A note from Dan:
My wife loved living and loved loving, qualities she instilled in all she met and especially her children. She was born to be a mom.
Our first child was Julia, born in May 1985. The poem Love Continues and Grows (see below) was dedicated to our daughter soon after she was conceived. I can still remember coming into our driveway and seeing the sign on our side porch window. "Yes," was all it said, but I knew she had received the news from our OBGYN that a new life was upon us.
Of course, no one really knows what kind of parent one will be. We took on our Lamaze class with some trepidation and the long-awaited delivery day seemed to take forever. It was a difficult delivery, but I saw her eyes light up when she realized her baby girl was "really" with us. Dixon was in heaven. She took to mothering like she had been a mom forever.
Related: Reader Submission: To Chad on Turning 2, a Poem by Dixon Hummel
Early on, I could tell that she was a "magical" mom.
Dixon would create stories for Julia about the yellow finches that fluttered in the trees outside her bedroom window - each little finch had Julia's name (some were named after her friends too). The steam coming from the fields was really rabbits making their breakfasts. Her pig-pigs (toes) were a little dirty because she had been out riding the next door neighbor's pony the night before and was a little chilly, meaning she was a little late getting back to her crib.
Our son, Chad, arrived two years after Julia.
As the two kids would start battling in the back seat on one of our cross-country trips, Dixon would threaten to send them to their rooms if they didn't stop. The irony of being in a car and not having their rooms to go to seemed to change their growing frustrations. When Julia and Chad fought over who would sleep next to mom in the tent, Dixon developed a plan that each could be "in-town" (sleeping in the prized position) or "out on the ranch" (not as prized). The anticipation of switching the following night seemed to bring peace.
Related: Love and Marriage: A Love Letter to My Husband
When school began, Dixon was always volunteering at the schools, helping out in some way. All of our friends' children say their favorite memory was the "pre" New Year's Eve party that was just for them. Aged four to 12, each would take their turn behind the curtain, waiting with great anticipation to show the others how they had learned to tie their shoes, put on a jacket all by themselves, show the wonderful Christmas Lego construction they had completed, or make music by flute, trombone or piano.
And then they would draw from the basket of awards with so many goodies that made it hard to decide. When dinner came, Dixon served it on the best china with placemats, her famous mac and cheese, and a special question that each needed to share with the group.
"She always listened to me as if I was the only person in the room," one said and all heads nodded in agreement.
When she came along, the two became almost inseparable. As Dixon's cancer symptoms increased, Dixon feared that her relationship with Cora would diminish. She couldn't move so easily so she developed the game that little creatures, ladybugs, butterflies, inchworms, would crawl, flutter or inch their way up Cora's back with her trying to guess which creature had appeared out of nowhere. They never left, of course, without moving over the top of her head and leaving a huge kiss on her forehead. Begging for the next creature began almost immediately.
Dixon did not write a huge number of poems, but when she did, almost all were about her children, her love (luckily, that's me), or about nature.
I offer two of her poems today on Mother's Day, in her honor. A third was graciously published on Mothering on January 14th of this year.
Happy Mother's Day to all, may it be filled with love and magic!
Two tiny stars are we, whose rays have always entwined,
Maybe, in the heart's night sky.
Joined of late by another smaller, no less important one
As yet undefined by shape or name. Felt only as a warmth and tiny flutters
Meant to make we waiting stars smile and spill our rays deeper, farther into eternity.
This next poem is about how Dixon viewed motherhood:
Love Notes
Camp fire
Romantic fire,
In the pool doing laps,
In the hot tub to relax,
Crossing the fields,
Crossing the country,
Kids,
cars,
houses,
promises,
Digging in dirt,
Digging each other.
Talks,
Walks,
Laughs,
Cries.
In the kitchen,
In a castle,
In a tent,
In love.
Candle light, star light, sun light, love's light
All bright.
Then, now, tomorrow.
