Given on December 2, 2014
Please bare with me - I mask my emotions through humor.
Since I can remember, every so often my mom would always ask me to share a fond memory of something she did with me. Being one who hates feelings or sharing anything emotional, I always loathed this question, complaining that it was silly and ultimately brushing it off with the casual response that “... everything was great…”
Today, I stand before her with nothing but endless pages of memories, thoughts, and lots and lots and lots of feelings and emotions.
--
One particular memory I like to share of my mom involves Lindsey’s first true “Shelley Toolson” experience. Before we were engaged, Lindsey and I visited my Grandma and Grandpa Toolson in San Diego whom my parents were also visiting. One of the first memories Lindsey would have of my mom is that of her calling Lindsey into my Grandma’s living room where my grandma, mom, and aunts were talking. Upon entering the room, my mom immediately asked “... what are your intentions with my son?” to which my aunts responded in shock, exclaiming, “Shelley”! My mom ignored them and awaited a response from Lindsey.
Once engaged, Lindsey and I flew to Sacramento to visit my parents and celebrate our engagement. Upon arriving at the airport, we picked up our luggage and walked outside to look for my mom. From a distance, I could see the van coming and we grew excited to see her. As the van got closer, I found myself letting go of Lindsey’s hand and cupping my mouth in fear. The van had oreos stuck all over the outside and there was also writing all over the windows and doors, apparently the celebratory aftermath of a sporting event which had taken place weeks earlier. Remaining true to Toolson fashion, the remnants of the festivities and celebrations remained untouched and were displayed with pride. I quickly grabbed our suitcases hoping to throw myself and Lindsey into the van so that my mom could speed off before anyone watching realized what they were witnessing - maybe they would think we were being kidnapped and would clearly deduce the vehicle of choice was obviously not in our control. When I opened the van doors, the saga continued as my dads tools spilled out onto the asphalt requiring me to drop our suitcases and crawl under the van to retrieve them. When I finally made it into the van my mom was laughing hysterically almost acknowledging this was borderline embarrassing, even for her.
Being a ginger, I’m practically allergic to the sun and prone to sunburns and as such accept that I’ll never be as tan as my kids - thats all Lindsey’s side. Growing up, I have fond memories of summer as we would either spend our time on the beaches in San Diego or swimming in our pool. Without fail, I’d ignore my mom’s council of applying sunscreen and often end up with unbearable sunburns. These sunburns were my nemesis and I vividly recall running up and down the stairs crying in pain, unable to cope any longer (I’m allergic to aloe so my resources are limited). My mom would not remind me that this was the result of having not listened, but instead would comfort me by running her hands through my full head of Fabio-like hair and just being there, something only she knew how to provide. About 3 years ago, and because I’m an awesome older brother, I had an opportunity to repair JT’s motor scooter. I always enjoyed the challenge of figuring something out and because I was in-shape at the time, I jumped at the opportunity to remove my shirt and began laboring outside under the heat of the noon sun. 5-6 hours later, I realized my mistake as I had acquired my worst sunburn to date. As a grown 30 year old, I was too embarrassed to tell my mom of my mistake, so I decided to toughen up and tried to embrace the pain. After all, surely as an adult a sunburn couldn’t still be the near death experience I remembered. The next day when I could no longer bare the pain and was redder than a lobster, I found myself in tears begging for my mom to come over. She quickly arrived and laid in bed next to me, running her hand over my bald head, calming me so that I could fall asleep, help me to ignore the pain through her comfort.
My mom always spoiled our kids, almost more than JT was spoiled. Anytime we would go to grandma’s house to visit, the kids always knew it was a safe place where they could “be a kid”. My mom’s home always served as a place where, even though there were rules, she was also good at recognizing their innocent nature. When they would spill a drink, color on the walls, or “accidentally” spend $300 on their itunes account, my mom wouldn’t punish or scold them but cheer them up through encouragement, reminding them learning from mistakes was part of life and there are more important things in life to worry and stress out about than spilt milk or hand prints on the windows.
In elementary school, I would always end up turning in some of the coolest projects. These projects were rarely a result of my diligent booksmarts or creative abilities, but because my mom always pushed and encouraged us in school, often interjecting her own creative knowhow. One such project required fire. I don’t remember why but it just did. And so my mom and I built a large fire in the street in front of our house, dosing it often with lighter fluid and other highly flammable materials. I remember thinking it was the coolest project ever, not only because of fire, but because my mom was there being a pyro with me all in the name of science.
Not only were my school projects awesome, my mom always knew what it was I needed at the right time. While living in Holland in 2001, for Christmas I received a water balloon launcher as a gift from her which we then used to see how far snowballs with fruit at the center could be launched. Those living with me expressed “how cool my mom was that she’d send me something like that”.
--
The cliche “... my cup runneth over…” depicts the plethora of memories created by my mom for not only my family but many others. She had numerous qualities and abilities, and I will forever cherish her example of truly living life to the fullest. My mom spent so much of her time living in the now, not dwelling over yesterday or worrying about tomorrow, as is evidenced by these few stories I’ve shared.
I’d like to share one last story or thought, something my mom embodied through her actions and life experiences.
--
Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.
But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day, at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true, and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, waiting..., waiting…., waiting…. for the station....
"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18," "When I buy the new car," "When I put the last kid through college," "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion," “when I stop having kids!”, "When I reach the age of retirement,” ...only then shall I live happily ever after!
Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto my mom lived by through her daily example of unselfishness. She understood that it isn't the burdens of today that drive one mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of our today.
So, through her example and spirit, let’s stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, draw on more walls, go barefoot more often, swim in more rivers, go on more walks, eat more haagen dazs, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.
Ultimately it's our life experiences that make up the fabric of our memories, not objects or worldly possessions.
The blankets of memories she provided my family and I are many.