Elephants never forget










Published: Wednesday, April 25, 2012 9:49 AM CDT

When my mother was a young girl, her father gave her a small elephant figurine that he had brought back with him following his deployment during World War II. A self-professed “Daddy’s girl,” my mother loved the gift almost as much as she loved her hero-father. Little did he know that one souvenir pachyderm would eventually become a herd of over two hundred elephant keepsakes amassed by my mom over the next sixty years. Tragically, he would not live to see his little girl or her collection grow because a few short years after giving his beloved daughter the gift, my grandfather took his own life.



I don’t think my mother ever fully recovered from the shock of suddenly and inexplicably losing her dad. Nevertheless, she always spoke fondly of him rather than with bitterness in her voice. As the years passed, Mom would pick up miniature elephants at garage sales and flea markets and display them throughout the house as a reminder of her father. They say elephants never forget. By collecting elephant figurines, Mom made sure she never forgot her daddy.



Being lazy shoppers, my brother and I gave our mom elephants for her birthday every single year. We also gave them to her for Mother’s Day and Christmas, too. It was automatic. But she seemed to love them all, mostly because she loved her boys. Little did I realize that her beloved herd would one day become mine.



When Mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer a few years ago, the disease had already spread to her brain before anyone knew there was a problem. She fought valiantly, undergoing brain surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. As much as she suffered, she could have been forgiven for throwing in the towel. She could have refused to receive further treatments. She could have followed in her father’s footsteps and taken the easy way out. Instead, she maintained a brave face and her dignity throughout, never forgetting the impact it had on her when her own parent gave up.



Mom stubbornly held on long enough for Bethany and me to bring Truman home from China. A week later, I convinced her to move in with us so we could look after her and so she could get to know her new grandson. Three weeks later, she died in our home, surrounded by everyone she loved. When Blake and I later sorted through her possessions, the only items I cared about keeping were photographs and of course, her elephants.



Today, all but a couple dozen of her pint-sized pachyderms are packed away in my storage room. Nevertheless, you will still see elephants in virtually every room of our house. Some of my favorites are the Asian elephants Mom had. These hold a special significance to me for a couple reasons. For one, her collection started with an Asian elephant. Also, a few Asian elephants still live in the jungles of southern China, near the area where Truman is from. Plus, we have some pieces of Chinese art displayed in our house and the Asian elephants compliment them quite well.



Last week, for the first time in my life, I bought an elephant piece for myself. I had no intentions of ever adding to an already excessive collection, but in this case, the decision was practically made for me. My friend Monica Mauney painted a stunning work of abstract art that I knew I had to have as soon as I saw it. Though I did not commission the painting, Fate must have. Set against a gorgeous red sky at sunset is the silhouette of an elephant with its trunk raised to the heavens. High in the red sky there are three brightly shining stars. (The Chinese flag also features stars on a red background.) To me, the three stars represent my three kids, two of which are Chinese, and the elephant represents my mom, who seems to be calling out to her three grandkids, no doubt telling them how much she loves them.



We love you, too, Nonna. And we, like your elephants, will never forget.