The Plaid Skirt: Lessons From a Mother
By Teresa Higginbotham
My mother told me so many things. She told me not to mix polka-dots
with stripes; she told me nice girls don't give their big brothers
a black eye; and she showed me sometimes you just have to keep on
going even though it seems like life is against you.
When my mother was forty-two she was suddenly struck down from being
a woman full of energy to someone who could barely get out of bed.
She was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, but not the kind that
just kind of hurts here and there, it was if she had the super-duper
version of it. In the beginning it was very scary, because we didn't
know it could affect someone so suddenly and so severely. My mother
was in a lot of pain and very depressed. I stayed home from school
to take care of her. Instead of being there for me as she always
had been, she withdrew. She stepped out of our lives emotionally as
she dealt with this demon. I saw my mother negative and grumpy,
something she almost never was before the arthritis. I guess I saw
my mother "the human being" for the first time and it almost broke
my heart. As a parent you never want to see your child hurting and
as a child I never wanted to see my mother hurting. She was in deep
pain both physically and emotionally. She cried and lay in bed for
two weeks. Slowly the doctors got her back on her feet, but she was
never the same sprightly woman I had known growing up. She walked
slowly and every step was a labor. Her hands gnarled up and she
looked so different.
When she was finally able to walk across the room she told me to get
dressed to go to the store. I was worried about her state of mind,
but went and put my shoes on. We drove to the local department store.
The time of the year was early spring. There was snow clinging to the
ground, and the sky was gray, but inside the store there were short
sleeve blouses and skirts of bright warm colors. It had to have been
painful for my mother, but as we saw the pinks, and blues, oranges
and greens, it was like we were both energized. My mother, who never
bought anything for herself, started throwing things in the basket.
My mouth was open when I saw her throw an orange and blue plaid skirt
into the cart. It was so bright it seemed a little much, for another
her eyes had a steely look to them. My mother always wore navy blue,
gray, maroon--never had I seen her in...orange plaid.
"Mom, you want this?" I raised an eyebrow.
She gritted her teeth and looked at me as if she was loading a canon
against the illness trying to take her down. "Yes...I want to start
new.... I want to be a part of life again...I ought to show up just
fine in this." We both looked at each other, tears in our eyes,
oblivious to other shoppers and specials being announced over the
loud speakers. She was ready to start life again.... It wouldn't
be the same...but she was back, anyway.
She did get back. She gave up her job at Sears working on the phone
and began selling real estate. She still had trouble walking and
some days could barely grip a doorknob, but it didn't seem to slow
her down. She refused to let it.
Eventually, I too became a mom. I found many battles waiting along
the way, but have always fallen back on that poignant moment in my
memory of the plaid skirt. When my second son, Andrew, was born with
Down syndrome, I too was thrown off my feet for a few months. Then
I realized that like my mother, life was going to be whatever I made
of it. I could hide out and hope no one noticed my child was different
or I could get back into life. I could look at him for what he
couldn't do or I could look at him for what he could do.
Sometimes you just have to go about life in a proud, plaid way. My
mother never told me that--like all good teachers--she showed me.
About the Author:
Teresa Higginbotham lives in Texas with her husband and three children.
She writes "Tightwad Tess" articles about frugal living, homemaking,
and parenting and family humor. Visit her at her website
Tightwad Tess.
Article copyright 2000 by Teresa Higginbotham
