My Sue

My mother, Sue Salley, died on Monday afternoon, July 19^th almost seven months after her husband and my daddy, George, died. Those seven months in between were so hard on her. She tried to push through, and we tried to push her to push through, but she was tired, and she was sad. Until the moment she left us, I was planning for “how can we make Mama better?”. I know that now, she is so much better – she is pain-free and whole and unburdened and joyful – those are things only possible for her in heaven. My heart misses her terribly, and I hope to honor her with my words today.

To understand my mother, you have to first understand that she experienced many hard things during her life. Her mother became sick with breast cancer when Mom was 6 and died when Mom was 16 – she did not get much of a childhood. After she and Daddy married, she had several miscarriages and a stillborn son. Her son, David, died in a car accident the summer of 1977 when he was 16. She was diagnosed with breast cancer herself in 2015. Just as she was recovering, Daddy’s dementia became obvious, and she instantly switched into the role of primary caregiver.

Mama and I had a unique bond. I was born in the halfway point of her life – after more grief than most people experience in a lifetime. Over the years, many people have said that I “saved my parents”. I hated it when they said that – those words felt like a lot of pressure. Today though, I am so thankful that my childhood was able to minister to them, whatever joy I was able to bring back to their house was my privilege. Toward the end of Mom’s and Dad’s lives, I had to flip into a care coordinator/helper role – one I was proud to be able to fill, but one that also came with a lot of worries and concerns and pulled emotions as I was also a mom taking care of my own children.

1 John 3:18 says to us, “Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth.” This describes my mother’s love so purely. Sue was shy. She wasn’t a woman to cover you with emotion-filled words of encouragement, but she showed encouragement with every action. The late nights sewing some sort of costume or another for me because it was important to me, showing up or taking me to every lesson, show, recital, game, or afternoon at the swimming pool…all these actions and so many more demonstrated her love to me.

Mama instilled truths in me that shaped me. Most importantly, she prayed, told me about Jesus, and took me to church at every opportunity. Beyond that though, somehow she was able to impress into me that I was unique – and that that was something to be proud of. I didn’t need to be like everyone else to be pretty or smart or happy – I just needed to be like me. For a redheaded kid who didn’t fit anyone else’s mold, those were lessons that built confidence, and I had no idea.

She also taught me that trends are fine, but they’re not all for everyone. You have to analyze and decide if something looks good on you and feels authentic to you, and if it doesn’t, there should be no pressure to wear that trend. This one may sound silly, but it’s foundational to me. And it also follows the “it’s okay to be unique” pattern.

I was Mama’s sidekick. We did everything together during my childhood. Countless Saturday trips to the Green Apple or Murphy’s, or to Starkville to the Carousel (or so many other shops just window shopping and scouting out all the purses and shoes – Mama loved purses and shoes). Oh, and the trips to Columbus to see Suzanne (my older sister) – I felt like I was a college girl myself.  I never ever had a babysitter. This is ironic as my mother ran a daycare in our home. Every Saturday night, I was doing whatever she and Daddy were doing – lots of car time with them and their friends – I was always the only kid. This may explain why I’ve always basically acted like an adult (or as Bettye Stewart described me, “I was born grown” – Mama thought that was very funny).

Such a southern lady, Sue insisted on earrings and lipstick, always. Also, Blue Plate is the “family mayonnaise” (though I’ve veered from this one at times and been fussed at when Hellman’s was in my refrigerator). Fashion and appearance were not things she agonized over, but she always wanted to look her best – even in her later years if she felt good at all, when she would come to my house for a doctor’s appointment, she would be so cute and sassy.

I can’t begin to know how much I’m going to miss her. I won’t be the only one.

Looking into the future without her on Earth, I’m going to do my best to see her imprint everywhere. I will not be able to think of the “Fruits of the Spirit” without thinking of her and how she quietly lived them out – I want to be like that. Love you mama…