Mother was dark chocolate and white diamonds—a class act all the way till the final scene.
Mother was the Catholic part of Irish, the Orthodox part of Russian—she was ripe for a religion whose doctrine was determined by men.
Mother’s lack of faith had kept us together, even as her faith would separate us. The Church would change us all, in frightening ways.
My mother became a stranger in those days. As she told the elders about herself, I listened, learning about her as if for the first time.
Strange to see Mother waiting on someone, for she had always been the served. A servant’s heart, they had inspired in her, as we never had.
Mother was like a jewel in rare form around the elders. She shone with such brilliance, I wondered if the elders were the polish.
When my mother spoke of the spiritual realms of Mormonism, I realized how passionless she had been about everything else.
I began to yearn for the mother I knew I was losing. God, please don’t let David believe, I prayed, for he is perfect in his unbelief.
Mother hadn’t a son through David, but I could give that to her—through marriage to Elder Roberts—for an LDS family was forever.
If I lost my virginity, I would be diminished in my mother’s eyes, but in David’s, I knew I would still be worth more than many rubies.