It was a big deal, then, when she went with us to Las Vegas for our daughter Terry's college graduation.
Mom had never been to Vegas. For most of her life she'd loved to travel, but at 78 she was frequently in pain and always walked with a cane. She also hated leaving her home and her cat in someone else's care, trusting only my cousin Ted to do a good job.
We offered to fly her there and back, sparing her the experience of a road trip of almost 450 miles one way. Still, she opted for the whole road trip, including the post-graduation trip to Disneyland. She'd be rooming with us, and sharing a bed with our oldest daughter. The kids were thrilled.
The graduation invitations had indicated that the ceremony would be held not at the school, a hotel or an auditorium, but at the Fashion Show Mall. We found that very odd - a mall? Really? Then we attended the rehearsal and saw why. The graduates would enter by being raised up out of the floor in a huge glass sided elevator, then walk down the fashion show catwalk, all the while accompanied by special effects smoke, lights and music. I forget which of my family said it first - "It's a very Vegas graduation."
So there's my elderly mom, surrounded by the regular shoppers, the graduation crowd, and loud rock and roll accompanied by smoke, in the Fashion Show Mall on the Las Vegas Strip. It would not have been unheard of for her to simply flee, but she didn't. She sat through the whole thing.
She also let us take photographs of her afterward. This too was not something she enjoyed. To say that she hated to be photographed is understating things. She would, however, agree to a few on special occasions.
Look at the sheer joy in that photo!
There was no question that she was proud of Terry.
Three years later, when Lana, our oldest, graduated from college in Provo, Utah, it was important to her to have Grandma there. It was even more important because she was getting married the day after graduation.
Again, we offered to fly Mom there and back. This time, it was 560 miles one way. Again, she opted for the road trip and shared hotel, this time sharing a bed with Terry.
She was even slower and in more pain when she walked than she had been for Terry's graduation. Climbing in and out of our Suburban was difficult, painful and laborious, yet she didn't even consider not going.
Take a look at the size of that auditorium, and how high up we were sitting! Still, not a single complaint - not so much as a bad mood from Mom.
After she passed away, Lana found that "I <3 BYU" button in Mom's bedroom.
The graduation was so huge that it spread over 2 days. If you wanted to actually hear your name called and to walk across the stage, you had to attend your department's ceremony the day after the huge commencement. Mom was in such pain from navigating the campus that she skipped those ceremonies for our son in law (morning) and daughter (afternoon). Even then she didn't complain, but simply said, "If I'm going to be up to all the walking tomorrow, I have to rest today."
Weddings in our temples tend to be small and private, often with only the couple and their witnesses or their immediate family present. Often, even the wedding party is not present for the actual ceremony. The reception tends to be the big event. Sometimes, there's more than one reception, especially if the wedding takes place away from the bride's or groom's home town. I've known couples who've had a wedding luncheon for the family and wedding party after the ceremony, gone on their honeymoon, and then returned to a reception in the bride's home town and one in the groom's home town.
In order to witness the actual wedding ceremony, you need to be an adult member of our church, in good standing, and have received certain ordinances.
Because they've grown up in this culture, my kids have never minded not attending someone's actual wedding, even when they're in the wedding party. They don't mind at all waiting in the waiting room. I fit all the requirements to attend the ceremony, but I've spent many weddings in the waiting room, simply because I'm not immediate family (and the rooms are small). I find that to be normal. Others, though, especially those who aren't members of our church or those who haven't been exposed to LDS weddings, find it very odd and are sometimes quite put out.
Not my mom.
Allow me to digress a bit here for some history. I joined my church, by myself but with my parents' permission, when I was 12. My dad's family was not particularly religious at all. My mom's family was moderately religious; they claimed a denomination, and my mom was baptized as a baby. When my siblings and I were children, we attended church once a year, on Easter, at the Methodist church.
All three of my mother's daughters joined churches that our parents did not attend. It did not bother or fluster Mom in any way. She spent all of my pre-driving years driving me to and from church services and activities. Sometimes, when invited, she'd attend meetings or activities with my sister, with me or even with my cousins. She never felt that anyone, at any church, was trying to convert her, or was judging her, or was expecting her to explain herself. If she had, she would have firmly declined any further invitations. When one of her granddaughters converted to Judaism and married a rabbi, my mother met it with the same acceptance and grace and true happiness for her that she had exhibited when her daughters joined Christian churches.
One of the governing documents of my religion says, "We claim the privilege of worshipping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where or what they may." I had been taught that precept by example my entire childhood, so when I heard it, I already knew of its validity. Your worship, or lack of it, is between you and God. I am neither of those people. I might admire you, pity you, or be annoyed by you, but it won't affect whether I love you or how I treat you. I learned that first, and best, from my mom.
Mom was not into very existential "there is no right, there is no wrong" philosophies. She was very sure of what she felt was right and what she felt was wrong. She just had no interest in making you agree with her, or even in knowing if you did or not.
I have seen and heard the way some other people react to situations similar to ours. Relatives who can't attend the wedding ceremony are very hurt, feel very left out, and are often vocal. They say things like, "I've waited my whole life to see you walk down the aisle!" and, "Your church can't really care very much about families if they're willing to put them through this kind of pain."
My mom, far from home and in physical pain, didn't even think about complaining. It's not as if she put on a happy face for us and vented to people about how awful and inconsiderate it was after she got back home. Trust me, my mother had no problem being very vocal about her displeasure. She never even considered that the day should be about what she wanted or expected. It was about what Lana and Craig wanted, and she was truly happy for them that they got to have what THEY wanted. She was very, very happy that her presence there that day made her granddaughter happy.
She wore the same dress she'd worn to my wedding 24 years earlier. It matched Lana's wedding colors.
She waited in the waiting room with the younger children during the ceremony. They had loaner wheelchairs, which she accepted after three full days of walking farther than normal, and climbing in and out of our behemoth of a vehicle. After the family photos were taken, a family friend - the closet thing we had to our side of the family being there that day - whisked her off on a tour after hearing that she'd never been in Salt Lake City before. She loved it.
She spent the reception that evening commenting on how happy the couple was, and what a wonderful thing it was for them to have a happy wedding day. She even let us take more photos.
A week later, after their honeymoon, she braved a larger crowd to attend the reception in our home town. Almost all of my side of the family made it there; my sister and her husband drove for 12 hours to attend the reception, then drove 12 hours back home so as not to miss work. My daughter felt very loved.
Some people spend a lot of time talking about tolerance, consideration, kindness and respect. Often, unfortunately, I have observed that what they mean is, "I don't think that you are sending enough of these things my way. You should do better." My mom didn't spend much time talking about such things, or telling us to treat everyone with respect; she just did it. She never said, "So-and-so is just as good as we are, even though his skin is a different color;" she treated So-and-so the same way she treated everyone else. We learned by watching.
So many people don't understand the difference between understanding someone, accepting someone and agreeing with them. They say, "I want your understanding," when what they mean is, "I want you to agree with me." They say, "I just can't accept you because of your belief system," instead of realizing that it's totally possible to accept someone while disagreeing with them. I think I have an easier time navigating those feelings than many people do, because I had such a stellar example.
Just as an aside, the niece I mentioned who married the rabbi - perhaps that's not an entirely accurate way to describe it. The rabbi is a lovely, red haired woman, and as far as I know, they haven't had a ceremony, religious, legal or private. They simply decided to form a family - and so, years ago, I gained a niece, my kids gained a cousin, my mom gained a granddaughter.
(Postscript: four years after this was written, my nieces made it official with a wedding on the beach, attended by their children.)
One of the last pieces of mail my mother got was a card from those nieces, letting her know the gender of the baby they're expecting. "Did you know that Kara and Mari are having a girl?" she excitedly asked Terry that night. She was looking forward to this 5th great-grandchild. None of us are concerned with the biology of this child; she's already ours, and always will be.
I have no idea how my mom felt about many things, including gay marriage. I do know that I was raised to accept others for who they are, not who we want them to be. We do not need to agree to love one another, to treat each other with respect and kindness, and to enjoy each other's company. My mother taught me that. My religion reinforced it. Most of the people I choose to fill my life with embrace it.
Take a look again at the elderly woman in a wheelchair, in front of a building she would never enter. That is the face of religious tolerance. That is the face of someone so secure in her belief system that she didn't need to challenge or argue with anyone. That is the face of love and acceptance. That is the woman who taught me that to be sure of yourself does not mean belittling or demeaning others.
That is my mom.
