yevlax

Mae Doris Alvey

My mothers name was Mae Doris Alvey. That was the name on her drivers license. Her maiden name was Haycraft. Her mothers maiden name was Hornback. Her name in her high school yearbook was Marion. Other people called her Mary. Most people called her by her nickname, 'Dode'. Her gravesite reads- Mae Doris Alvey 'Dode'. She is buried there alongside my father. She died in 2001. My mother had a lot of different names by a lot of different people, just like me.

I have one surviving picture of my mother, that I keep in a safe place. The internet had been alive for a few years before her death, and she knew how enamored I had become with this new communicative toy. She was always fretting and worrying about the different women I spoke to in faraway lands and planned to meet. I tried to assure her of my safety with jokes, "Mom, there's very few instances of female serial killers. Statistically, you have nothing to worry about." My mother made me promise to never put her picture on the internet, so I can't share it with you today, even though I'd like to. Today facebook is ablaze with pictures of mothers with their daughters and sons, and I am mildly jealous that I cannot take part in this ritual.

My mother was always afraid of the outside world. I don't know what she would have thought of the internet now, and how essential to our lives it is. Our president uses a blackberry for instant communications. Google Earth can show us the spot that Bin Laden was killed. You can find people from twenty years ago in a click of the mouse. My mother once used a primitive yahoo search to try to find recipes, and mispelled it. As far as I know, this was her one and only interaction with the world wide web. I think my mother would have found the modern world a very frightening place.

I still dream of her sometimes. When I close my eyes I can hear her laughing. A huge, head-tilting, belly-laugh. With a hint fo girlish charm thrown in. I loved my mothers laugh. I was told it sounded kind of like mine, but with more warmth added to the voice. I get my laugh from my mother.

My mother was a warm and loving person. She was a Christian, but her personality leaned much more towards 'the spirit of the rules, not the letter', so she was pleasant to deal with on topics of religion. Growing up, I never quite understood the militant atheism from friends who grew up with screaming fundamentalist parents. I remember having sensible discussions about sex and pregnancy with my mother. I remember her asking me 'not to do anything stupid' after my stepmother murdered my dad. She was a realist but a peacemaker. If you came to our house, you were likely to be greeted with a huge pot of food and the feeling of a second home.

My mother would bring me rolls of cardboard home from her job at the cheese factory. I would take these rolls of cardboard and shape them into crafty designs. I once made an entire robot bodysuit out of cardboard and saran wrap, convinced I was going to be Optimus Prime once I colored this suit with crayons and learned how to hook up circuts. Gerard was convinced I had a cardboard factory in my house. I remember making quite a few of my own toys with other wayward materials from the factory.

I still miss her.