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In "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" Maya Angelou wrote, “To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow." How would each of us describe such love? How do we do that when we can’t necessarily comprehend the energy of whirlwinds or the wondrous hues of the universe? Maybe we just remember.

My mother was born Lillie Mae Petty. Marriage elevated her Lillie Mae Perkinson and a star in the Lillie-and-Lester show. A Southern patron of her vegetable market simply called her Miss Lillie. She is now a part of the “Wasis” community.

When Mom died in 2022, the chaos of grief and truth and grammar descended like a fog. The deceased can affect our English-class lessons. Our loved ones were here but suddenly were not. The heart beats stop, but the presence of their hearts is overwhelming.

After her death and still today some stories about our mother are told in the present tense as if she were sitting at home. Yet the next anecdote would be shared in the past tense. Then she might become a “was” and an “is” in the same breath. She had transformed into a “Wasis,” and I accepted the tense confusion that love created.

Allow me to remember for a while about Miss Lillie. Let me share a little in hopes that my reflections might jumpstart reminders of an endearing Wasis in your life.

My mother loved growing up on the farm. She fondly named the dogs and horses. She knew the joys and dangers. During a creek adventure, for example, she turned to see her baby brother Max floating face down. Terrified, she grabbed the lifeless body and raced up the hill to the house. Almost there, he started crying. Fortunately, she had picked him up and carried him upside down. She may have invented the cow-pasture-CPR technique.

She accepted a lifetime of hard work and sometimes was paid for it. As a youngster during WWII, a tiny Lillie worked in a canning factory. When the inspectors came, she was hidden because of her age. Strawberry picking probably brought the first payday. Afterwards when the huckster’s wagon stopped at her home, she bought two dresses with that money. One was for her sister Mary.

Later Grandpa purchased a similar wagon, but she was not sure why. When he was at work, the Petty siblings would push it to the chicken coup and then jump on for the downhill thrill. Aiming at the fruit tree near the iron kettle resulted in an abrupt but effective stop. Ultimately the tree died and so did the dreams of a peach pie.

Chicken and noodles and mashed potatoes and blackberry cobblers! Meatloaf and fried chicken and gravy! Canned tomatoes and green beans and corn from the garden were colorful delights. Our family was blessed with a culinary queen. Our Cinderella scrubbed and cooked and cleaned and was never told enough how grateful we were. She had a prince but deserved a magical carriage.

Occasionally she found time to relax. She might talk about the snake in the blackberry patch or the two foxes she spotted rubbing noses. She had other stories but eventually opened a book and disappeared into a different world and into the softness of her chair. Generally, she fell asleep reading the Bible. Years ago a cousin’s son told me that when he visited, the marker in the Good Book was never in the same place. Sometimes she had started over again.

In our eyes she perfect, but she did not see it that way. There was an echo of regret when she opened up about a gift of red shoes. When her sister wore them without permission, anger reared its ugly head. In an impulsive, you-can’t-take-it-back moment, she tossed the footwear into the wood-burning cookstove’s fire. She carried that guilt for over eighty years.

Lillie May Perkinson was humble. She was genuinely surprised when told how beautiful she was. More importantly she was a beautiful-on-the-inside caretaker. Despite a full house, people in need were invited to stay. Most came for meals. Some came to live. Some came to die. They all came to love her.

I miss my mother, as do others. As implied from the beginning, she is so much more than words can capture. Part hurricane, part rainbow, part Mother Teresa and the Energizer Bunny. The years took her strength but did not change the color of her hair or weaken the foundation of her faith.

Her seat at the table and her seat are church are filled by others. The arms that held one baby after another no longer reach for children. Yet she remains a Wasis. Despite being gone, she continues to visit and touch our hearts. How could we not remember and feel that love?