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From time to time, I digress from humor to share memories or recollections from the past. This is one of those times...
This Mother's Day will be the 22nd without my mother. It's hard to imagine that on the anniversary of her death in November, I will be the same age as she was when we lost her in 1983. Fifty-six doesn't seem very old.
I could focus on all the things my mother missed out on—great grandchildren, special events and milestones in the lives of her family. But it occurs to me that her offspring and their achievements would not have been possible had she not been an extraordinary woman, entrepreneur, wife, and mother.
Born in Bosque County in 1927, Denzal Jean Hanna grew up in Johnson County. Her parents, Herbert and Willie Mae Cannon Hanna, established the Hanna Dairy near Godley, which is operated today by her brother, Larry Hanna, and his son, David. My mother married my father, Tommy Reagan (now 86), in 1946, soon after he returned from World War II. I came along in 1949 and my brother, Curry, was born in 1951. Largely due to my mother's urging, Dad gave up his bus driving career and they sold their small grocery store in Cleburne to establish a fishing camp on Lake Whitney in 1953. That's where my brothers (Lyle was born in 1957) and I grew up.
The business grew quickly. Just in her twenties, my mother helped build many of the cabins and our home. She could do remarkable tile work, lay bricks, lay carpet, and she was an expert upholsterer. The signs directing customers to the camp and on the premises were all her perfect, freehand designs. She was an artist. We are all blessed today to have many of her oil paintings and decorative crafts.
I have Mother's recipe book with notations such as "add 1/2 cup more sugar," "this is a good one..." and other comments. And her Bible, with so many favorite passages underlined and stuffed with prayer lists and requests. Oh so many of those prayers have been answered!
Mother loved music and you could often hear her singing or whistling while she worked. She taught me "Mockingbird Hill," "Jesus Loves Me," and so many songs when I was small. She taught me to write by allowing me to copy labels from cans and mark prices with a grease pencil in the camp's grocery store. Mama taught me to ride a bike, do the hoola hoop, the jitterbug, play canasta, and crochet. She was always a room mother, picked us up from school as often as she could so we wouldn't have to endure the long bus route, and never missed any of our ballgames or piano/dance recitals.
Lyle recalls when he was a pre-schooler, with no one home to play with, one day my mother put the "closed" sign on the grocery store, went out into the back yard with him, and they spent the afternoon playing with road graders, bulldozers, and tractors, building roads and dams—even tiny ponds.
When I close my eyes, I can almost feel her arms wrapped around me in a warm hug or tying my sash. I can hear her chuckle, and in my mind, envision the sparkle in her blue eyes and smile upon her lips.
As Mother's Day approaches, I remember my mother with great affection. Do you remember yours?
