In loving memory of Emma Louise Davis (Balog) – 9/3/1940 – 1/19/2011
My mama turned 41 the year I was born. I was her only child, and she doted on me better and more than any June Cleaver or Mama Berenstein Bear ever could have.
She was a homebody, and tho she’d never admit to it–she suffered from crippling anxiety and fear about many things.
My mama loved to read books. She researched everything, and she was actually brilliant, yet genuinely humble.
She was a stewardess with Southwest Airlines in the 60’s (when that was a glamourous job), and bought her own house as a single woman in the 70’s.
She travelled around the world before I was ever born, ever the spiritual seeker. My mama only lived to be 69 years old, although she was extremely health-conscious.
I only had 30 years of my life with her…the last of which was very difficult and sad. Two weeks after the birth of my fourth child, my mom fell in her kitchen and broke the head of her femur cleanly off. She was slated for hip replacement surgery and was supposed to be walking again within weeks.
However, during the surgery, she started having a series of strokes that took away most of her movement, including her ability to swallow or speak.
She spent the larger part of her last 14 months in a nursing home, with a feeding tube in her stomach, unable to communicate except with her eyes and one of her hands. In a way, I grieved more in the first few months of her decline than now. We used to talk on the phone for at least an hour several times a week, about nothing much at all.
Once, inexplicably, her leg swelled up to over twice its normal size, and did not return to normal for many months, even after stopping the medication.
My mother was a textbook case of OCD, although it was never diagnosed. Her home was immaculate and precisely managed, down to the last can of cat food.
However, for all her maternal dedication, my mother was most definitely her own woman. She held over 100 jobs in her life before I was born, from court reporter to airline stewardess.
Terrifyingly, my mother survived gang rape with a knife at her throat when she was just a child, and never fully healed from that extreme emotional trauma.
She was extremely protective of me because of that.
She was a deeply spiritual person, and sampled + researched many belief systems in her lifetime.
In 1990, my mother finally convinced my father to move us into a new house…to minimize our exposure to EMFs, despite the fact that nobody believed her about the dangers of EMFs! She was always ahead of her time…
My mama was fierce and also broken, tender and timid, yet incredibly strong. She was not afraid to die, and welcomed it with joy and laughter.
Years after her passing, I found Human Design, and realized she was a Projector like me. Specifically, a 6/2 Projector like me, with only two centers defined (Ego and Spleen for her, G and Throat for me), which is fairly uncommon.
She was a triple Virgo, yet a Dragon in the Chinese zodiac – and I always felt that I didn’t get to meet that side of her fully.
My mama loved pink and roses and everything Victorian, and for most of my life, I thought they were so boring and cliché. Yet, I’m now welcoming pink and roses and softness back into my life, as her absence stretches in front of me.