A tribute to my beautiful mother
Department stores were part of my childhood. My Mom would bring my brother and I to Eaton’s, Simpson-Sears or The Bay and we would try our best to amuse ourselves by visiting the candy section, the Malt Stop, the stamp collection downstairs, the toy aisle or simply playing hide-n-seek in-between the circular clothes racks. Going to the store was an outing, a fun adventure, with or without a purchase involved.
On special occasions, my Mom would take us to the local Dairy Queen, not a brazier, but the old-fashioned outlets where you lined up outside to place your cold, creamy order. We would eat the ice cream outside on the dark blue wooden benches placed against the white stucco Dairy Queen walls. My Mom would get a hot fudge milkshake or sundae, it had to be hot fudge, not chocolate. My brother and I opted for a Dilly Bar in the hopes that our light blue plastic stick would reveal the word “free” in the middle. Anticipation is a great marketing tool for kids.
These days, when I visit The Bay or Nordstroms, (Eaton’s and Simpson-Sears are now part of the past), I walk through the cosmetics department and locate the Oscar de la Renta perfume. I remove the plastic lid from the glass canister and breathe in the scent of my mother. During the few occasions that I visit Dairy Queen, I order a hot fudge sundae and think of my Mom with every gooey spoonful. If I’m in a drug store, I’ll take in the fragrance of Oil of Olay facial cream and be transported back to a memory of my mother sitting in front of her dresser mirror, applying the pink moisturizer to her soft, freckled face. Sometimes I’ll even buy a pack of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit and pop a piece in my mouth to recall the aroma of my mother’s purse. If there is one thing that defines a mother, it has to be her purse.
My Mom loved watching television, especially series like A Family Affair, The Carol Burnett Show, The Partridge Family, Little House on the Prairie, Dynasty, Three’s Company, Highway to Heaven and Eight is Enough. We couldn’t wait to find out who killed JR and were both intrigued by the twist of fate in The Thorn Birds. Has any romance ever been as captivating as The Thorn Birds? I doubt it. I’m sure my mother would agree.
My Mom was such a pillar in my life. She was there when I was sick, ready with the cold cloth on my forehead, a thermometer under my tongue and Vicks Vaporub on my chest and back. She picked up and administered the deliciously pink antibiotic syrup that tastes exactly like Torani Guava. My Mom would lovingly crush an aspirin between two spoons and mix it with honey since I could not swallow pills for the life of me. She would hold me tight when my temperature rose so high that I started to hallucinate and calmed me with her gentle touch. I felt comfort knowing my Mom was there and that she loved me.
Sometimes my mother would dress up for Halloween as a witch and made all of my Halloween costumes. For a few years, the only characters worthy of my attention were Raggedy Ann and Laura Ingalls. My Mom disliked sewing but was adept at it and crafted my costumes to perfection, including the dress, apron and bonnet. As far as birthday parties go, she had a gift, right down to the homemade cakes. My most memorable birthday involved a small scale depiction of a ghost or cemetery scene. My eleven year old friends and I sat in a circle downstairs with the lights off, as my Mom passed around peeled grapes to resemble a dead man’s eyes and used cold, cooked spaghetti to feel like his lifeless hair. We were all equally enthralled and petrified. That was my Mom. She was spirited, youthful and unparalleled.
My entire life until the day my mother died was centered on absolutes. She would be there for my engagement, my wedding, my children. My Mom was destined to be a grandmother, she was just so amazing with kids! She would share in my pregnancies and sit bedside during each delivery. My Mom would be closely involved in her grandchildren’s lives, baking with them, taking them to the park, having intimate conversations, developing unique relationships with each one and my children would adore her. Our family would be Disney material.
Unfortunately, fairytales don’t often include a terminal cancer diagnosis and they certainly do not end in death. Death is for television, the movies or other people. After my mother received the news that she had five months to live and should get ‘things’ in order, I learned very quickly that my vision for the future was going to look differently than I imagined. Ideals are not destiny and fate was completely uninterested in my personal expectations.
My Mom died a few weeks after she turned 46. This would be her age for the rest of my life. There was never going to be a 47 or a 50 or an 80. Since I was 23 years old when she passed away, I would experience my adult life without her. My sons would never meet their maternal grandmother and, eventually, I would outlive her. It has been 32 years since I last saw my Mom and I am now exactly 10 years older than her. It’s a strange concept to grasp, being older than my mother. Sometimes I wonder if my Mom would even recognize me. When I look into the mirror, I can only see an older version of myself instead of my mother’s reflection. My face is aging beyond her 46 years and menopause has biologically changed me. If my Mom, in some twist of fate, returned to earth, would I be mothering her?
I remember my Mom as my Brownie and Girl Guide leader. She was so enthusiastic to be part of this organization, definitely much more than I was. My mother must have felt the importance of her daughter learning some valuable skills and, I have to admit, I became quite proficient at digging latrines. I remember the Girl Guide motto “Be Prepared” and, looking back, I realize the significance of those two simple words. At the time of my Mom’s diagnosis up until her death on August 20, 1989, I did not feel prepared for a life without her. It was a devastating thought and sometimes I don’t know how I handled all the grief that surrounded me after she died. My faith, prayer, my father, my friendships and going back to school definitely helped. However, in retrospect, I acknowledge that the work I am doing right now would not have been possible without my personal experience with death, grief and loss. My beautiful, talented and perceptive mother has indirectly introduced me to bereaved people, to volunteer work at Hospice, to grief group facilitation, to death and grief certifications and to my current passion, narrative therapy.
My Mom died 32 years ago and her death changed the course of my life. Her love, compassion and kindness is interwoven into my spirit like the macrame plant holders she used to make and hang in our home. Although I may not remember her voice, I can feel her presence when I show empathy to the homeless, when I volunteer at the local shelter or with children at a transition home, when I model unconditional love to my own kids and husband or when I sit and lovingly listen to the stories of those who seek counselling support. I may be 10 years older than my mother, but I still find comfort in knowing that no matter how long I live, she will always be my Mom, and for this I will be forever grateful.