Ode to Bettye Sue-Love Personified

 

I am assuming that most writers have a ritual of sorts that they go through before they sit down to write. Mine goes something like this to prepare: Bed is made, kitchen is clean, coffee cup full as well as water. Check. Laptop battery full. Check. House empty of distractions. Check. Essential oil diffuser emitting energy and/or relaxing inducing aroma. Check. 

Today's blog topic, though, no amount of preparation would be enough. I am going to tell the story of Bettye Sue. Well, not all of it. First of all, I am pretty sure I do not know all of it. But mostly because this is a blog post, not a book. I would need a lengthy novel to do that justice. But yesterday being Mother's Day, I felt made today a good day to approach it. Not to mention I had a few interactions yesterday that made it appropriate, timely if not almost compulsory. Let's go back to 1966.

My dad, recently returned from Vietnam as a Special Forces operator, was a single dad who had signed guardianship of his three young daughters to his parents. (Some may ask at this point where the mom was, and that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say a judge was involved and the word 'unfit' was used.) We were four, six and nine at this time, but had already lived with them for about three years. When he left us with our grandparents, he was only 24 years old, so young for what he was headed into. In 1966, he was a 'much more mature' 27 years old, but having done two back-to-back tours in the jungle, was a changed man.

Bettye Sue met this man in, ahem, a bar near Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. Well, I'm sure it was a classy bar, knowing her. This strikingly good-looking soldier asked the young beauty to dance. She said yes, and so it began. The story goes that while they danced, she asked him if he was married. (She had had a bad experience with her previous husband, as the saying goes.) He said no that he was divorced. He then told her he had three little girls. She then asked him did he want to get married. In the years that followed, conversations followed whether this was a legitimate question or a proposal of sorts. No conclusion was ever reached. What we do know is that in a couple of months, at Thanksgiving, Bettye Sue was brought to Charlotte, North Carolina to celebrate Thanksgiving with the young soldier's parents and his three daughters. In February, the 18th to be exact, of 1967, they were married. 

 

We, the three little girls, were beyond happy, we were ecstatic in fact, to have a mom. Leading up to the wedding, we asked Bettye Sue constantly if we could call her Mom...Mommy, something. She always said, no, not yet. After the wedding, she said, yes. Now you can. I remember her telling us. "You call your mom 'Mommy'. I want you to call me something different. I call my mom Mother. Why don't you call me that?" So, we did. Until the day she passed away. She was Mother.

Now, that may not seem to be such a big deal to you. But there is so much more to this story. Bettye Sue, or Mother, could not have children of her own. She struggled for years to conceive. While we were stationed in Germany, however, the most amazing thing happened. In March of 1972, we were blessed with the most beautiful little girl. After being a middle child for twelve years of my life, I had a new baby sister. We all felt like we had a baby doll to play with. And Baby Bonnie was the center of our world, and our mother's. My older sister, Christie, who was fifteen, was her second mother. We were such a happy, full family. These were amazing full days. Life was perfect.

We returned to the states in 1973 and moved to the west coast. Then a sad day came in 1975. We heard that our birth mom had died. She left behind a daughter we had not known about. No one knew anything about the father. She was two years older than Bonnie. Our dad flew back to North Carolina for his first wife's funeral and came home with our sister. Yeah. Mother said to him, 'You have to go get her. She is as much the girls' sister as Bonnie." Little Dana, only five years old. I remember those first days so vividly. She was so lost, so devastated. But Mother didn't hesitate. We brought in this lost, sad little girl and completed our family. Christie, Kerri, Lisa, Dana and Bonnie. The girls.

Bettye Sue sounds like an amazing woman, doesn't she? Hang on. I haven't even gotten to the best part yet. Earlier it was mentioned that the young soldier came back from Vietnam changed. They all do. They had only been married ten years. Now in adult years that is not so long. In child years, that is a lifetime. In 1977, our world was rocked, and not in a good way. Christie had just gotten married a year earlier. The cracks had begun to show in my parents' marriage, my dad was changing, and I could see it. Or maybe being seventeen years old and ready to enter my senior year in high school I was just more observant. But in the summer between my junior and senior year he left. Gone. And he left the four of us with Bettye Sue. Now remember, of those four girls, only one had she given birth to. Two were from his previous marriage, and one was his first wife's, not his, who had passed away. They were in the process of adopting her, but it was not final. We learned later that our mother pleaded with him to not start any formal proceedings until the adoption was finalized so that it was not affected.

As is the case for so many single moms, she struggled. She had been mostly a stay-at-home mom. She had not worked outside the home in nearly a decade. She didn't receive any child support for years. She had people advising her to move back home to Arkansas to be near her family. But she was firm that she would not leave her girls. And she never did. She made it work.  I remember her saying so often throughout our lives, 'You do what you got to do.'

She saw us through high school. All of us. She was at our weddings, the birth of all our babies. And by that, I mean at the hospital from the start of labor until the baby showed up.  She never missed a birthday, lavished all of us with Christmas gifts. In fact, Christmas at Mamaw's was the highlight of the year for all of the grandkids. She remarried an amazing man who loved her dearly until his death.

Bettye Sue, Mother, Mamaw. She was the center of the family. Her death in early 2017 devastated our family. 50 years after she entered our lives, she left it. Forever changed, so much for the better. She brought us together, kept us together. Yesterday being Mother's Day, my sisters and I communicated through a sisters' group text we have. We all miss her every day. I suppose a day dedicated to honoring Mother's just brings it home in a major way. 

As I scrolled Facebook yesterday, it was brought to my attention specific friends of mine who were having their first Mother's Day without their mom. It's a tough one. One in particular posted how after several months she still reaches for her phone to call her mom. I did this constantly the first year after my mom left here to be with Jesus. In fact, a couple of times I called her phone anyway to hear her voice on her voice mail. Weird, I know. I just missed her so much. Still do. Things happen that I just need to tell her. I find that I want to grab my phone still. Questions I still have that I know she has the answer to. Who do I ask? Like, why am I still crying? Did you feel like this when you lost your mom? And if you did, I'm so sorry, I didn't know. But I know what she would say. Or at least I think I do. Because I knew her when she was here. 

She would say, "Kerri, stop. I know you loved me. You told me when I was with you, and we talked. You did the best you knew how. I am fine, in fact better than fine. (I can hear her voice here) I'm better than you are, that's for sure. Focus on where you are, and don't waste time. You'll get here soon enough. Try to live without regrets, and you'll be okay. Remember I love you."

I apologize if this is garbled, it's hard to write while you are sobbing. That's just the facts. I can't help that I miss her. I always will. But the bigger the person, the bigger the hole they leave. It gets easier, it does. But it never goes away. But laughter moves into where the tears dominated, and smiles will replace the grief. 

I want to leave you with this: There are all sorts of Moms. Those who give birth to you, and those who earn the title. The defining element is love. Bettye Sue wasn't mushy, or overly affectionate, but she was love personified.