My mother did not like her name. She went by Maxine, never Meta. I only realized how much she did not like it once I floated the idea of naming one of my children Maxine. My mom told me she’d disown me if I did. She never talked like that, so I took her at her word, which I always did because mom was plainspoken and truly said what she meant. I had my own sneaky way of getting things past her. My oldest child is named Margaret, which is a derivative of Meta. So there, Mom! My brother playfully named his french poodle Maxine as another way to get around Mom’s dislike for her name.
Growing up in post-depression Illinois, a few things always stood out in her childhood. Mom often told the story of working at the laundromat at 14 and being in charge for a year. Her paycheck came home to support her family in 1944 and 45.
She set her sights on life beyond Quincy’s difficulties, joined the FBI, and traveled to Boston, DC, and Hawaii, where through her friend from Boston, now married to a Naval officer who worked with Frank Andrews, she met that widowed Navy commander with five kids. Mom was for anyone needing help. My dad kept a written list on the basement door of his home office. The list was titled ” Why I believe in God.” Meta Maxine was at the top of the list. He believed God, in His Goodness, had sent her into his life during a tremendous sorrow and need.
She was beyond thrilled when I was accepted to the Naval Academy.
She was adamant that she wasn’t going to hover and help when I had children. After delivery, she stayed for days, never a week. She never told me what I should do.
When I was sick with cancer in Hawaii, she came out for a month at a time and just served us.
Her magical sense of order astounded us well into her 80s. When my parents allowed us to live for nine months with six kids, she did all the cooking and laundry. We couldn’t figure out how she’d be sitting reading a book or watching a TV, and the house would be in fine order. The laundry was in its own order of magnitude for service, as evidenced by the photo below. She insisted we bring our ironing to her Ginger Cove residence.
Doing was loving for my mom, and she never pre-qualified anyone for that help.
She was the hero in my stories long before I could even recognize it.
Post-script – Life has a funny way of talking to you. I started this post in August with no clue that Mom wouldn’t get to see her 92nd birthday. As with any deeply human life, while her story may have ended, there are not enough stories to contain all the love and care that was Meta Maxine.
I remember the ironing for you! I thought at the time what a lovely idea. I’m so sorry for your loss. May God keep those sweet memories close to your heart.
We have been blessed with, as my mom would say, That one is a goodie!
I’m so sorry for your loss, Mary. I remember your mother as someone who served a homemade dessert to the gathering of your homeschooling mom friends at your home before quickly leaving us to chat, barely acknowledging our thanks as she hastily departed. You’ve described her so well. I can see that hers was a life of selfless service to others. We would all do well to follow her example.
Thanks for the memory, Vicki – Makes me smile.
I love your mom’s joy-filled face at the top of this post. She was enjoying the moment. May the God of all comfort fill you with His peace and strength as you and your family go through this time of mourning. Love you, Mary!
Thanks for your kindness