What Could Have Been

As many of you know, I'm a big fan of a music artist named Jason Isbell.  His album, Southeastern, was released about the time I got out of the hospital in 2013 following my stem cell transplant.  My son in law, Sean, told me about it and I was hooked from the first playing.  Since then, I've listened to Southeastern about 98,736,434 times and his other albums about 82,347 times.  He grew up in Alabama and his Southern aesthetic really resonates with me, he's a great song writer (John Mayer called him the greatest lyricist of our generation) and he's a great guitar player.  Plus, he's had more than his fair share of struggles.

I saw him perform at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville last October and it was the first time he performed Southeastern in its entirety...coincidence? I think not.  I also saw him in Columbus in February.

He released a new album last month and I've been dutifully listening to it.  There are many, many songs that I love but one in particular, at this time, in my mood, is really effecting me.  

This time of year always reminds me of my mom.  Her birthday is July 9 and the date of her death is September 8.  So, I think of her often in August.  He has a song called "Hudson Commodore" that tells the story of a southern woman who dreams of a better life.  

The woman in the song sounds really strong and independent and is able to build a life for herself and her children.

"Time between the glory days and the golden years  

She did the work of 20 able men  

Sent Tommy off to school to be an engineer 

And Sarah went to try out all the sins  

She took to taking tea out in the Belvedere  

Bourbon in the evenings by the fire  

As if the Great Depression never made it here  

As if she had defeated her desire 

She just wanted to ride in a Delahaye 135  

She just wanted to ride in a Hudson Commodore  

No need to worry anymore"

This is the story of what my mom's life could have been like if she had grown up in a different environment.  Her dad scraped an existence out of carpet and tile work in Jacksonville in the 30s and then Tallahassee from the 40s through the 70s.  My mom, who was born in 1930, would go to the movies and watch the glamorous lifestyles depicted in those movies and dream of something better.

This is a photo of the car that Isbell sings about in the song that my mom might have seen when she 10 years old.  How glamorous is that to the daughter of a blue collar worker struggling to provide for his family?

Here's a picture of her sometime around 1950.  Can't you see her in some version of that car?

Unfortunately, my mom's mom never encouraged her to build that life for herself.  She was in the age when a man provided that for you.  Plus, my grandmother was so fearful and insecure and that attitude permeated my mom.  A woman couldn't provide a good life for herself.  My mom was so smart and resourceful that, with a little support and encouragement, she could have built that life for herself.  But, she sold herself, and her dreams, short.

But what she did do, was marry someone who could help her rise above her upbringing.  So, despite the limitations of her upbringing, my mom taught me to believe in something better.  Her younger sister also gave me a glimpse of how a strong woman lived her life after she lost her first husband to a Naval aviation accident and her second husband to leukemia.  And my dad taught me that, no matter how difficult the problem, you can solve it with enough work and resourcefulness.  Wow, has that served me over the last few years.

Mom, I'm sorry you couldn't achieve all that you were capable, but I thank you for giving me the foundation that allowed me to do that.  As I listened to the song and thought about my mom, I recognized that my mom's insecurity and underachievement is why I am so passionate about mentoring women to be strong and confident so they can achieve their potential--for my daughters, my friends and my colleagues.

If you're someone I've helped along the way, thank my mom.  I think about how much it hurt when I lost my mom, I think about my disease and I think about my girls.  I want to keep them from feeling that for as long as possible.

I go for a check-up next week.  It's always a time of underlying anxiety but I'll continue on trying to do what Amy said, "Live the life God has given me" and make lemonade of the lemons while I'm at it.

And, as Jason says, no need to worry anymore.

"A doctor then a lawyer then a Roosevelt 

Tried to take her underneath their wing    

She was in her 20's in the Bible Belt 

Before she knew she didn't need a thing 

She didn't need their pity on a single girl 

She didn't need their help to raise the brood 

She wouldn't be returning to her daddies world 

She didn't want a better attitude"

https://youtu.be/-vF7W0BawO8