Mary H. Hobbs

It feels as if I tried a thousand times to find the words to say my mother was the most wonderful person on earth. I’m not often a person without words, as most of you know, but this by far seems the most important and hardest thing I ever had to write. It’s almost as if by not ever saying the words goodbye, it never has to be real, maybe that’s why it’s so hard. I hoped and prayed somehow I’d never have to. Maybe it’s because I know there are no words eloquent nor simple enough to describe a whole life of love this woman gave to me and all in her family, including church family and friends. She didn’t like things too flowery or showy except in her garden or in nature. I’m guessing she believed that was God’s whole purpose for flowers anyways. I shared with her so much of the beauty of those flowers and the squirrels, raccoons, opossums, feral cats and vast array of so many birds, some of whom came faithfully  to her kitchen window and tapped at the acrylic feeder there signaling the need for another refill.  I remember her telling me things like - do you hear that bird, he’s saying pretty, pretty. I’ll miss the dense thickets of carolina jasmine no longer there behind her house since the city took over and wanted that wonderful copse of wild growth removed for a stream that flowed perfectly fine without its removal. I remember the tiny Carolina wren hatchling rescued by my daughter, Angel Sanchez and niece, Halie Brewer - restoring him to the found nest in our large, capped propane gas tank. I watched their first flight and exodus to a rose of Sharon tree in the next backyard but our rescue fellow didn’t really want to leave. He came right to the open back door and chirped a bit, then flew to a support tie mom had put on one of the rose bushes around the back patio and stubbornly stayed and stayed till a weary parent came and perched on a tiki torch pole just above the rose bush and fussed and fussed at him until he finally made the 6 or 7 ft. flight to their new home in the rose of Sharon next door. So many beautiful memories of her in my life, how gracious, poised, and giving her nature and yet still the occasional unexpected moments of delightful sass she was also sometimes capable of. It was as if her inner child just had to get out every now and then. She was so good with every child and the most precious story telling and book reading, homework helping,  cookie, cake and bread baking, fried chicken slinging, granny with all the gifts to beguile even the most solemn of children, so much that none could remain so for long in her presence. She just had that nature of delight and a gift of nurture like no other that brought out the best in each of us. You never had to worry about any of it being generic either for she custom tailored to us all, finding out what we liked best, what our hearts desired most and did everything in her power to encourage our talents and help us through our rough patches in life. I just don’t know a woman more selfless than this angel to us all. But just as that little bird, who incidentally came back year after year and made his presence known at that back door and once flew right in it and sang us a special song, she finally got her new wings to fly to her new home as well. 

I just want her to know I’ll be visiting every day in Gods’ church in our backyard, for if there were ever a soul who knew my heart inevitably without ever having known it all, I would say it was Emily Dickinson with her poem that makes me think of mom and how I cherish this modest little paradise where I can “see” her and feel her too, whenever I want and need to...because to me there is no place on earth that God’s presence is greater.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.

BY EMILY DICKINSON

So much love to you momma...Granny, and surely, now, God’s favorite new angel of all.