She Was the Mother I Had Never Known

By Wanda West Badger

My mother died when I was only six, and the longing to know her always gnawed at my heart, especially during my teen years. I wanted to know about her activities, her dates, her clothes, if she ever taught Sunday School (that was my job at the time). So when I was eighteen, I made a book and dedicated it to my future eighteen-year-old daughter, so that she would know about my life.

Then, several years after my marriage, my mother’s father gave me a small notebook he had found. It was a five-month diary of my mother’s, beginning with her high school graduation in 1917. How thrilled I was to read her own thoughts and feelings at last, rather than getting second-hand reports. I found out what her daily activities were: washing and scrubbing and cooking for her family since her own mother had died two years before.

But she found time for other things: in five months, she saw twenty-four movies. I found out about her dates, her excitement in traveling to the old Saltair resort on the shores of the Great Salt Lake, of strolling through Liberty Park in Salt Lake City on Sunday afternoon, and of faithfully, every week, teaching her Sunday School class.

Then, in the fall of 1975, a cousin brought from California a photo album that had belonged to my mother’s sister, containing several dozen photos of my mother. My heart’s desire was fulfilled. She was always smiling—sparkling. And her clothes! Velveteen skirts, beribboned blouses, (blouses trimmed with ribbons), large brimmed hats loaded with flowers.

Seeing these pictures and rereading the words she wrote, I feel very close to my mother. When I meet her again, she won’t be a stranger.