Maria Hall Jordan

There cannot be anything more difficult than to find the right words to pay tribute to the woman who raised you and cared for you, whose every thought and action was for you. Here is our feeble attempt.

Mom was born on December 18,1926, in El Paso, Texas, to Jesus Molinar whose family emigrated from Austria-Hungary to Mexico and who was a pharmacist, and Elena Pena, a beautiful Mexican woman who died giving birth to Mom’s little brother when she was only 3. Her maternal grandmother Paula and her Aunt Reina took care of her until her grandmother also died. Unable to care for Mom, our grandfather placed her in a Catholic boarding school where she thrived, taught first grade children in the home, and, in fact, had decided to enter the convent as a nun herself until, as a novice on holiday with her cousins, she met our Dad at a USO dance in 1953. She liked to tease us that the main reason she married him was because he was about to receive orders from the Air Force to be stationed in Japan, and she had always wanted to travel, so she said, “Yes!” (Thanks, Mom). However, the orders changed, and instead of Japan, he was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia, near Phenix City, Alabama, our Dad’s hometown. At this time, Mama spoke very little English, but even though she was plunged in the heart of the South, she embraced the Southern culture and learned to make biscuits, and peas, and cornbread, and all things Southern under the wing of our father’s mother, who became a mother to her as well. She even learned to pluck a chicken after our great-Aunt Bessie had wrung its unfortunate neck in the back yard, an act she refused to watch from the kitchen window.

Transferring to Pensacola, Florida in 1962, a year of great changes and trials for our mother because she and our father divorced, and she now was a single mother, with little education or means of support, to three children at home. But Mother was a survivor and lived this chapter of her life with grace and determination. She spent many years working behind the lunch counter downtown for very little money and meager tips at S. H. Kress, and because she could not drive and had no car, took the city bus to and from work each day while her daughters were at school and her baby boy was with a sitter. They were very lean years as Mother would tell it, years of anxiety and hardship, yet she shared none of these worries with us. We never were without our home, never without enough food or clothing, never without what we needed, although, in retrospect, we realize that she was the one who did without, so her children could have enough. She took classes at night and eventually became certified in physical therapy, working first in a chiropractic office and eventually at the Crippled Children’s Home until she retired. She also finally bought a car and obtained her drivers’ license, a fact that shocked all the neighbor children’s parents since she had been driving all of us and their children around on a driver’s permit for several years.

Even after working long, hard hours, she was very active and involved in our school activities, PTA, and she was also an active member of the American G.I. Forum, participating in parades, fundraisers, dances, and parties--her favorite, the dances and parties. How she loved to dance! She was also a member of Little Flower Catholic Church, dragging us to Mass every Sunday possible so we would learn about our Lord (Thank you, Mom).

Her first priority was raising us, her children, and not until we were grown, did she begin to live her own life. She met and later married Larry Jordan, a kind and gentle man, and they both had a love for travel, which they did for as long as they could.

Her greatest passion was her family and her friends She was a sister to her friends and a second mom to their kids. However, she drew her greatest joy in later years spending her greatest resource, her time, playing with and talking to her beloved grandchildren--Eric, Summer, Billy, and Brooke, and her great-grandchildren--Lilly, Annika, Ian, Gabriel, Esme, and most recently Baby Levi. In fact, she once met a little boy and girl walking down the street from school in front of her house. She soon became good friends with them and with their parents and youngest child, and later asked them and their baby sister--Billy, Betty, and Abby, to call her Grandma, and they have maintained this close relationship with her throughout their childhood and continued to visit her until her passing. Biological or adopted, Mom so loved and was so proud of each one of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

She loved to laugh, and her laughter was beautiful and musical. In recent years, after dementia, her laughter was golden to us. It was when she was most like the mother we remembered. She was content with what she had and gave no energy or wistful thought to what she didn’t have. She had enough. She was fiercely independent. In fact, she traveled to Europe only one month after 9/11, in spite of our cautions (Good grief, Mom). She was fearless. She claimed it was the best trip of her life.

She didn’t have neighbors; she had dear friends who just happened to live near her, a sisterhood of women really, she and Reva and Norma. And she so loved Reva’s children as well, most of whom blustered in and out of our house daily, especially our Tammy. She even tutored some of them in Spanish. And she loved her Rosa, her dearest and best friend, Ethel to her Lucy, or vice versa. And Rosa’s Kathy and Kati, who, from Alaska, video-called her and sang to her during her last few days.

She loved her flowers and her bird feeder and once grew a small marijuana plant just to see if she could because she said she was old, and no one would care. (Oh my gosh, Mom!)

No, Mama is no longer with us physically, but she will live within us every day. She cultivated the belief in each of us that we can do anything, be anything, and taught us that the three of us are stronger together. She took great comfort in our closeness to each other.

The following poem is one we wrote to her as a tribute for her 70th birthday:

All we really needed to know about life, we learned from our mother.

Be kind

Be a good friend

If people visit, feed them

Be tolerant of people who are different.

If someone is in need of transportation, provide it cheerfully

If you encounter someone who is needy, give food or help, not money

If you are seated and an older person arrives, get up and offer your chair

If you want something, work for it; If you don’t work for it, it’s not yours

If you have a chance to learn something, take the opportunity

Education is the most important thing you can do for yourself

Fight back when you need to; walk away when it is necessary

A gift made is infinitely more treasured than a gift bought

There is always something interesting to see or do

Never be dependent upon someone else

Take vitamins

Because I am your mother

If you read a good book, share it

If you come for a visit, wear lipstick

Bring children, but not for too long

If I give you something, don’t sell it

If you don’t want it anymore, give it back

If you have company for dinner, the bread will burn

Give your company the biggest piece of pie

Don’t throw anything away; just buy a new shed

If occasionally, you are called “what’s-his-name,” don’t take it personally

Tell me the gossip, but don’t get me involved because it’s not my business

Don’t call before 9 AM; Don’t call when my novellas are on

If you don’t show up when it’s time to go, you will be left

If you are accused of being stubborn, claim you are just independent

Be careful of where you write your name

You only have one mother.

And we had a good one. We love you, Mama,

Maggie, Sheila, and Keith