Mother's Day

We gather together to share the stories of our Mothers.  

My Mother always claimed she didn’t like women.  They were silly, fragile, manipulating, cry babies.  My Mother had none of those qualities. It was difficult growing up in her shadow, and it took years to understand just what it was she didn’t like about women.  You see I was doomed to eventually become a woman so what did it mean that she didn’t like them, categorically?  What was I to become if not the very thing she disliked?  What was she if not a woman?  This was not only confusing but also intimidating.  

Now I get it.  My Mother appreciated beauty from afar.  She just didn’t value it.  To be appreciated for your beauty was a positive thing but not enough for you to rest on.  It was to be a perk, an added benefit to life, nothing to count on. Worthless in the end.  

You might remember the qualities women were taught before the 60’s; to be coy, helpless, giggly, back biting, tearful, but quaffed, made-up dolls.  My Mother had a different view of what a woman should be.  

She had a few rules in the house.  No crying was a big one.  No one gets sick.  If you were bellyaching about a splinter, she’d pinch your arm and ask which one hurts more now?  If you didn’t want to finish your dinner, she’d say ‘Good, more for us.’  If you wanted to run away, she’d offer to pack your bags.  My Mothers’ reality was a very heavy burden and she didn’t have the time nor desire to sweat the small stuff.  One of her favorite sayings was “Who gives a rats ass?”  Other than that and ‘damn it,’ she didn’t curse.  Though the word ‘witch’ was used an awful lot.

“Life is hard“, she’d tell me.  “I can’t be easy on you.”  From my point of view she coddled my brothers and strongly encouraged me to toughen up.  

You’d think, knowing I was doomed to a hard life and having to face it as a woman she would have put me on the more traditional path of at least educating me.  But, no, my Mother valued inner strength and guts and charm and a sense of humor.  And you didn’t necessarily learn those by following anyone else’s path. She either didn’t think college was necessary for me or she just couldn’t afford it, I’ll never know, but it wasn’t an option.  Instead she was always in my ear whispering, chanting, ‘lead don’t follow.’  Those were her words, but she lived life, and taught me by example to ‘Lead, Follow or Get out of the way!’  She was in a hurry and had a heavy load to carry.

Now being a parent I realize how much freedom I really did have in life to explore, wander and find my way.  She didn’t always agree but she let me go and allowed me to deal with the consequences in my own way.  She allowed me to grow up being me.  

The older I get the more I realize I’m very much like her.  I’m more emotional and dependent than she ever was but I get that from my Father.  My Mom was all English.  Well there was that red haired Jewish money lender that is a distant female relative, from what I’ve been told,  but other than that little bit of spice my Mom was pretty cool blooded.  She had the wanderlust in her though.  I think our family has a female gene that resembles a wild red hair.  My Mom and I got a double dose.  Well, after some thought I’ve got a dose from all sides.  It’s amazing that I can function at all.  

My Father was all Latin and I get my passion and emotional range from him.  Mixed with my Mothers’ role modeling I am a fine mix of raw emotion right under my veneer of good cheer.  Sometimes I am all fire and others I am a stone.  I get that from her, you know.  My Mother had a way of looking across a room at you and she’d stop you in your tracks.  Unfortunately, she didn’t have that ability with my Father who was her main concern.  She did her best to keep him out of jail and encouraged him to keep working though he was a dreamer and always about to make a million on his next deal.  You can’t wait for that to happen so my mom just kept working while waiting for his ship to come in.  It never did and she worked till the day she was bed ridden.  

It was 30 years ago today, Mothers Day that we sat on our back deck in the sunshine enjoying a family day when she stood up and the bone in her right thigh finally broke.  In great pain, my father carried her to the car and took her home.  that was the last day she was on her feet.  Mothers Day 1984.  

She stayed in bed for six months till December 1 when we decided she could no longer handle the pain and admitted her to the hospital.  

As a rare double scar of heart ache, my father died on Mothers Day in 2003.  Mothers Day is a bitter sweet day for me.  As much as it is a day of celebration, for me it is a day of heartache, gratitude and raw emotion.  My mother would not approve of my crying so…shoulders back, chins up and a smile on my face, I go on.