Tribute to my mother.

This week I was in East Tennessee or what we know as Appalachia.  It has been from the beginning one of the poorest parts of our country. In fact, it is actually famous for its poverty. My mother, Mary Alice Swann, was born in Smith County, Tennessee in the same town as Al Gore. Their stories could not have been more different. My mother’s family were, as we say, dirt poor. Until they moved to Nashville they lived in a shack with a wood burning stove and an outhouse. My grandfather Pap was a house painter and a hopeless alcoholic. My grandmother was hard because she had to be.

At one point my mother lived with her family in a flimsy house on a river bank that flooded whenever the Cumberland River rose. She was desperately afraid of drowning and it was only far into her adult years that we could get her to go into the water up to her ankles at the beach. She lived with many fears and most of them were the result of growing up in poverty of the worst sort – not only financial but the poverty that deprives a young girl of love, tenderness, respect and protection.

Years later my mother treasured two things: soap and her family. She escaped her circumstances when she married and while she did not or could not completely leave behind Smith County, Tennessee she shucked the poverty of spirit that marked her upbringing. She grew into one of the most gracious and kind women I have ever known. Never bitter or resentful she was grateful for everything she had. People of all stripes and sorts talked to her because she listened. She was completely present with everyone – no matter their station in life. While she was never comfortable being a public person she poured her life into generations of women through her church and children. It’s often true that we hear the best stories about those we love at their funerals. That was certainly the case with my mother. We heard testimonies and stories about the effect she had on women and mothers who had shared her circumstances, struggles and victories. She was often quiet – nearly invisible at times to people – but always present in the ways that mattered most.

My mother nearly died giving birth to me and every time I walked out the door as a teenager she said, “Remember who you are, where you are from and what you stand for.” I’ve tried to do that. There are times even now when I can hear her voice as if she were next to me. I think this may be one of those moments because in honoring her today through the Women’s Fund I can hear her saying, “Thank you for this.” Nothing could please me more.

I cannot speak for the women here today but I believe I can speak for other men who have or have had similar stories. We have been blessed with mothers who cared about us – even in the worst moments of our lives. We have been privileged to have mothers who – like mine – almost literally gave their lives for us. It’s true that had we the foresight many years ago we would have done more to honor them and let them know what they have meant to us in our lives. However, even if we cannot do that now we can do this. We can tell others through the Women’s Fund how grateful we are for what we have received.