I have a sweet collection of memories of my mom, Nancy Varner. I didn’t always remember that I had one of the best mothers Heaven could provide. But I was a teenager once. The song “Your Momma Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll” was probably written about our family.
Now that I’m older, I realize how incredibly blessed I was.
Mom passed away five years ago after a brief battle with a type of cancer typically seen only in children. But if you ever heard her giggle while lifting her shoulders to hide her face, you’ll remember that there was always a little girl inside her.
Mom is gone now, except for her occasional visits to my dreamland, but there are memories of my mom that time will never erase.
Memories of My Mom Serving
My parents served in nearly every ministry at our church. Mom taught Sunday school, organized Vacation Bible School, and served as an advisor for children’s and youth groups. She participated in the hospitality committee, preparing meals for events, funerals, and potluck dinners. She led congregational singing at church and often had nightmares about standing in front of the congregation wearing only her petticoat.
From an early age, the older people in the church asked me to sing solos. When I heard a song I wanted to try, Mom would play the LP record several times while writing the lyrics in shorthand, a skill she mastered in her high school business classes. (In all honesty, I hated singing in front of the church. When it was my turn to sing, I prayed for a severe snowstorm to cancel church services, regardless of the season—spring, summer, fall, or winter. God only answered that prayer once.)
Memories of My Mom Singing
I learned hundreds of songs from hearing Mom hum and sing while working in the tiny black-and-white-tiled kitchen—“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” “I Wouldn’t Take Nothing For My Journey Now,” “How Much Is That Doggie In the Window,” “K-K-K-Katie, Beautiful Katie,” and “My Grandfather’s Clock…”
Every time we got into the car, we had a family songfest. Mom, Ken, Lori, and I sang at the top of our lungs in four-part harmony. We sang “No, You Can’t Get To Heaven” and “The Cutest Boy I Ever Saw Was Sipping Ci-Der Through a Straw.” We sang Happy Goodman songs, Christmas carols, show tunes, and a very twangy version of “I Woke Up This Morning Feelin’ Fine.” We revised many songs to annoy our parents. To this day, my father is not a fan of choral music.
Singing wasn’t the only thing that took place in the kitchen. I remember Mom baking brownies and sampling them while they were still warm. She always allowed us kids to lick the icing bowl clean. And no one could bake cookies as soft and delicious as Nancy Varner’s chocolate chip cookies.
One snowy January day, while Mom was looking out the kitchen window, she saw an out-of-control vehicle run off the road and head straight for the house. My brother, Ken, and I were playing with our Christmas toys in the living room. Mom ran from the kitchen and up the stairs faster than an Olympic sprinter. Baby Lori was asleep in her crib. Ken and I had to face the disaster on our own.
So That’s Where I Got My Perfectionism
There were many things about my mom that I didn’t know until later in life or after she was gone. She had a creative streak but little opportunity to express it except when entertaining her senior adult friends at their gatherings.
She was a perfectionist. I should have figured that one out by looking at her Better Homes and Gardens house. When Mom and Dad built our home in Oakland Mills, the contractor laid bricks for the dining room fireplace. Mom took one look at the rows of bricks and said, “They’re not straight.” Dad and the bricklayer disagreed, but the measurements proved that my mother was right. Dad said he would often straighten a figurine on the shelf or a book on a table. My mom always followed behind him and positioned them a little better.
Memories of My Mom Running
My mom never held a salaried job. She used to babysit ten kids at a time, in addition to her own three. Most of us were relegated to the basement to decide what to create with cardboard boxes. Mom would peacefully work upstairs, vacuuming, baking, and rocking the littlest ones to sleep. Occasionally, she had to threaten the noisy kids in the basement with the flyswatter.
Mom’s voice could change instantly from the “Wait until your father gets home!” rebuke to a higher-pitched, gentle phone voice that sweetly inquired, “Hel-lo?”
Mom wasn’t fond of uninvited critters. The old house that wanted to keep moving (see: House on the Highway) was sometimes invaded by spiders, mice, and snakes. Once, after a long winter of mouse intrusions, my mom stood in the living room looking out the window. My dad rolled a small, dark-colored plum between her feet. It’s incredible how much a rolling plum resembles a running mouse. Mom climbed to the top of the upright piano while Dad laughed hilariously. It was the only time I remember seeing my mother run and leap at the same time.
One Amazing Grandma!
Mom developed a special relationship with each of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They stayed and played at her house. By the time the grandkids came along, she had the housework down to an art form and found time to play along with the kids. She took some of them to Disney World and SeaWorld. She attended their high school concerts, Christmas programs, and musicals. Her Christmas gatherings were legendary. I’ll share more about those at another time.
She had a special relationship with her youngest grandson. Aaron and Gram Varner created a game involving a two-inch squishy cow toy called Pickles. I don’t know how or why they started, but each time Aaron visited, Pickles found a new hiding spot: among the flowers, in the freezer, in light fixtures, behind the artwork on the fireplace mantel, and even in the bathroom. The six-foot boy enjoyed hiding Pickles well out of reach of his four-foot-ten-inch grandmother. Sometimes, Mom would hide Pickles before Aaron came to visit. I think Pickles currently lives in Boston. However, I half expected to walk up to my mother’s open casket and see Pickles resting by her shoulder.
Memories of My Mom the Fighter
The final memories of my mom come with moments of heartbreak. When she was diagnosed with a rare cancerous tumor that offered little hope of survival for someone her age, my mother said to the doctor, “Well, I’m ready to fight.” And fight she did. She fought through daily radiation treatments and weekly chemotherapy. She battled incredible pain in her spine when the cancer spread. When asked to speak at a church gathering, she shared that she was not afraid because “the God of the mountains was still God in the valley.” No matter what cancer did to her, she found strength in her faith.
One of her fondest last memories was singing from a hospital bed with Duane Nicholson, a member of The Couriers, a favorite Gospel music group. Duane’s daughter and my sister were co-workers.
Going Home
Mom was in a Harrisburg hospital for rehab, but the cancer quickly took over, and she couldn’t regain her ability to walk. After her final scan, the doctor told my dad and me that any further treatment would be palliative, meaning there was nothing more they could do. I called my sister to give her the news. Lori suggested we take Mom home that day. It was a Friday afternoon, and Mom wanted to go home. I was concerned because we had nothing prepared for homebound care. Many of us were off work due to the nationwide 19 shutdowns, but Mom needed round-the-clock care from two workers to assist her when needed.
Dad had just bought a wheelchair-accessible van, so he took her home. He used the van only once or twice.
Almost immediately, help arrived—a hospital bed, hospice workers, a device to move someone who couldn’t walk, food from neighbors and friends, and volunteers willing to take eight-hour shifts. (Thank you, Heather, Katie, Rich, Doris, Judy, Janie, Marie, Fran, Darcy.) There was no shortage of helpers because my mother made friends with everyone she met.
Somewhere between Saturday and Monday, the days after Mom returned home from rehab, hospitals closed to visitors due to the threat of COVID-19. Having Mom at home for her final days, rather than in a hospital surrounded by strangers, was a wonderful blessing.
On April 17, 2020, my mom, Nancy Varner, passed away, leaving us with only our memories. But the memories of my mom are beautiful because that was the kind of person she was.