Blueberry Hill

“That is why we labor and strive, because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, and especially of those who believe.” 1 Timothy 4:10 NIV

My mom used to love an old song called “Blueberry Hill” by Fats Domino. The song says, “I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill. On Blueberry Hill, when I found you.” We did not have a lot of music playing in our house growing up, but there were a couple of exceptions. My dad listened to bluegrass by Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs. My mom listened to Fats Domino. She may have listened to other music, but that one was always at full volume. If you heard that song, my mom was going to be in a good mood. She was also going to be singing to it and dancing, which was unusual for my mom. She was probably going to be a little obnoxious, just to mess with us.

The original song was about an actual place called The Blueberry Hill Café in St. Louis, Missouri. The song is written about finding your true love. As much as the song bugged me back then, I love the memory now. History may not remember my mom. Her lifetime accomplishments were not historically remarkable. What our family history will remember most about her was that she actually found her thrill, she found my dad; then they found us. When my oldest sister was born my dad was on a ship near Korea. I just heard this story today, but he had to walk the length of the ship to get the message and by the time he got back to his buddies he forgot what mom named her. He didn’t meet her for about a year, which means mom was on her own.

She was born in 1935. That date seems impossibly long ago now. She grew up in a big family and she wanted a big family. She did not have much growing up, nobody did back then. Her mom was probably the most intimidating person I knew growing up. Sallie Becker was tough. City kids who did not know a thing about living in the country tried her patience at times. City kids who thought they knew too much about life in the city sometimes drove my mom crazy too.

Her life was hard and at times rough. There was not always a lot of optimism going around when she was young. There was always hard work to do. I have thought about her all day because when I got up this morning it had been 18 years since she died. I am not going sad on you here, there is a point.

Specifically, I am aware of her life growing up. I am aware of some of my parents struggles, but I also know that we were unaware of most of their struggles. I am aware that she battled clinically severe anxiety most of her life. I remember seeing her reactions when her sister died and when she had to tell my dad that his mom had died. I remember when we were all looking and found her brother Russell. I remember her when some of the struggles of my siblings happened. I remember when she told us she had Parkinson’s and I remember her fight with it. It traveled down one side of her body and then back up the other. She died at age 69 after fighting it for around 30 years. My wife unknowingly cooked her last meal, and I will never forget the satisfaction of the dessert that night, Banana Split pie. My mom weighed around 100 pounds but she ate more sweets than anyone I have ever known. I remember some absolutely hard things. But that is not what is remarkable about her to me.

What I remember as remarkable about her was her love for my dad. I remember her setting aside food when he was working late so we would not eat it. I remember her setting us aside for him to deal with when he got home from work. I remember her love for us. We drove her crazy at times and she had to be exhausted at times. That did not stop her from finding the thrill of life. In spite of struggle, she was thrilled to live.

I remember a blue fake fur coat that she wore. Blue, fake and fur should not exist in the same sentence. I remember her working in the cafeteria at our elementary school and later in the school library. I remember nearly every time I walked through either of those two places, she was laughing at something. I remember she was not afraid to laugh, at us or herself.

I remember she made me pick out and wrap a present for my brother for Christmas one year and then gave it to me for Christmas, and my birthday since it was the next day. I remember her laugh when she handed it to me. Fortunately, I picked something I liked, a Hasbro electronic football game. It would probably be a very valuable toy today if we had not destroyed it. Back in the days when phones were attached to the wall, I remember when my sisters would call her on the phone, she would set the phone down on the counter and go stir dinner or dry a dish and then sneak back over to the phone to see if they were still talking. She would just look at me and grin.

I have never told our daughter Aly this before, but she reminds me of my mom, goofy on the outside, but a mom and a wife who loves. Aly has no memory of my mom when she was well. Parkinson’s did it’s damage before she was old enough to know her well. They would have got along like old friends. They would have laughed a lot.

Will the people in your life remember that you loved them? If not, maybe you should start to change that.

Who, or what, is your “thrill”, the love of your life? If you haven’t found it yet, are you still looking?

Challenge: Don’t give up on it. Life is too short to not find your thrill.

Rick Claiborn