7. Lessons from my Mother

Written Friday, April 10, 2020 / Day 242 / Morning

As I contemplate what lessons my family has taught me, I am drawn to remember my mother. After revisiting all that my father’s life had left for me (Volume 8 - Essay #5 “Lessons from my Father”) I am now looking back at my childhood through the post-grief eyes of an adult.

My mother was born in Iowa. Her father was a Methodist minister and had a wonderfully engaging personality. He was the type of person who, when he entered the room, changed the atmosphere to one of joy and love. He was just that way.

She and her brother grew up as “preacher’s kids’. In those days, ministers lived in a “parsonage” - a home dedicated by the local church for the pastor and his family to live in.

She did not have real roots in any community as the family would move as her father would be assigned new churches to lead.

An interesting thing about “preacher’s kids” - the stereotype is that they often do not reflect their religious upbringing as strongly as you might think. When my mom was old enough to venture away from home - she moved to the east coast and pursued a life on her own. She moved as far away as she could from Iowa - taking a job as a switchboard operator in Baltimore, Maryland.

As I can see, the stature of her fathers personality was so great - his family seemed to have missed the love that he broadcasted to those he served. Her brother (who moved to Kansas as an adult) was not affected either. Both siblings were were never overtly religious. They had that part of their upbringing in their backgrounds - but it was never something that became prominent in their day to day lives.

To me, she was comforting. As a child, I always remember being loved by her. As in many families, when she raised her voice (or called me by my full name) you knew there was trouble waiting to be resolved - and I was usually the primary suspect.

When I was older - that could have been around 8 or 9, she was in the hospital (as I later learned as an adult, due to a large benign tumor that had been discovered and had to be removed). In those days children were strictly not allowed to visit in hospitals and I was besides myself that she was not home.

I remember my dad driving us to the hospital where she waved to me out of the window. I do remember being so upset and crying. It was so bad that I was not able to attend school for a few days. It is one of those memories - even now - that gives me a moment of deep reflection on what she meant to me.

When I was ill, one of most lasting memories I have was of her rubbing my forehead for comfort. It was such a connection, so strong, that even today I can remember being comforted by those occasions.

I remember also quite clearly, our eighth grade play I was a part of. I, never really being a part of the “in” group of kids, was assigned a part - actually that of an announcer. As the audience was coming into the auditorium I can still remember the other children telling me, “So that’s your mother? Wow, she is so young and beautiful!” You can imagine how proud I felt to have that recognition being the introverted child that I was.

Like my father, she was a worker. When I was still in grade school - in the later years, 7th or 8th grade as I remember, she worked at the grocery store right around the corner from our home. The store in which the future jewel of my life would later be introduced to me.

My mother worked, I’m sure for economic reason, but also as a contributor to the family. This of course, left me alone after school - a “latch-key” child way before society in general moved to abandon more of its children. I missed her being home. I’m sure our relationship suffered from our lack of time together.

I missed her being home. Putting together the dinners we had. She was a wonderful cook. I was a bit too fussy in the way children are - but when she made something it was wonderful. As a working mother - those days of cooking diminished over time. Something I always missed.

I remember us making fudge brownies together for some reason. They are faint memories - but wonderful ones that I hold on to.

We were never really close emotionally although my affection for her would be something that would always be with me.

She seemed superficial in a way. No doubt because of never being able to form deep roots with people. My father and her never really had close personal friends. My father associated with those fellow salesmen and their families - they became an extension of our own. Unfortunately, not anything deep that survived in the long term.

They were actually a bit critical of others - something in the background I never really consciously embraced at that time - yet have found left over elements of that in my own life I have worked to overcome.

But when I think of her, I know she cared. The memories I have are of that nature. I felt connected, wanted more but had to settle for what was there.

She was a good mother to me. I always felt loved by her and although there was never a really deep connection - she did give me a solid foundation which in many ways I cannot quantify. That foundation made me a stable and secure person. I never doubted that they would be there for me.

When I came home that night in January, 1973 and told my parents I would have to stay with Joann (Volume 2 - Essay #17 “Alone”) they were both very matter of fact about it. I had just turned 22 and had been planning on going at some point.

But the suddenness of the event was faced with a very understanding outlook. I can still remember her saying, “Well, the little bird has to leave the nest.”. A bit of mid western wisdom that perhaps came through.

I did not want to leave them so abruptly, but the new and overwhelming love that had grown beyond what I had ever had thought it could become and the utter emotional devastation that Joann faced were so compelling to me - I had to go to her.

I do attribute my inherent stability as a person to my mother - she may not have exhibited all the traits I would have liked - but she did instill in me a commitment and rationality that has served me well. A stability that I know has enabled me to make better decisions.

The examples that we have in our lives often are in the background of our lives. Those unspoken attitudes, often buried in the issues of our parents as they struggled with the lives they were leading.

I had a solid, stable upbringing. My mother, I know, was a stabilizer for my father, as most wives are for their husband. Although they tried to have more children, I was their only one. I am so grateful for the strength they gave me.

A strength given to me, in the midst of their weaknesses, that is something that I will always be grateful for and live each day as a tribute to that strength.