about my mother

Penman, Wilma J. - PENMAN Wilma J, 61, mother of Krystal Penman, died Sat. No services planned. Whitehall Funeral Home in charge of arrangements.
Published in the Lexington Herald-Leader on 8/21/2007

let me tell you a couple of funny stories. you wouldn't think a blog post that starts with an obituary would contain anything you'd want to laugh about, but just listen. But first, some background noise:

I grew up with my mom in a single parent household. One of my earliest memories of making sense of the mommy/kid dynamic was thus: when i got bigger, she'd get smaller until i was the adult and she was the kid. then we would switch turns and do it again. forever and ever. now in hindsight, i'm sure when i told my mother my thinking on how Things Worked, she probably shuddered a bit. Killing herself trying to keep our tiny ship afloat, do you think she really wanted to consider the fantasy of HAVING TO DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN???

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From early childhood through high school, she and I had a menagerie of pets. and by menagerie, i mean dogs and cats. with an occasional suicidal fish thrown in for good measure. one of the first dogs i got, i gleefully told her i wanted to name after my favorite chewing gum: Chicklets. a few hours later, she mentioned how great she thought the name Chicklets was for a dog. I looked at her and responded, in all seriousness "Chicklets???"

because little kids are lunatics, that's why!

She quickly reminded me "yes, dammit, Chicklets!" well, that jarred my memory.

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My mom did some amazing things with her change and the help of some aunts: she sent me to Montessori and private school for a few elementary years. And kept us housed. and clothed. and fed. And when my public elementary school librarian (ms. livingston!) accused me of stealing a library book, causing my principal to refuse to give me my report card on the last day of school...and i came home and tearfully told my mother about it, she went to the school, cussed everyone out and got my report card.

She told me she'd never seen a person get as red in the face as my principal did when she leaned down on his desk and called him a dumb son-of-a-bitch.

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It was also in elementary school that i informed her I wanted to play the violin. but my school only had about 5 violins and they were all gone before i could get one. So she got me one. and made payments on it. And when i showed promise, she paid for private lessons. In middle school, during our joint band and orchestra concert, I played a solo. My mom and an aunt were there supporting me the whole time. The next day at school, my language arts teacher (Miss Billie Davis) complained bitterly about the two people who were in the stands rudely talking during MOST of the performances.

take a guess who those two rude talkers were? and take a guess why my teacher decided to tell the class I was in about those rude talkers.

Hey, it's just as well my teacher decided to confront a 12 year old instead of my mother. by this time in my life, she'd left many an unhappy customer in her wake cussed out and very possibly threatened with physical violence. like the cashier at Sir Pizza....like the waitress at Frisch's....

no, i do know blame her one bit.

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I remember the first day of high school. i came home from school and told my mom all about my day and she gave me a big hug, telling me i was really growing up. i think i actually had a petit panic attack as she was holding me. i was growing up! life was changing! pretty soon i'd have to (gulp) GET OUT AND GET A JOB! the horror.

When prom season rolled around i ran to my mom with an edition of Cosmo and showed her the shimmery, fun, beaded mini-dress i wanted to find a replica of to make my night memorable. She looked at the dress, looked at me, and rolled her eyes. I was very serious! So was she...and a few weeks later, we went to the fabric store to buy material because one of my aunts was gracious enough to make my prom dress. We even found a Butterick pattern that didn't make me wanna throw up. and she got my shoes dyed, and she bought me accessories, and she did my hair. And i went to prom feeling like a million dollars.

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What truly amazes me about how my mom raised me is how she did so much with so little. there was plenty of shopping at Gold Circle, Hills, McCrory's and the like. I remember one shopping trip at K-mart we were interrupted by loud arguing by two coworkers, fighting about who was working the hardest:

girl 1: "i've been working mah butt off, amanda! way harder than you!"

girl 2: "bull crap! i've been here since 4:00 working MAH butt off!"

wilma: "....that would explain why neither of them have butts."

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My mom first got sick when i was a sophomore in college. i was 19 years old and remember telling my then boyfriend, as i prepared myself for her first surgery, that if anything went wrong i was not prepared to not have a mom. well, she had the surgery and she pulled through.

but more followed. bypasses. vein replacements. amputations. heart valve replacements. strokes. and finally, i found out after she died, a diagnosis of breast cancer.

she didn't tell me about that.

by the time she found out about that, i was chugging along in my twin pregnancy and she was asking me if i was okay and telling me i was strong and i could do this.

when my mom passed away, i found out at age 34 what i was afraid to know at age 19: i was not ready to be without a mom. and two years later, i still mourn almost everyday the fact that i can't just pick up the phone and talk to her about how much my life has changed, or ask her questions like what do you do about a baby's fever or how do you potty train without losing your mind.

i am saddened that she never got to meet the twins and inform me of the proper care and feeding of HER precious granddaughters. that she didn't get a chance to spend their first Christmas with them or talk to them or give them hugs and kisses.

but i have stories and i have pictures and i know people who knew and loved her, so in that respect, she's still right here with me. I see her every time i look at my own face. I see her every time Dixie asserts herself and opens a pint sized can of whoop ass on another toddler at daycare.

but mostly, i carry her with me every minute of every day. and she STILL gives me and my friends advice:

friend: he had the nerve to say i'm not black enough for him!

me: my mom would have said "why don't you kiss my ass and tell me what color it is, you dumb son-of-a-bitch!"

i've listed just a few of the reasons why my mom is so special to me and so very missed. i could go on for days with Wilma-isms that would have you rolling in the aisles.

for instance, did i ever tell you about the time when she was in her early 20s that she went out on a date and came home with her artfully drawn on eyebrows completely missing?

no?