-Blog post by Reed Sandridge of Washington, D.C.
Lenora "Ann" Reed Sandridge 10/17/43-12/15/06
My mother, Lenora “Ann” Reed Sandridge, was born in the sleepy coal miner town of Richlands, Virginia 68 years ago today. She died nearly five years ago yet the pain and emptiness that I felt at the time of her death remains more or less unchanged today. I’ve heard some people say that “it gets easier.” I am not sure about that. I know she is not coming back, but sometimes I feel as if she has just been separated from us for a short while and somehow she will be waiting for me the next time I walk through the doors of my parents’ house in Pennsylvania where my father still lives.
If you knew my mother you will understand why today’s blog post is appropriately posted on her birthday.
Last week I reconnected with a friend I had met in Colombia last year. We met after work at the Whole Foods across fromGeorgeWashingtonUniversity’s campus where she is now pursuing post-graduate work. We drank coffee while catching up on each others lives; the conversation occasionally interrupted by passersby ducking inside to take refuge from the monsoon-like rain storm.
The rain stopped and we parted ways. As I headed up 22nd Street toward my neighborhood I saw a woman on the side of the road crouched down on the wet asphalt in front of her car trying to position a jack under the front left bumper. I asked if she needed help and she let out a sigh of relief, “Yes!”
I sat my bag in the wet grass, rolled up my dress shirt and moved the jack around to the side of the car and found a solid piece of the frame to position it under. A few short minutes later the tire was fully suspended off the ground and I grabbed the tire iron and muscled the stubborn lug nuts counter-clockwise. About then a couple of young guys, probably university students, stopped and offered to help too. We quickly got the spare on and sent her two blocks down the street to get some additional air in her temporary tire.
“Thank you so much, you don’t know how much this means to me,” she said reaching for her purse that sat on the empty driver’s seat. “Let me give you all something for your time.”
We all refused the money – I mean, we just did what every decent person should do. Volunteering my time to help her out was well worth the small inconvenience of arriving late, and covered with grease, to meet up with some work colleagues for a beer.
It was this kind of generosity and kindness that my mother embraced so strongly; probably the result of growing up in a town where you helped your neighbor, shared your harvest and brought dinner over to the grieving widower. These weren’t things that my mother ever sat me down and taught. She didn’t have to, they were part of her and she taught by example. Somehow I find comfort knowing that her lessons still live vividly inside me after all this time. I love you Mom!
Year of Giving 
Wonderful story, Reed! It is those little gifts of time which mean so much. Your mother would be proud of you.
Eric
Thanks Eric!
Happy Birthday to your Mom Reed. I know it is not the same as having her here, but she would be so proud of you.
That was a nice “pay it forward” you and those young men did for the woman.
Thanks! Even though it is sad I am lucky to have so many beautiful memories to think about today.
Came here through AA and her ‘Brother can you spare a minute?’ post. Wonderful tribute to your mother. Lead by example. Actions speak louder than words. Are there two more accurate sentiments in the world? Excellent!
Thanks Lenore, that is very kind of you to write. AA and her family came to the farewell party tonight!!! She is amazing. Glad you found the Year of Giving and have enjoyed the story. By the way, my mother’s name was very close to yours. Her name was Lenora.-Reed
Hi Reed, I was quickly taking a look in Year of Giving’s last stories and I was touched by this post. I don’t remember if already mention to you but I lost my mother in 2010 and it is the same feeling that you described. I also don’t agree that it gets easier. There are a lot of situations that “trigger” the memories. For instance, sometimes is difficult to raise my new baby girl knowing that she will never met her grandmother. By the way, my daugher’s name is Helena, she is (almost) 10 month’s old and I think she has a lot in common with my mother 🙂
Daniel
Daniel, I am sorry to hear about the loss of your mother. Toughest thing I have dealt with in my lifetime. My parents always said that they raised my brother and me to be independent people – that we could survive on our own. Of course they also tried to teach us to be good people as well, but if you simplify everything that they did – they gave us the foundation to develop into self sufficient members of society. And your mother did that! And you and Silvia are giving that gift to Helena. That’s the beauty of life. Although I never had the opportunity to meet your mother, I know what kind of woman she was by the type of person you turned out to be. I know she was proud of you.
Good to hear from you my friend. Abracos for you, Silvia and Helena!
Sandridge, so glad I stumbled on this as I was searching for your Mom. She would be very proud of you. I grew up with her in Richlands, Va. A mutual friend of ours I am trying to locate as well and I’ll bet she kept up with her as she lived near her during our teen years. Her name was Wanda. I also knew her sisters and her Mother. Good memories you have revived for me. Thanks
Anna Dye Weeks
Ms. Weeks,
So nice to hear from you. Sorry for my delay. It is wonderful to hear from someone that she grew up with in Richlands. The name Wanda sounds familiar to me. I bet my Aunt Sue might know her. I will check and get back to you.
Thanks for taking a moment to write. It means a lot to me.
Reed