Matriarch.
[Me - Myrna - Mom]
Fierce & Feisty: A Tribute to My Two Mommies
I haven't written for a few months. Truthfully, I am still processing all that has happened in my life.
My mother-in-law, Myrna, passed away on August 28, and just twelve days later, my mother, Jackie, passed away.
Both women died from dementia.
Both had lost their beloved husbands years before.
Both were forces to be reckoned with.
And both were the beloved matriarchs of the Baker and Peterson clans.
They were fierce and feisty. They loved connecting with people, telling stories, and being part of their respective villages. They were daughters, sisters, wives, mothers, grandmothers, and, in my mom's case, a great-grandmother—or "GGMA," as affectionately titled by my great-niece, Riley.
I had the privilege of being connected to these women for 67 and 50 years, respectively. I called them both Mother in every sense of the word, and they fulfilled the calling of matriarch beautifully—a woman who leads, nurtures, protects, and holds her family together.
There really wasn't much difference between them, except that Myrna had two children and Mom had seven. Both worked full-time while raising their families. Both lived close to and supported the generation before them. Both adored their grandchildren—sometimes, I suspect, even more than their own children! Mom had the additional joy of spoiling great-grandchildren. And both loved dogs.
They genuinely liked one another, and together they supported Doug and me throughout our marriage and as parents. There were two particularly critical times in our lives when we needed them most, and their love and support were nothing short of relentless.
The first was in 1983, after the birth of my second child, Dana.
During childbirth, Dana injured my sciatic nerve, causing temporary paralysis. At just 24 years old, I found myself having to learn how to walk again. Instead of chasing after my five-year-old son and caring for my newborn daughter, I was confined to a recliner and eventually dependent on a walker. That recliner became my world, day and night, for more than four months.
And the pain? Oh, the pain!
I had just experienced natural childbirth, so I thought I understood pain. Believe me, this was worse!
Every movement, every vibration, sent excruciating pain through my body.
My son couldn't understand why he couldn't jump into Mommy's lap anymore. I couldn't hold my newborn daughter to feed her. The simplest things a mother takes for granted were suddenly impossible.
But my two mothers, alongside my great-aunt Ethel, stepped in without hesitation.
They bathed me, dressed me, and cared for me as though I were a child again. They fed my children, played with them, entertained them, and kept our household functioning while Mommy recovered.
They became my hands, my feet, and, when necessary, my strength alongside my amazing husband, Doug.
They didn't just help me recover. They helped me continue being a mother when I physically couldn't do it myself.
The second time was when Doug and I were in seminary training to become ministers.
Our training required us to leave our children for ten days, two years in a row. At the time, our son was six and our daughter was just one.
Now, you need to understand something about these two women.
They were NOT flyers!
Yet these two determined grandmothers booked round-trip flights from Kansas City to Chicago, picked up our children, and flew them back to Kansas, where they cared for them in their homes for ten days.
Then they boarded another plane, returned to Chicago, and delivered our children safely back to us.
The following year, they came up with an even better plan. They flew to Chicago and stayed in our apartment so our school-age son wouldn't miss school. Meanwhile, our daughter spent her days being spoiled by both grandmothers. She was in heaven and they were her angels.
Those are just two examples of the extraordinary women they were. There were countless others.
They were leaders in their communities, dedicated professionals, loving spouses, devoted mothers and grandmothers, animal lovers, faithful friends, and compassionate companions to those in need.
They understood the importance of family, responsibility, loyalty, and showing up for the people they loved.
If I were to describe them in just two words, I would call them Fierce & Feisty—and honestly, those descriptions were interchangeable.
They were playful and protective.
They were counselors and comforters.
They were strong-willed and tenderhearted.
They could challenge you one minute and wrap you in love the next.
They were my mother and my mother-in-law. But to me, they were both my mommies.
I know how blessed I have been to have these two women in my life. They loved me, supported me, understood me, encouraged me, and, yes, occasionally challenged me.
Not every daughter or daughter-in-law has that experience. I know that, and I have never taken their love for granted.
Now, after all those years of receiving their love and support, I find myself preparing to honor them in a way I never imagined. In just a short week, I will conduct both of their memorial services. I have written their obituaries, prepared their eulogies, and planned the services that will celebrate their lives.
As an ordained minister, I have performed many weddings and funerals over the years. I sometimes jokingly refer to them as my "marry and bury" ministry.
But these services are different.
These are deeply personal.
These are sacred.
And while it is an extraordinary privilege to honor these two women, it is also one of the most emotionally difficult responsibilities I have ever undertaken. Because this time, I am not simply the minister offering words of comfort to a grieving family.
I am the grieving family.
I am the daughter.
I am the daughter-in-law.
I am the little girl who was loved, protected, nurtured, and guided by two remarkable women.
My faith tells me that their suffering has ended. Dementia may have robbed them of their memories, their independence, and eventually their lives, but it could never erase the love they gave or the legacy they leave behind.
I believe their minds are now clear, their bodies are whole, and they are reunited with their beloved husbands.
As an adult, as a minister, and as a woman of faith, my head understands all of that.
I know they are at peace.
I know they are no longer suffering.
I know I have been blessed beyond measure to have been loved by them.
Yet the little girl in me mourns my mommies.
What She Said - Beverly
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