A Gift from Mom

I think we all go through that phase where we are mortified by the thought of being seen with our parents.  I remember clearly asking to be let off at the movie theater 3 blocks away from the entrance, so that everyone would never suspect that I had ever been given birth two by those embarrassing creatures.

My mom especially liked to torment me with her music and would grab anything and turn it into a guitar and wail some Elvis song at the top of her lungs.  My friends always thought it was hilarious but I always wanted to crawl into the nearest closet and hide.


Music was the one constant in our household.  Whenever we had family reunions, my mom's 13, yes 13, brothers and sisters would break out into a beautiful sing along of old gospel hymns, some of which had been written by my grandfather, CC Clements.

My mom passed away after a long illness in 2001 and we were left with the task of cleaning up and clearing out her things.  Mom always had a cedar chest at the foot of her bed which my brother and I were banned from ever going through.

A couple weeks after she died, our dad told us to go through the chest and take what we wanted.  Upon opening the mysterious trunk, we w pored through all kinds of items Mom had kept from our childhood.  Old pajamas, books, assignments both good and bad.  It was a virtual time capsule.

At the bottom of the trunk there was a odd mass of crumbled cellophane that was yellowed and flaking.  I picked it up and began peeling away the layers like an onion.  Much to my surprise it was an old record with my grandmothers writing on it.  Mom had never told us, but she had recorded a demo record with my grandfather and I was holding it in my hands decades after it had been recorded.

I excitedly ran over to a record player that had been gathering dust in my dad's den for the last 20 years and attempted to play the record, but the player had long since broken down.  Where to go?

I finally got the idea to take it to a recording studio and see if they would be willing to play it.  I found one locally and was greeted at the entrance by a giant of a man.  I told him that my mom had just died and that I thought this might be a recording of her.  He seemed interested enough and agreed to throw it on the turntable.  He left me down in the studio and he proceeded up to the booth where he put it on.

After a few very scratchy stops and starts the sounds of my then high school age mother and my grandfather began playing from every speaker in the building.  Within just a few seconds I was sobbing; not only was I hearing my recently deceased mother, it was also the first time I had ever heard my grandfathers voice.  I looked up toward the booth and saw the owner, all 300 masculine pounds of him, also weeping like a baby. 

Although the songs were scratchy and a bit difficult to decipher, one song titled "Don't Tell Me Goodbye" truly resonated with me.  Still in the throes of grief, it seemed like Mom was speaking to me from the grave and telling me that all was well.

It was probably the greatest gift I could have ever hoped to receive.