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A MARCH MADNESS ANGEL March brings an array of thoughts and
emotions about my mother. I have poignant moments of
reflection, as it’s the month she passed away. However, I also have entertaining thoughts
that put a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye. Mother was a sports fans from the word go;
she loved them all. But her favorite was definitely
basketball, and she had played the game herself in high school. From all reports, she was really quite good. With that in mind, I guess it’s
no wonder she loved March Madness! We always spoke long distance at least
once a week, and for the most part Mother and I did the visiting, except
in March. That’s when, Mother, and my
husband, Jerry, monopolized the calls. Dad
and I just kind of sat there listening as our eyes glazed over. I mean, just how much can be said about
basketball games? Mom knew the background on each player
regardless of what college he attended, as well as his hometown and the name of
the high school he had played for. Rattling
off who would play next if so and so won, as well as the background on the
coaches, came as easily as discussing what she was fixing for dinner. I never quite understood when or where she gathered
this vast amount of information, and it never ceased to amaze me. Being a native Kansan, and with their
usually exceptional teams, Mother loved taunting Jerry about how his Calling Dad on the anniversary of Mother’s
death is a must, and the call that first year was a rough one. Thankfully, by the second year he had made
tremendous progress. After visiting a
while about various things, I casually asked him if he’d
been watching March Madness. I mean—that
had been a major event in their household! I just knew
he had been glued to the tube. "Oh, no," he chuckled. "The only reason I ever watched it was because Mom
wouldn’t let me touch the remote control during the month of March!" Well, who knew? I assumed he enjoyed the games, although he
clearly wasn’t the avid fan Mother was. I had no idea he really didn’t
give a hoot one way or the other. All I
could do was stammer and stutter, "You sure had me fooled. I thought you loved the tournament too." Then he added, "You know, I’ve caught
myself doing the strangest thing this week. By the time Mom used to get up in the
mornings, I had finished reading the paper. During
March Madness I always laid the sports page in her chair so she could read it
while having her coffee. I’ve found
myself folding it up and reaching over to lay it in her chair several times the
past few days." "Oh, Dad! Did that make
you feel sad?" I questioned with a
lump in my throat. "Well, not really, but it did make me feel kind of stupid! I’d done it for so many years; I guess it had become a habit. I just shook my head each time, and wondered if I was getting The Alzheimer’s already?" he joked. The tone of his
voice assured me I need not worry; he was handling things just fine and dandy. As a man with deep faith in God, he had
adjusted quite well knowing Mother had only moved on to her heavenly home. As for me, I’m sure an angel was playing
her own kind of game with her surviving sweetheart; reminding him not to dwell
on her passing away in March, but to reminisce about the good times as well. And for Mom, March
Madness was simply the best of times! Mother never attended the playoffs in
person, but I know she now has a seat at center court for each and every game. Then again, as an angel, she probably just hovers
over center court, for the best view in the arena…
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