Yesterday I glanced at a folder that was in my mom’s belongings. Up to this point, I was intentional about NOT looking through her papers and such—too much. I opened the folder and my eyes focused on her signature. I stared at it for a while, looked away then my eyes locked in on it again. My mom had signed and dated a document on Feb 2, 2012.
Her handwriting is distinct—as most signatures are. She was born as a leftie but was made to write with her right hand. I could recognize it anywhere. Her signature showed up on my school report cards, permission slips, birthday cards, anniversary cards, Christmas cards, Mother’s Day cards, get-well cards, etc. Her handwritten letters bear her signature —“Love You Always, Mom”.
Looking at mom’s signature overwhelmed me. It came with a flood of thoughts. Here’s what I saw in her signature:✍🏾
I can only imagine what she was thinking—actually, I don’t have to imagine. She told us. She always told us—she wanted to be at home—the home she shared with the love of her life. She’d never lived alone. She married at 16. Left her mother’s house and set up her own with my dad. She wanted to be in the home where she felt her husband’s presence, the place where she could see him in every room, see his favorite chair, and throw blanket. The place she could hear his laughter, smell his cologne, see him sitting at the head of the dining room table, saying grace and being surrounded by family, good food, and conversation. The place where she heard him call her name and say “I love you, Bet.” The place where she saw him reading his Bible, heard him cry, and heard him pray…
In spite of it all…she signed her name. ✍️🏾
I saw a brave, bold, and courageous woman. A woman who picked up her life and laid it down in new, unfamiliar surroundings without complaint. You see, 12 years after my dad died in 2000, my mom sold her home and downsized to a senior living community. On February 2, 2012, she signed the lease. She didn’t want to leave the home she shared with my dad—but the upkeep was too much for her—you get the picture. We prayed as a family for the right place for her to begin her new journey. My brother and sister-in-love found the perfect place! She had to make a quick decision that day or else the place would be given to the next person on the ‘waitlist’. She agreed to accept it and signed her name. The signature I was now staring at.
🙏🏾Thank you, Lord, for watching over my reluctant, but bold and courageous mom.❤️