My mind is wandering back nearly 30 years ago.

It was a fall day. The kind of day when the sky is so blue that when you look at it you don’t want to look away. You just want to soak it in. You think to yourself that you’ve never seen such a clear sky or a more incredible shade of blue. A little deeper toward the horizon. A little brighter overhead.

And being fall, the air was perfect. The first hint of coolness hits you when you walk out the front door of the house. Inside, you don’t know what it’s like out there, but as soon as you open the door you feel it. You breathe it. You stand still for a moment because everything feels so fresh. You can feel the lightness in the air. No humidity for the first time since last spring.

I remember this day because I was working at Callaway Gardens when I got the phone call.

My oldest daughter was up in Hampton visiting with Grandmama and Granddaddy for the weekend. She was young enough that she still enjoyed being with my folks and old enough to want to have them to herself without her brother and sister. She was running solo on this visit.

Mama loved our kids. My sister never had kids, so mine were the only grands that Mama got to love on. I think maybe she was a little envious of some of her friends who had a whole passel of grands running around. And some of them bragged about it a little too much.

You know the kind. “Oh Honey. You only got three! I’ve got 14 grandchildren. The middle one is the Valedictorian of her graduating class. And I’ve got 4 great-grandchildren. The youngest is already reading and spelling and she’s only 18 months old.”

Gheez!

Mama was good with us as kids. I don’t think she was born to be a mom. Some are like that. They just live for motherhood and seem to have a natural gift and energy for it. My mama wasn’t like that, but she had her own way of making us feel special.

I don’t think we were spoiled or doted upon. We had chores. We had to help with washing and drying dishes. We had to vacuum and help clean up. But she was always doing for us. Doing extra stuff that went beyond the necessary duties of being a mom. She sewed clothes for my sister. She fixed my torn jeans or made cut-off shorts out of them when I asked her. She made the cakes and desserts we liked just because we liked them. Whenever she peeled an orange, she always gave me the fattest wedge.

I can remember her in the stands at the baseball field in Hampton, too. I’ve got this image locked in my head of her sitting in the bleachers over the third base dugout. I’m shuffling my feet and getting set at shortstop. She’s yelling loud enough I can hear her voice. I’m sure Dad was there, too. But in this particular case it’s Mama whom I remember most.

Anyway, my daughter was up in Hampton to visit for the weekend. Saturday morning came and Grandmama wanted to take her shopping up at Southlake Mall near Atlanta. That was fine with Dad because he wanted to get some firewood cut and he didn’t care a thing about going shopping.

I don’t actually know the details of the shopping trip, but I can imagine because I know my Mama. They would have spent a good bit of their time in Rich’s. Mama mostly liked to look and complain about the prices. I’m sure they dug through the racks of little girl dresses.

“Would you look at that. So pretty.” Saying to my daughter, “Wouldn’t you like a dress like that?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, we’ll go down the mall to the fabric shop, and I’ll bet we can find a Simplicity pattern just like this dress and I’ll make it for you.”

Maybe that’s where I got my tendency from. I look at a table, or a desk, or a cabinet or something simple like that and I think, “I’m not paying that…not when I could make it myself.”

Of course, I almost never do.

And that’s the difference. Mama followed through. She made a bazillion dresses at her sewing machine. She sewed for herself. She sewed for my sister. She had a constant flow of ladies coming through the house who stood in half finished dresses while she pinned the hem and waistlines to fit.

She even made me a navy blue leisure suit one time. The short jacket and wide lapels outlined in white thread. I had a silky paisley shirt with a collar even bigger than the jacket. I have nightmares about that suit.

I had a lot of reasons to admire my mama. I know that I’m biased. But at this point in life, I think I can step back with some degree of honesty and clarity. She was loved by all who knew her.

So, what about this particular day?

When the two of them got ready to leave the mall and head home, Mama couldn’t find her car in the parking lot. The mall lots were huge back then. There were no numbers marking the aisles and rows like at the airport. You just had to remember a general direction and which door you used when you entered the mall.

Mama couldn’t remember either one. On top of that, when she asked for help from mall security, she couldn’t remember what kind of car she drove. She was in tears when she called my dad to come get her.

Nothing like that happened again for a fairly long time, but looking back, I know that this day was the first of many that began the decline that led to dementia. Later that night, the call I got was from my daughter who told me that she was scared when it happened, but she was okay now.

You never know where life is gonna take you. I could very well wind up in the middle of a huge parking lot one of these days without a clue as to where my truck is parked. Heck, even now there are times when I go out of the house, forgetting that I parked up by the shop, and when I step out the door and my truck is not in its usual place, it throws me for a second.

Marion will say to me, “Should I be worried?”

I tell you all of this because this week is my mama’s birthday, and she’s been on my mind. I don’t live in the past, but I cherish the memories. The person I am is partly because of the woman she was. I have her tender heart. I have her resilience and resolve. I probably have her feet and her hair, too.

And sometimes, when I think about the day that she first showed signs of losing her memory, I want to tell her, “It’s okay, I’ll remember for you.”

HBD Mama. Hold me a spot.