Liz's Lesson Learned: Inheritance Pt. 3

I inherited the understanding that family time is vital.   So many times, we sat around our one TV and watched shows like The Andy Griffith Show, I Love Lucy, The Flintstones, Good Times, The Jeffersons, and The Cosby Show.  The way we cleaned house to the soulful sounds of R&B, the twangy lilt of country music, the spirit-filled melodies of gospel music, the soothing sounds of jazz, and so many other music genres. 

Mom, can you hear yourself telling me, ‘Elizabeth, you cannot go off in a huff because you are losing the game.  You have to be as nice when you lose as when you win.”  Dad, you would add with that wicked laugh of yours, “And, if you can’t be happy, then don’t let the others know.”

How about those rides when the eight of us would go to that frozen custard place for simple but treasured treats?

Remember that drugstore across the street from Bethlehem?  You know, that store that later moved way down the street?  At least it seemed way down the street to us when we were little.  We would scoot off to that store with a quarter in our hand to buy some goodies while we waited for the end of the service or a meeting at church to end.

Mom, most of the time when you went out of town, we went with you.  That one time when you went to the usher’s convention on the West Coast and then on to Hawaii for another week, we missed you. But we had fun with Dad while you were gone.

Dad, after you retired, you made us Cream of Wheat more often. Somehow, you could make lump-free mashed potatoes (I later discovered that I, too, had that skill). As you grew older, it became harder for you to make mashed potatoes and cream of wheat lump-free.  But I did not mind. I ate around those lumps because I was eating with you, and we were looking out the kitchen window, chatting about the goings on outside. 

Mom, I do a pretty good job of making sweet potatoes because I learned the recipe from you.  The same is true about making cornbread dressing. 

Mom, singing “Oh Promise Me” and “Because” at my wedding made your day, didn’t it?

By the way, Mom and Dad, it was okay that you could not afford for me to be a Debutante because you made me feel like one every day.

The courage it took for you to allow me to go first to Ohio to attend Oberlin and then to New York to pursue dancing. Thank you for being willing to welcome me back home each time I left for College in Ohio or career choices in New York City.  You opened your arms as if I were the prodigal child.  You loved me so hard with so few material things.  To fight for me so fiercely.  To make me feel strong, even when I wasn’t sure I had strength.  To patch me up when I burned my stomach while making baby formula for my little brother.  To take me to the doctor when that hardball whacked me in the eye.  To replace my eyeglasses each time they broke.  To believe me and make it all right when I was raped. To make me feel beautiful no matter what…

Oh, can you see how I still encourage your children to hold onto the house so our disabled sister will always have a place to live?  I inherited this desire for my children always to have a place to live should they need it. 

As long as you could, Mom, you looked after your third daughter had an aneurysm and stroke.  You also told us to make sure she had a place to live until she died.  That inspired me to have a place for my beautiful granddaughter, who is so capable but still requires assistance in order to be successful.  I inherited the determination that family should always have a home.

Dad, I walked with you to church when our car would not work.  A long walk to that first church.  It was only a mile to the church where you would be laid to rest.  Memories of prayer meetings, Bible study, and watching the two of you as church leaders and deacons  are still with me.

Remember how the eight of us sang together in the Gospel Choir.  Mom, you played the piano on occasions when we sang as a family group. 

Mom, you and I debated so many religious topics throughout the years.  I remember how you thought I had become an atheist because I asked you so many challenging questions about different faith traditions.

Mom, one of the last questions you whispered to me was, “I can go and be with Jesus, no?” 

I replied, “Yes, you sure can.  I love you, Mom.”  From your last words, I inherited the wisdom to know that if I cling to Jesus, I will be all right.   I inherited a faith that tells my heart Jesus is real.  I knew for sure that heaven was in your sights and that one day, heaven would be my home too.

These are just a few of the things you left me to cherish.  Pearls that I now share with my children and grandchildren.  Can you feel how my heart is still warmed? Can you see the smile on my lips and the moisture on my cheeks?  I love you both very much.  Mom and Dad, you are the true embodiment of my inheritance. 

Mom and Dad, who knows, perhaps one day when my kids read this, they will realize the life we have shared created the inheritance you left me.  And maybe, this will be an important part of the inheritance I pass on to them.

Well, we will have to chat later because I’m a little spent now.  Oh, but what an inheritance!!

Rest well, I love you.