One of the areas in which Mom and I differed greatly was in social popularity.
Mom was popular growing up: she was affable, fun, outgoing ... everyone liked her. She was a leader in her class, and had jobs (in Jefferson City and Tulsa) where ability to get along with a wide variety of people was important and valuable. By the early 1960s she was President of her church's Women's Society and has a photo in the newspaper in which women around her are clearly laughing easily and sincerely at something Mom said.
I, in contrast, was never popular. I grew up full of social anxiety; for I was "one of those kids" who other kids tended to pick on. My social skills never developed very well and my personality was ... in general ... repellant. This was always so painful for me. By my teens I was finding my life in books, and found myself attracted to those figures who seemed to affirm my isolation in some way or another: Tarzan, Harry Haller (in Hesse's Steppenwolf), Holden Caufield (JD Salingers' Catcher in the Rye) ... and the Jesus of the Sermon on the Mount, who blessed the "poor in spirit" ... with whom I then, as now, identify strongly.
In many ways I've managed to develop a much better connection with society. In my profession, there are colleagues who I genuinely like and who genuinely (I think) like me: but the latter connection is really more generosity that reciprocal friendship. My social skills in common social situations remain backward, and I have almost no personal friends at all. In fact only one: another person with a generally unpopular persona.
I'm not sure how much of this Momma was really aware of. I remember talking with her, though, as a preteen in anquish ... and she tried to advise me as best she could ... though I suspect that she might have felt uncomfortable that a "weirdo" should be in her family.
But she never, ever evidenced anything of the sort. Instead, she was always ... always ... proud of me. she said so, again and again. And always, always, when the world seemed most horribly cruel and alien ... I could always, always go to Momma and she always loved me ... just as I was.
We used to joke that some puppies had faces that only a Mother could love.
And I always knew that in reality I myself had a personality that ultimately only a Mother could love. Only a Mother ... and Jesus ... He Who is Hope of the Hopeless, and Supporter and Love and Advocate of the Poor in Spirit.
Oh Momma how I miss you ...
Oh Momma how very deeply, deeply, deeply grateful I feel for your love of me over all those years ... me with a personality that only a Mother could love, mirroring indeed the love of God.
Oh God please please please take good care of my Momma.
I love you Momma.
I love you Jesus.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of the First Sunday of Advent
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Hi Charles! It is clear that you are still actively grieving over your mother's passing. My own mother died in 1999, and it is still hard during the holidays. One thing I have done, cause I too, was a not so popular child/adult, I started sending a get well card to everyone in my church who was sick, or had other things to deal with. Not just signing my name, I write a personal message to each and every one. This is how I coped with "who will listen to my stories now?" You will find, as I did, that there are many people out there who will befriend you because you took the time to reach out to them. You will also find that you no longer feel like a social outcast, at least that is my story. I am in the 6th year of sending cards, and it has become my mission. Please give it a try. God needs us who can understand pain that others are going through. I sincerely hope that this helps you. God Bless you. Miss. Edie
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