs. Reed was the kind of mom that set the dinning room table for dinner, just like on TV. Mrs. Reed was so fancy, she carefully placed a garnish on each plate, a pineapple ring with a maraschino cherry in its center. I remember seeing that as if it were yesterday. I had never seen anything so fancy in all my short-lived life. How elegant to have a set table, on a weekday, with garnished plates.
Timmy was the eldest of four children and made to take naps, even though he was much too old to do so, as to set an example for his younger siblings. One time, I stood outside his bedroom window calling to him to come out and play. Mrs. Reed, promptly stormed out and told me to go home and leave Timmy alone. I must have seemed a street urchin to her, no proper upbringing, and a tomboy to boot. I spent most of my time hanging out with the guys in grade school. Timmy was my best friend since we were four years old. In the summer, we both had short hair, so people thought we were two boys, in the winter, long hair, so we were assumed to be two girls. Either way, we were thick as thieves and Mrs. Reed always made me feel welcome in their home, like a typical TV mom would.
Just like a TV dad, Mr. Reed had been a milkman who became a real estate agent in the 70’s and struck it big. He had a band new house built for his family in an affluent neighborhood ten miles away. Back then, it felt like Timmy was moving to the other side of the world, but Mrs. Reed would pick me up and take me to their new fancy house for a visit. One time, she served fried chicken for lunch. To her horror, I picked it up with my bare hands to eat it. I looked around and they were all using a knife and fork. I did my best to emulate their fancy ways, but I felt out of place. I felt like a bum off the streets with no proper etiquette and thought, how elegant their family was compared to mine.
Years passed and I became estranged to Timmy, but thanks to Mrs. Reed, we reconnected. She always sent me Christmas cards to which I would reciprocate. Her cards contained an elegant greeting while mine would contain a life story. I’ve always been too much, not appropriate, where Mrs. Reed always was. Over the years, there may have been more than holiday greetings, but I really don’t recall. I do know, that last summer, I felt compelled to write to her, extending an invitation to visit my garden, even if I wasn’t home. Apparently, this meant something to her, because Timmy told me that she had my card displayed in her home…nice!
The Reeds are fancy folk, and simply put, I am not. It’s not just a matter of financial means; it’s a difference between fine dining and takeout. Some people can eat food with a fork in their left hand and cut with a knife in their right, not me. That’s way too fancy for me, I’m not a savage, but I’m not fancy, never have been, never will be, but the Reeds never held it against me. One time Timmy came for a visit and as one properly does, he brought wine. I opened my kitchen cabinets to retrieve drinking vessels and to my horror, I didn’t have any wine glasses, just Mason jars. Timmy said, “We can drink wine out of those, can’t we?” I love Timmy Reed, always making me feel comfortable in my own skin. For the record, since then, I have been gifted wine glasses, so I’m not a total hippie, any longer.
Mr. Reed passed away a few years ago, but Mrs. Reed passed away a couple of weeks ago. Timmy sent me an appropriate text message to let me know about the services. He stated that there would only be an hour visitation before a church mass. It wasn’t the usual evening visitation, so I would have to change my work schedule, but I assured Timmy, I would be there. I arrived at the funeral home, but no one was there. When I was informed that the visitation was at the church, I hurriedly made it in time for what seemed like a cocktail party being held in the church’s foyer. I’ve never seen anything like this and asked a stranger, how it all worked. When they looked puzzled, I said, “Where’s Timmy Reed?!” They pointed and then, I saw my childhood BFF, looking amazing in his perfectly tailored suit being a proper host to all. When I reached him, I said how I had never seen anything like this before, and he said, with a chuckle, “This is the visitation.” as if he was as dumbfounded as I.
Then, I grabbed his hands and looked into his eyes and told him how much I thought of his mother. It was in that moment, that he stopped being the host with the most and connected with me, allowing himself to feel, to be, to grieve. He shared that I held a special place in her heart. No words will ever aptly describe how special their family is and always will be to me, but I conveyed my feelings and released him to go back to being the host with most. I mingled with the countless others that were there to celebrate Mrs. Reed’s life. There was a table displaying an amazing MCM wedding photo of her and Mr. Reed leaving the church on their wedding day and a family photo that included all her children and grandchildren. A few simple flower arrangements appropriately framed the table along with a guest book to sign, as etiquette dictates.
Once the church opened for guests to attend the mass, I was pleasantly surprised to see that their church still has prayer candles. I lit a candle and knelt to pray for the Reeds and then took my place amongst all the properly dressed attendees. Thank goodness I didn’t wear jeans; Mrs. Reed would have frowned upon that. The mass was an appropriate length and as it ended, music filled the air. I didn’t realize that Mrs. Reed had been Scottish, the sound of live bagpipes took the ceremony to a whole new level of elegance I had never experienced in my long-lived life. How perfectly perfect, just like Mrs. Reed and the life she led. I always thought she was fancy, but in reality, she was simply elegant. A strong religious woman who raised her family to be just as elegant and kind as she was. No TV mom could hold a candle to that.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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