Happy Mother’s Day, Eastern Ohio!

It is still hard for me to believe, but it has been almost seven years since my mother, Grace Compston, died. Mother’s Day has been difficult for me after that, but it gets a little easier every year.

Looking back now, I am not stricken with sadness each time I think about her. These days, my memories of her are far more apt to make me smile or laugh than cry.

Mom was one impressive lady. She overcame physical ailments and injuries many times, and absolutely nothing could stop her from achieving something if she set her mind to it.

People often tell me how they miss her and what they admired most about her: “She was so organized,” they might say. Or, “She really had their number,” folks have noted when talking about how she dealt with an unruly student when she was a school principal. She was known for being a serious, strict leader with high standards in her schools, but she also could be a lot of fun. For example, the entire student body roared with laughter when she kissed a pig as a reward for the kids after they successfully completed a reading challenge.

At home, she was always singing or reciting rhyming phrases or poems — and she made many of them up on her own. I remember her singing as she cleaned the house or rode in the car. And she created catchy little tunes and rhymes to help me learn letters and the basics of reading. One I specifically recall started with “Jenny is a house mouse.” I wish I could remember how the rest of it went, but there’s a good chance it changed with her mood or intended purpose.

Mom never really liked to cook, but she was very good at it. And she was always willing to adapt dishes to suit my dad’s very particular tastes. She added sugar to her chili, for instance, but never used chili powder. She also salted the grounds before she brewed their pot of morning coffee. And I don’t know why I never learned her secret, but she made the best omelets I have ever eaten, consistently, every single time, regardless of what ingredients she had available.

Mom came partially from Welsh ancestry and was born and raised deep in southern Ohio, definitely in the Appalachian foothills. I think that background led to her habit of calling for her kids to come home with a high-pitched and very distinctive “Woo hoo!”

I think it also had a lot to do with why there seemed to be music in everything she said and did. A natural soprano, she also whistled from time to time and could cup her hands together to form a sort of whistling instrument. One of the last things I remember her doing was sitting in her front porch swing, cooing back at the mourning doves that were calling to one another nearby.

All of those are wonderful memories that make me happy when I think about them. And there are plenty of other reasons for me to be happy on Mother’s Day. This year, for instance, I plan to cook a nice dinner for my mother-in-law, Midge Strough. And I know plenty of other mothers who deserve to be celebrated, both on Mother’s Day and every day.

So, although I can’t celebrate with my mother, I can celebrate her memory and enjoy the company of the friends and loved ones who are here today.

I hope you will join me and do the same. We all know mothers who are special people who deserve to have a special day.