My mom. Not to be confused with the abusive woman (good JW too) that gave birth to me. My mom was the one that told me every single time I saw her, without exception that she loved me. Without exception told me I was beautiful. Without exception told me that she chose me because I was the daughter of her heart.
I met Mom at the KH when I was a rambunctious four year old. She was the only black person in Libby Montana. She and her husband didn't stay long, but our family stayed in touch all those years, visiting frequently. For some reason Mom waffled about being a witness, she was unbaptized and in those days that gave you more freedom. She had a fondness for the Jewish religion, she was, she said 3/4 German Jew, and 1/4 black. She had some fondness for Catholicism, and equally she had a fondness for the witnesses. Not enough fondness to commit exclusively to any one, but a fondness, she took what she liked from each.
On Mom's wall were a picture of Jesus and a rosary, Bobby Kennedy (equally prominent), and my brother and I. Pretty heady stuff to be included in that company, lol.
Mom was feisty and she could out guilt anyone. We'd bring people to meet her and she would either like you or not immediately, based on how she thought you treated us, her children. If anyone looked crossways at us you better watch out because that woman could give a tongue lashing not soon to be forgotten. But her heart was as big as Texas (as they say).
She used to sit up all night watching TV evangelicals, and what little money she had would pad their greedy pockets. But she got some kind of joy out of it though it pissed me off to see her send her little when they had so much. In her prime she was an antique collector and was an expert on furniture, colored glass and china. Her house was full of antiques.
Mom passed away when she was 86. Her kidneys gave out. A few weeks prior to that she told my brother and I, "I'm ready now, life isn't fun anymore."
I miss her every day. I love you mom.
Sherry