Charlotte Ray Abram

It’s hard to write an obituary for your mother. I only knew Charlotte Abram as my mother for 60 years, and somehow trying to sum up that life, and what she meant to me and so many others, feels almost impossible.
As my mom, she always kept her kids—all six of us—in mind in nearly everything she did. She was funny, even when she wasn’t trying to be. She was sweet— and anyone that has ever met her would probably use that word to describe her. And she was selfless, sometimes almost to a fault. She spent so much of her life just thinking about, caring about, and just doing things for other people.
There are countless things about her I’ll miss, but one of the biggest is just talking to her every weekend and trying to keep up with her enthusiastic stream of topics. One thing would lead to another, and then another, and somehow we’d eventually circle back to where we started. I’m going to miss those conversations more than I can say.
When I think about my life with my mother, my memories seem to fall into different chapters. There were the years when I was very young, when she was simply Mom… the person who just was always there. Then came my teenage and college years, when I slowly began to understand that she wasn’t just my mother. She was a person, too, with her own hopes and dreams, worries and disappointments, just like everyone else.
Then I became a parent myself, and she became a grandmother to my children. That brought an entirely new understanding of her life. With my own worries and responsibilities as a parent, I realized just how much she had done for me and my siblings over the years.
In fact, when my first child was born, I called my mother and apologized. Pretty much for everything. For all the sacrifices I never noticed. For all the worry I had caused her. For all the thankless things she had done for me from the day I was born until that very day.
14 years ago (wow, has it been that long?) after my father died and Mom became a widow, she entered a different chapter. She was getting older, but somehow it still seemed like she would always be there… although we all knew this day would come.
This weekend will be the first weekend in a long time that I won’t be able to call her. And I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I’ll never have one of those calls again.
Mom always answered when the phone rang. But in a much bigger sense, she spent her entire life answering the call. When her children needed her. When her family needed her. When someone needed kindness, help, reassurance, or simply someone who would listen, she was there.
I miss her beyond words. But I’m grateful for everything I learned from her, for the parts of her that live on in her children and grandchildren, and for a lifetime of memories I share with so many people who loved her.
And I’m especially grateful for a few memories that belong only to Mom and me.

My grandma was, and always will be, my peace in every storm. On my best days and my hardest days, she was the person I could always call. No matter the time, the day, or what life brought my way, she was there with a listening ear, a loving heart, and the kind of comfort only she could give. Our conversations, sometimes several times a week, were about everything and nothing at all. Somehow, she always knew exactly what I needed to hear.
Some of my most treasured memories are the simple moments we shared—the weekends at Landa Park and the months I spent alongside her when I would go to work with her. I remember sitting there coloring, watching her work, and being completely in awe of her. I loved being by her side and having that time with her. We would end our days cooking steak fingers and okra, playing Yahtzee, and eating queso. At the time, I didn’t realize just how precious those ordinary moments were. Now, they are some of the memories I hold closest to my heart.

When I became a mother to Charlotte, and later to Paisley and Madelyn, Grandma became an even greater source of love and wisdom in my life. She showed me the true meaning of motherhood—not just through the words she shared with me, but through the way she had always loved, cared for, and guided me. She taught me that motherhood is found in the little things: showing up, listening, loving unconditionally, and being a safe place for your children no matter how old they become.

Becoming a mother made me appreciate her in a way I never could have before. I understood more deeply the sacrifices she made, the love she gave, and the strength it took to be the woman she was. So much of the mother I strive to be to Charlotte, Paisley, and Madelyn comes from the example she gave me.

She was a wonderful mother to her own children and an extraordinary grandmother to me. She had a way of making me feel loved, protected, understood, and never alone. In so many ways, she mothered me through different seasons of my life, and I will forever be grateful for that gift.

I will miss our conversations, our laughter, our little routines, and simply having her there. I would give anything for one more phone call, one more day at work with her, one more game of Yahtzee, or one more ordinary day that I didn’t yet know was extraordinary.

I will forever carry her with me—in the lessons she taught me, the memories we made, and the love she gave so freely.