O Mother, Where Art Thou?

And there we were, three generations of Wucher women, sitting in a booth inside at the Crown & Anchor, my mother sandwiched between my grandmother and me. The “surreality” of the situation did not escape me—the Crown is my inner-sanctum, my cradle of life, my safety net. To have my mother, not to mention my grandmother, entreat on this sacred space was simultaneously fulfilling and uncomfortable, sorta like Vicky Vale visiting the Bat Cave.

We ordered the standard Crown fare—cheeseburgers all around—and I listened (well, half-listened) to my grandmother’s updates on various relatives, most of which I have never met. I feigned interest, grateful when Paps brought out our food, which, in addition to supplying my recommended daily allowance of grease and cheese, also provided a welcome distraction from the gut-wrenching awkwardness.


Such was my glorious Spring Break in the year of our Lord 2006. While many of my more affluent collegiate and post-collegiate brethren and sisteren (word?) of Austin traveled to various exotic locales, I found myself not at South Padre or the Rocky Mountains, but rather here in my seminary-subsidized housing, entertaining my mother and grandmother.

My mother, in a rare display of spontaneity, had called a week earlier to inform me that she would (most likely) brave the long trek from the flat, damn-near barren Texas Panhandle to the bustling, cosmopolitan hill-country oasis of Austin. To say I was dreading this visit would be untrue, as I have been somewhat homesick lately. The more shallow facets of my personality also knew that a visit from my mother, much like a visit from the Magi, would bring many gifts of untold value, mostly my mother’s possession of numerous credit cards.

So we enjoyed multiple days of shopping, of eating lunch with my grandmother, of catching up on news from school and news from back home. For once, I didn’t have to share attention with my younger brother; rather, this trip was (most of the time) “all about me.” I suppose that one of the perks of flying away from the nest is that when Mama and/or Papa Bird come to visit, you, the child, will most likely be showered with affection and gifts, be it the monetary or food variety. And trust me, I played the “poor grad student” card as frequently as possible, although this did not require much effort—my fridge contains coffee, a beer, and a few slices of American cheese.

There were times, especially because my mother was staying in my tiny seminary subsidized apartment, that the line between parent and child became somewhat blurred. My mother, naturally, wished to exert her maternal instincts whereas I, her oldest child, was desperate to prove that I could fend for myself in the oh-so-scary and overwhelming wide world yonder. And thus, she commented on my dirty carpet and subsequently vacuumed it. She made my bed every morning. She constantly loaded and unloaded my dishwasher. Though I accepted these actions with grace and gratitude, a fraction of my psyche felt as if my mother was commenting on my domestic abilities (which are, admittedly, lacking).

My mother loaded up her car and left yesterday morning. I miss her terribly. But I feel that I proved to both her and myself that I am a grown-up, one who is exploring the world of possiblities which lay outside her doorstep. I realized that somehow, between reading theology, writing papers, and learning the in's and out's of highways 183 and Mo-Pac, I have managed to create a life of my own, a life that is uniquely Meredith. I will always have a place for my family in this life, but it is MY life, founded upon my relationship with God, my relationships with my family and friends, and my continual exploration of the call to discipleship.

And there we were at the Crown...it was important for me to show my mother my new Life here in Austin and where else to take her but the Crown, the place where I have wiled away numerous hours discussing theology, love, sharing both joys and sorrows. Now she, too, is part of that chorus of voices echoing from the Crown, voices that form the chorus of my own life. I will spend my entire life composing a Song of Myself, integrating the voices of the past and present. I know that if I listen to voices, I will hear the reedy timbre of my mother's soprano, and know that she will always have a place in in life and a part in my song.