A Monday memory....(day late)

December the third would have been the 90th birthday of my mother-in-law, Lyla.

She passed away in 1996, nearly three months to the day after her husband, Keith. They had been together for over forty-eight years, so I don't think we were really surprised that she "joined" him so quickly.

Lyla was a lovely, tiny woman, standing barely five feet tall.  She was very proud of several things, most importantly her son, her home and her garden.  And she had every right to be for each were wonderful.

Lyla was born and raised in Belfast, Ireland.  Though a shy and timid woman, I believe she had a deep wellspring of inner courage from which she drew upon during her lifetime. Taking advantage of the career which  my father-in-law chose, Lyla and he were able to travel and spend several years living in two exotic and distinctive countries - Turkey and Hong Kong.  Otherwise, home was in England. "Mum" was happiest either puttering in her garden or tidying up her house.  

I'll always remember one story she told me about doing her "decorating", which is the word the English use to describe painting and wallpapering.  She had a habit of changing out the wallpaper in the lounge (living room) once a year.  One time she said she had gotten a late start in the day, but was absolutely determined to get the job done before going to bed.  So she kept at it and didn't quit until the last sheet of paper was hung.  

Unfortunately, when the light of day dawned and Mum came out into the lounge, it was to find that she had hung several sheets of wallpaper upside down!  She said she learned a very good lesson indeed that time, not to push herself when she was clearly too tired to pay attention to the details.

Mum also loved her role as "Nanny" to her six grandchildren - three in England and three in America.  The time she and my father-in-law spent with the children during their yearly visits was something she treasured, I'm sure, and was worth all the worry and stress of traveling across the Atlantic.  I often thought she loved the evenings the best - giving the little ones "their wee bath" then wrapping them in towels and hugging them tight.  Later, when they would come down dressed in their jammies to say good night, she would gather them up, kiss them and pronounce, "Oh, don't you look lovely!"

When traveling became too difficult for my in-laws, we relied heavily on phone calls and letter writing to stay in touch.  In those last letters I wrote to her I tried to express my deep gratitude to Mum for having raised a truly wonderful son, my husband.  I wanted so much for her to know that.

I can still see her, sitting in the garden of our first house, looking over at the Englishman and saying with such pride,  "My son."

How lovely is that!