Tribute to My Momma — Linda Jo
Today, we’re here to honor a woman who defined what it truly means to be a momma.
And if you knew my momma, you know that word fits her better than any title ever could.
A momma isn’t just someone who gives you life—she’s someone who pours her life into you.
She loves you without conditions, shows up no matter what, and protects you with a strength you don’t always see but always feel.
She teaches, guides, comforts, and somehow keeps giving even when she’s tired to the bone.
And most of all, a momma puts her children first, every single day, without ever asking for anything back.
That was my momma. That was Linda Jo.
Growing up with my two brothers and two sisters, we always knew one thing for sure: Momma had our back. No matter what we were going through, no matter what the world threw at us, Momma was steady. Strong. There.
She worked long hours—every day—just to make sure we had food, a place to live, power, water… the things she refused to let her kids go without. She sacrificed quietly, but we felt it loudly.
And she did it all while giving us the moments that make us smile even now.
Like how she’d call the refrigerator a “Frigidaire.” Or Western Sizzler “Western Scissors.”
Or the time she called a stethoscope a “test a scope.”
Those little mixups became part of our family language—things we’ll still laugh about years from now.
I remember being a teenager, driving her car around to spend time with my girlfriend.
I’d pull up at her workplace to pick her up, and she would be so tired, but she still greeted me with a smile.
And the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t about her long day—it was,
“How are you? How’s Sandy (Cindy)?”
That was Momma.
Always giving.
Always loving.
Always putting us first.
She had a way of surprising us, too.
Like the day we were at the pawn shop looking at stereos with big speakers. I saw one I really liked… and somehow, I ended up with it.
Momma didn’t have much, but she always found a way to give her kids joy.
One Christmas, when I was about 10, she was worried sick that we wouldn’t have anything under the tree. I hugged her and told her, “We have each other.” And then, on Christmas Eve, someone knocked on the door. I opened it to find the porch full of presents.
I ran to get Momma, and she just smiled and said,
“Well, looks like you’re gonna help me play Santa Claus.”
That night, she didn’t just give us gifts—she taught me responsibility, gratitude, and what it means to care for others the way she cared for us.
Even as we all grew up and started our own lives, Momma never stopped worrying about her kids. I could hear it in her voice every time she called. And every visit, I’d say the same thing:
“Momma, you gotta make your famous biscuits and your potato salad.”
Because nobody—and I mean nobody—could make them like she could.
Years later, God brought Jeff into her life.
The day I met him, I saw immediately that Momma was truly happy. Jeff was exactly who she needed—steady, kind, and chosen by God to love her for the rest of her days.
She was excited to travel, to see places she’d never seen, to make new memories she deserved.
I’m grateful she got that joy.
And now, as I stand here today, there’s one thing I need to say:
I thank God that He gave Linda Jo to be my momma.
She is the reason I am the man, the husband, and the father I am today.
Her love shaped me.
Her sacrifices strengthened me.
Her lessons still guide me.
Momma, I love you forever.
You will never be forgotten.
And everything good in me carries a piece of you.
Rest easy, Momma.
We’ll take it from here.