Not Every Mom Scrabbles
By Colleen Edwards
Words have always been a part of me. Ever since I can remember I wanted to be a writer, a journalist, a National Geographic Explorer traveling the world and writing about who I meet and what I get to experience. I graduated with a degree in journalism, but honestly, life took me in a different direction. I work within the homeless services system now and I love what I do, but I still feel the pull of being a writer. However, when I reflect on what has made me who I am today, Scrabble comes to mind.
In the 1980s, Scrabble was turned into a daytime show, similar to Wheel of Fortune. Its promotional tagline was, ‘Every man dies; not every man truly Scrabbles.’ That right there is my life motto.
My mom and I have been playing this game together since I was little. I am 25 years old and she thoroughly kicks my ass every single time we play. It has become a sort of ritual for us whenever we are together.
When I was thinking about happiness and how I’ve handled my life, my mom is who I think of. Having a heart of gold is standard for many moms out there, but for mine, that’s not enough. Every Christmas she still makes my siblings and I put out reindeer food (oatmeal and sparkles) on our lawn for Santa. We are all in our mid/late 20s now. When I was talking to her a couple months ago, I told her my roommate and I kept losing forks. The next day, there was a package on my doorstep filled with them. She writes me letters. She gets upset when I don’t bring home my dirty laundry because she ‘misses’ washing.
She watches Hallmark movies and loves the Sunday comics. She believes most things can be solved with a good cup of tea and some cookies. She works with hospice patients and treats every human being like family. She has been working full-time since she was 13 years old and never takes a break. She has never lost a game of Scrabble.
Most of all, she helps me understand life and everything that comes along with it.
Scrabble has become our sacred thing in a lot of weird different ways. My mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was in middle school, and then again when I was a senior in high school. Both times were awful. Fuck cancer.
Some funny moments came out of the sickness. On the night she told us she was diagnosed again, we went to a nice restaurant. The tables were packed and we wouldn’t be seated for a long time. I looked at her and said, “Mom, tell them you have cancer and we’ll get seated.” I just blurted it out without thinking and the look on my siblings' faces was horrifying. My mom just started cracking up and we all did for a long time. Sometimes in impossible situations, everyone needs a laugh. We referred to it as the cancer excuse.
I would go and visit her during her chemo treatments. I brought Scrabble along in hopes of taking her mind off the loads of meds being pumped into her body. The treatment room was cold and there were multiple patients at different stages of chemo. Lots of them had lost their hair and looked incredibly pale and weak. I remember thinking how terrified I would be if I was to ever see my mom like that. But I didn’t- when I was there she made sure she was okay. When I was there, we played Scrabble. She was strong for me even when she was at her weakest. That is a mother’s love.
The nurses would come over and give their own opinions on our board. These newbies were no match for us. We had studied those little squares for years thinking of all the ways to beat each other. The words in the game often seem to mirror real life and what is going on in the moment.
When there is nothing to really say and life seems too much, we Scrabble. I really tried to win, but even through chemo and cancer and all the pain and meds she was on- she still beat me.
Scrabble taught us a lot about each other and about life. The point of the game is to think of words to get more points than your opponent. The longer the word, the more points you get. The game ends once there are no more letter tiles left to play. Just as in life, when there are no moves left to play, you start a new game.
Fast forward a few years later and my mom was totally cancer-free. This time, I was rushed to the hospital during my senior year of college. I had broken four ribs and punctured my lung, during one of the first ultimate frisbee practices of the season. Ironically, ultimate frisbee is supposed to be a non-contact sport.
I was in San Diego attending San Diego State University and suddenly my senior year came to a halt. My mom rushed to my side from LA. I stayed in the hospital for a week in a half, mostly in the ICU unit where everything and everyone was cold. I couldn’t use the bathroom by myself and I was hooked to the wall and had a tube jutting out of my side to help inflate my lung again. My body has always been strong, and feeling it collapse made me feel hopeless.
When I went into surgery, my mom said everything was going to be okay. She works in hospitals, so she knew how much pain I was about to go through. I had to stay awake when they hammered the tube into my side. My surgeon compared it to being stabbed in the side continuously. I have never felt that sort of pain my entire life, and hopefully never will again. I was screaming the entire time. Later, my friend would tell me my mom’s cries were louder than my own. I don’t remember a lot from the hospital because I was on a lot of good drugs. But I do remember Scrabble.
My mom pulled out the board as soon as I was settled with all my tubes. I laughed and thought this game was just mocking us at this point. Scrabble and pain seemed to go hand in hand. I know she wanted to maintain some type of normalcy for me when I was attached to all those machines, just as we had done together through her chemo.
I thought with my broken ribs and deflated lung, maybe my mom would go easy on me. Oh no- that woman is still the reigning champ and always will be. A month later, my lung collapsed again, I had another hospital stint, and Scrabble and my mom were right there the whole time.
I sit here and I struggle to find the right words to describe the impact of my mother on my own happiness. I have been writing my entire life and this piece feels the most important to me. There are so many points in my life where I have struggled to find happiness, but she has always been there to help me see a different side of things. She wakes up every day with an attitude that the world owes her nothing. She makes her own happiness and sets her own attitude.
Little memories that seem meaningless in the moment are what everyone seems to miss most when you are away from them. I have not lived at home in a while, but I still miss waking up in the morning to the sound of my mom’s teapot boiling.
We have never actually talked about the significance of the game in our lives. I think we use it as a way to let each other know that we are listening. I have never been the best at talking- in fact, I’m a very quiet person. But creating words out of those little tiles- that is our ‘love’ language.
Elbert Hubbard said, “He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.” My mom taught me that the people that matter most are the ones who can be comfortable in the quiet moments.
Even when it feels like there are no words left to say, the stillness that comes from sitting around a board with teeny letter tiles and my mom- that’s enough for me.
Lessons from Mom:
Kindness is priceless. Truly, do something kind every day, especially if no one is watching.
Always have some sort of sweets in the day. Chocolate doesn’t make the world go round but it sure helps.
Pain will always be manageable, and when it’s not, fight your hardest to remember how far you’ve come.
Each word has its own meaning, and that meaning will never change. Choose them wisely.
Colleen Edwards is an American writer working within the homeless services system. She is currently based in Chicago and loves burritos.
