Meet Mom and Me
They say some mothers and daughters are two peas in a pod. Mom and I aren’t. Don’t get me wrong. She taught me many important lessons. I believe many of my values and ethics come from the behaviors she modeled and beliefs that she held. She taught me the importance and value of an education, common-sense knowledge, and lifelong learning. She showed a kind, caring and loving spirit, which I hope I have inherited and shared. She opened her home to the strangers I brought home and to the stray cats who found their way to our patio door; I still welcome strangers to my house and always available to catsit.
She and I were close, but not best friends. Having my mother as my best friend would not have worked. I wanted (and needed) a role model and a safe person to always come back to, one who truly loved me unconditionally. I know she was proud of me and because of having her as a foundation I excelled at many things and had the freedom to fly. She did, however, keep her phone line - a mom’s extension of the umbilical cord - connected to me no matter where I moved or how old I was. She never scolded, yelled at, judged, or belittled me. At the end of the day, no matter what I did she was my mother and she loved me.
As much as people said we looked alike, which always made us laugh since I’m adopted, I think it was our mannerisms and professionalism. I mimicked her stance, facial expressions, dress and speech when I was a girl. She would walk in the door after work wearing a suit with high heels, full make-up, carrying a brief case, later a computer bag and cell phone. I correlated her dress and actions to professionalism and intelligence - why wouldn’t I want to look like her? You can probably guess that quickly changed when I reached high school, but maybe not as much as you think. More on my goth years to come.
Mom once told me that she believes she was born in the wrong decade. From the stories she told me about her college days and in her early days as a teacher, she was probably right.
She and her sorority sisters would talk about other careers, not just teacher, secretary or nurse, the only ones really available to them. She told me most women went to college to get their “Mrs.” degree, but not her. Career first. Husband second. And the husband wasn’t an option. Her BA in education was not wasted, but I think many of her aspirations were squashed because of the pressures of her generation.
Her first jobs as secretary then teacher were “what she could get back then.” Positions she was proud to hold and excelled at but not fulfilling any passions. Along with the lackluster feeling she had about these jobs, they of course paid next to nothing because “it was a woman's job.” And to finalize this point, when my parents adopted my brother in 1965 she had to agree to give up any job she had outside the home! She did but filled her time with volunteering and joining what she called a “feminist book club”, where they actually read books, not drink wine. More on the Club forthcoming.
We enjoyed similar things: the love of Packers football (she was born in a small town on the outskirts of Green Bay), popcorn with butter, decorating for Christmas, a good documentary film, the love of jewelry, walking (no hiking for her), bonfires, sitting by a lake, getting lost in a good book, fresh sheets on a bed, fresh vegetables from a garden, fresh fruit especially raspberries and watermelon. She never had a sweet tooth until a few years ago when Alzheimer’s changed her cravings and sense of taste; I like to say she has come to the “dark chocolate side”.
As much as we were alike, we were also very different. Mom was not one to crack a joke or add something witty to a conversation versus where I have been known to do both. Mom never thought of herself as pretty, which led her to wear makeup even when she went to the gym. I’ve always been described as “cute”, and I certainly had my “cuteness” back in the day. I’ve never had a problem advocating for myself, speaking up for others who cannot speak for themselves, or protesting when it was time. I don’t think my mom ever protested anything. Not because she didn’t feel strongly about a current wrong, but I am sure it is because she would think of it as something she “shouldn’t do at her age or because of her position within the community.” I did get her to wear a political t-shirt once, which she soon covered with a cardigan.
I know I’m talking about her in the past tense, like she is dead. She’s not. Well, in some sense she is but that’s due to the progressive nature of Alzheimer’s. Sometime in June of this year (2026), I remember having this feeling that her spirit - what made her Lynn Revoy and my mom - left her body. Due to the loss of skills and abilities, I don’t recognize her as my mother anymore. She is a wonderful woman who I get the honor of loving and taking care of until she dies.
