Week Of Mother's Day

[MaryBeth]

Hello To All Of You ! I had mentioned a week ago about honoring our moms during this week, by sharing things about them, like a special childhood memory, their likes and dislikes, what made them who they were too us. I thought it may put a positive spin on our mental outlook for the approching day this Sunday. My mom passed 7 weeks short of her 94th birthday. She was born April 15, 1912, the actual day the Tiantic sunk, so you can imagine all she had seen and experienced in life, when the movie came out, she was still able to go out, so I took her to see the movie, it was to be, our last time for a movie outing, as she became, shortly after mostly home bound but she would talk of it often, so this is one of many, of a very special memory, of Mom. MaryBeth

[MartyT]

Dear MaryBeth,

What a lovely idea, and I thank you for the opportunity to tell everyone here about my own dear mother. I hope many of our other members will follow suit.

I wrote this in honor of my mother, and read it as our family gathered for her memorial service on her birthday, March 27, 1994:

EVELYN CECILIA MERRITT

March 27, 1916 - October 6, 1993

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."

Before we move any further forward in our lives, it's important that we pause to pay tribute to Evelyn Cecilia Merritt, to remember the special person that she was, and to say goodbye. It would be so unfair of us to remember her only as she was in the five years since the cruel stroke that so dramatically changed her circumstances. Her life of 77 years was so much more than that.

As our mother and our grandmother, she was there from our beginnings, and so she is a significant part of who we, her children and her grandchildren, have become.

She gave so much to all of us — and these are but a few of the things she gave to me. I know that it was my mother who taught me to be on time, to be organized and neat. She taught me to be mindful of the needs of others, to be financially responsible and to always pay my bills. She taught me a love for reading, for music, for romance. She taught me to tell my children — frequently and often — how very much I love them. And most of all, I think, she taught me how to love: how to give it and receive it — first with my parents and my sister, then with my husband and my children, and with all the special people in my life. She certainly taught me that it was okay to cry — and to always carry Kleenex in my pocket!

When I was little and before television came along, I loved to listen to her sing along when my father would play his banjo. She knew all those wonderful old love songs that were popular during World War II, and I remember thinking she had the most beautiful voice in the world.

I loved to find her there when I'd get home from school, and I still remember all the smells of oatmeal raisin cookies and homemade applesauce, of bouquets of fresh-cut lilacs and lillies of the valley wafting through our home.

I loved to crawl in bed with her and my sister, snuggling all together as she'd read to us chapters from our favorite books: The Little Lame Prince, Little Women, or The Secret Garden.

I loved to watch her face and listen to her voice as she'd interact with babies or with animals. She was wonderful with both. She'd have you believe that she hated cats and wanted nothing to do with dogs, but for all her protestations, she always succumbed to their charms and took them full force into her heart. Because she permitted it and put up with it, most of my childhood and adolescence was filled with goldfish and guppies, dogs and cats and kittens, a turtle and a parakeet, rabbits and bunnies and ducks. Every one of them adored her, and she taught me to love them, too.

I've always thought of my father as the one who slew the imaginary dragons under my bed when I was little, and taught me to handle the real ones when I got bigger. But it was my mother who watched over my sister and me when we were little — and understood that we were little. It was she who played with us, nurtured our imaginations and indulged our childishness — because she knew that children we still were. Even when we were pre-schoolers, it seemed as if our father expected us to behave like fully developed, miniature adults. But it was Mother who let us act like silly little girls — and sometimes she would act like one right along with us! We'd have her to tea in our playroom, and we’d all pretend she was our dear friend, “Evelina”, who’d come to visit us.

When Mother would leave for a week to visit her brothers and sisters in Detroit in those early years, we'd miss her terribly. We'd steal away from our sitter, Aunt Mary, to the spare bedroom closet, and burrow ourselves into the folds of Mother's Persian lamb coat. It was as soft and as lovely as she was, and it smelled every bit as beautiful.

I remember how all my friends in high school simply loved my mother. I realize now that it's because she paid such close attention to them, treated them with respect, and really listened to what they had to say. They all called her "Mom," and it always made me feel so proud and so very fortunate when they'd tell me I had the neatest mother in the world.

To be sure, there were things about my mother that I truly didn't like. Her passive, accepting attitude about so much that happened to her always bothered me terribly, but her child-like Catholic faith was the driving force in her life. She believed strongly that whatever happened was somehow meant to be, because it was God's will. It never seemed to occur to her that she herself could do anything directly to affect the circumstances in her life, and that always bothered me.

I do remember one time, though, when she made a drastic change. She had gone on a trip to Florida with our Aunt Lorraine. She left as the brunette we had always known and returned to us as a blonde. She was a stranger in our midst! I remember feeling furious with her. How dare she change so fundamental a part of herself without our prior knowledge and consent?! It took weeks for my sister and me to get over our anger and forgive her. Looking back on it now, I realize it was one of the few things Mother ever decided to do completely on her own, without consulting us first. That was forty years ago, and to her credit, she remained a blonde the rest of her life.

I always knew the life I'd lead as an adult would be quite different from the one my mother had. We lived in different times. She was bound to the domestic realm and, taking after my physician father, in addition to having a family, I was determined to have a career and to be a practitioner of nursing.

But it was in my mother's presence that I found comfort, warmth and nourishment, and it was in her face that I first saw feelings being felt and expressed. It was from my mother that I learned about being a woman, about relationships of nurturance and commitment, about how to be a mother, about how to be a nurse.

When I'd fall and hurt myself, she'd gather me in her softness and soothe away my tears. She mothered me and nursed me, both physically and emotionally — whether I was flat on my back in a body cast for nearly a year, or tethered to a hospital bed with a broken leg in traction for five months. She wasn't out nursing someone else's child; she was home with me. She bathed me, fed me, medicated me, entertained me. She listened to me, cried with me and encouraged me when I'd be feeling sorry for myself. She was there for me 24 hours a day, seven days a week, month in and month out, and never once did I hear her complain.

As an adult I had some very special times with my mother. I loved the times she came alone to visit us in Princeton and in Boston, and I would have her all to myself. She was so much fun to be with, so easy to please, and we enjoyed so many things together — the theater, sightseeing, touring beautiful old houses and neighborhoods, good food, music, conversation. We'd listen to her favorite singers and musicians from the 30's and 40's: Glenn Miller, Eddie Arnold, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Les Paul and Mary Ford. I'd get her to tell me stories about her early life as a young girl growing up in Detroit; how she met, fell in love with and married my father; how she felt when Pearl Harbor was bombed and, without consulting her first, my father enlisted in the Army Medical Corps. (He would be shipped overseas, not to be seen by her and her two little babies for two long years. I can only imagine how frightened and alone she must have felt!)

In My Mother, Myself, Nancy Friday wrote that when she stopped seeing her mother with the eyes of a child, she saw the woman who helped her give birth to herself. It used to bother me that throughout my entire career, my mother never expressed much interest in my experience and training as a psychiatric nurse. A retired nurse herself, I think she thought of nursing more as taking care of someone's physical needs. But I'm grateful that, in the five years since her stroke and for the six months or so I lived in Florida before she died, I was able to spend a lot of quality time with my mother, both in person and over the phone, using all my therapeutic skills to help her with her emotional needs. I believe I gave her back some of the rewards of the work I've been able to pursue because of the wonderful habits she taught me: patience, empathy, tenderness, and paying loving attention. I've come to see how my mother helped me give birth to the best parts of myself.

In the last year of her life, as if by grace (or divine intervention) our extended family was all together for a time, and we were able to include Mother in some of our most treasured family moments: unpacking as we moved into our home in Florida; Mother's 77th birthday party; our progressive Easter brunch, dinner and dessert; our Mother's Day picnic at the Pines; Ben and Carol's beautiful wedding; celebrating Christmas and Thanksgiving all in the same week before my husband and I packed up the dishes (and everything else) and moved to Arizona.

The last few years of Mother's life were incredibly painful and difficult for her. It's a great comfort to know that now, finally, an eternity of peace and happiness enfolds her. She never got to visit us in Arizona, and we know she would have loved it — especially the breathtakingly beautiful and spiritual place that is Sedona.

But we will bring her to Sedona, and at the Chapel of the Holy Cross we will cast her ashes to the wind. Then the breath of her spirit will be carried eastward across the land, to her children and her grandchildren, and whenever the wind blows, we will think of her, and feel her touch, and know that she is with us.

[Maylissa]

OH, Marty! That was such an eloquently beautiful tribute to your mother! It left me breathless ( in between shedding tears )! I absolutely loved the way you focused on her many wonderful attributes, yet married this with some of the realities, for you personally, of what you saw as a less healthy way of being for her, and yourself...superbly done. You've given me many ideas on how to incorporate these kinds of things into my own tribute for my Mother, so I'm very glad you posted this today. This has been one of the reasons I've hesitated so long in writing such a memorial for my Mother...so much deliberating to do to get it 'just so'! ( I also like your newer picture ~ we can see your face much easier now! )

Marybeth, although I'm really drawn to this wonderful idea of sharing our Mother's lives here, so close to Mothers' Day, and it's already been over 2 years for me since my Mother departed this world, I still, somehow, don't feel ready to take on such a thorough remembrance. I'd really want to do a complete job of it, such as Marty has, but I have so much other emotionally-draining stuff going on right now and I'm just not feeling up to the task. But I shall take great delight in reading all about everyone else's mother, should they care to share something...and who knows?...I might even chime in regardless of what I just said and settle for one or two things to share, or reshare, for now. Thank-you for such a touching suggestion...good thinkin'!

[Ell]

I don't feel up to that task right now either. I'm feeling anger right now toward my mother. I realize that no one else is talking about that aspect of grieving and I don't want to upset anyone so I haven't said much in a couple of days. I know she meant well but she consistantly made very detrimental decisions and I'm dealing with the repercussions now. Sorry for posting this in the tribute thread. The best I can do right now for a tribute is, "My mother didn't really mean to do the harm she did and there were some good times." Does, "She was always very pretty" count? I hope to say something more positive eventually.

Ell

[MaryBeth]

MartyT Awesome ! That was what I thought reading the tribute to your Mom. I thank you for sharing such a all around view on your mom. I realize that others here may not be up to the task to enter into such a rememberance,I can appreciate that.I do not look at my mom through rose colored glasses, she was a very stubborn and opionated woman. We did not see eye to eye on many things, I was always standing up for what I thought was right, sometimes not to good results and she would know what buttons to push to get me started. The most important thing, even with all this, she was always there for me. The dementia that moved in on her was very hard, it made her mean and hateful it was only in the last 5 months of her life that the DR finally found a med to take the anger and hatefulness away. Iam so glad for those 5 months. I come to realize after her death that I could only remember all the good things she did for me, not against me, it was like when you give birth the pain you went through is soon forgotten the first time you hold your child, that in her death, my pain, my lose, my grieving,opened my eyes. Iam an only child, so here I sit, all alone,but I know she is watching over me, because she always was ! MaryBeth

[Paul S]

My Mom was born Jan 20, 1916. She died last November, a few months before turning 90. She had wanted to live to be 100.

She was cute (most Moms are ) but hey, I've seen pictures of her back in the day, and oingy-boingy, she WAS quite the looker.

Apparently Mom and Dad were a rather popular couple back in High School. She was 21 when they married, and they had dated for several years before that. They were married 58 years when Dad died, so she knew him for well over 60 years. She started following him around when he was pitching for his HS baseball team. Competitors for her heart dropped away quickly. We found some love poetry of his after she died. (Dad??? Love poetry????? Dad????? He could pitch a line pretty good, the old guy.)

She had a thing for the actor Maurice Chevalier and other Hollywood stars. A movie he was in, "Gigi" was one of the last ones she saw before going into the hospital. Her viewing it was interrupted a lot by her need to coach me in the making of halupki casserole.

(The party couple and the girlhood infatuation with Chevalier wasn't something we knew about until after her death. Another thing was a mysterious incident on her senior class trip to Washington, DC in 1933. Curious as to why she faked being asleep at 2AM in the hotel room. )

Pink was her favorite color. She liked blue, too. Polka dots were her thing. She wore a lot of polka-dotted dresses when I was growing up.

She liked to polka dance.

She painted. Took night classes for a few years in the 1960's. Darn good oil paintings, if I may say so. I have 5. She sketched me when I was 5, prelude to painting a picture of me standing by a Falls. I was impressed by the sketches, never saw them befoere. They will be framed, when I can.

She was a good Catholic Christian. Served as a teachers aid to the nuns who ran the school. Ended up as school secretary for a few years until she retired when the nuns pulled out.

I credit her praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet and the Rosary every day for bringing me back into the Catholic Church. Being a Catholic has helped me remain sober more so than AA, and has given me a well-defined world-view. (AA helped, but was insufficient on its own. ) I am grateful that I sobered up with years to spare so I could be with her and care for her during her final years.

My oldest datable memory involved Mom. I seem to have been carried by someone as I was eye-level with her (tough to do when you're 10 months old). I remember her crying. I also remember wondering why she was crying, and being scared and upset about it. I remember turning to look to see what she was looking at from her position in the old dining room. The TV was on, and she was gesturing to it. Horses were carrying a coffin on a wagon. It was John F. Kennedy's funeral procession through Washington, DC. Now at 10 months, I didn't know who/what was going on, except that my Mommy was upset about it. Years later I filled in the details (names, places, things.)

She loved to garden. Indoor or outdoor. When I was growing up the house was filled with plants. The outside was beautiful. One piece of advice she and Dad always had was that you never, ever, thank anyone when you recieve a plant as a gift, and never, ever, accept thanks when you give one. Why? The plants always died if gratitude was expressed.

She liked baseball (natch, considering that how Dad got her. Remember, Dad...pitched well. ) After they got cable she developed an affection for the Atlanta Braves. She loved Dale Murphy. He was her boy.

She was a good Mom.

I miss my Mom.

P.S. Mom, I hope you liked they way I planted the flowers at your's and Dad's grave this morning. I did it the way you always wanted.

Edited May 10, 2006 by Paul S

[Maylissa]

Marybeth,

I'm glad you said what you did about your own mom, as it was very much the same experience for me, too. It always makes me feel a little bit better to hear about other moms not being total saints, all warm and fuzzy and helpful, mature and wise, etc. Then I don't feel so alien, having a much less than perfect Mother myself. And yet, like your experience, the small dose of anti-depressant that my Mom was on for the last 3 or 4 months of her life helped make her more like she used to be many years before ~ pleasant if you treated her okay and not as abusive if you didn't ( not that I was the one treating her poorly, but I observed this with her and my dad ). It was a blessing for me though. I felt I'd gotten my 'old' Mom back in those last days....before life and booze and years of daily abuse had taken their heaviest toll on her. Also like you, after her death, I was blessed with not being able to recall mainly the bad stuff, which finally lent a little balance to all those other years where I was too often P.O.'d at her. It felt almost like a good rest, one that I really deserved...until, of course, my communication with her, which has pushed me right back to the other camp again, unfortunately. ( gee...yet another type of roller-coaster ride! ) Now I'll have to try and find more balance again, lest this overtake all the gains I made previously.

My Mom ~ a dichotomy, enigma, puzzle, complicated yet simple****sigh****Ah well...this Mothers' Day I'll likely be concentrating more on ME as a mother to our fur-girl, as it may be the last time for me to be in this role in life. So Happy Mom's Day....to ME! At least I know I've been a superlative one!

[MaryBeth]

Paul I enjoyed your sharing memories of your mom. My mom was a Frank Sintra fan, her generation, and me, Elvis, she would always say, she had Frank and me Elvis, although I think I turned her into an Elvis fan, she would always let me know if a song of his was on the radio or what news she had heard about him. The day of the big bands was her time and she loved to dance in her young days. Hershey Kisses were her favorite candy, when she was more or less in her recliner 24/7 on the table beside her was kept a bowl full of them and her little hand held radio on a station that played the old time songs.One special time, mom, my daughter and I made a trip to Graceland, what a time we had ! Ah, to be able to reach back and relive those times. MaryBeth

[Paul S]

Oh, dang, how could I forget? My Mom adored chocolate. Talk about an oversight. That was one way to really, really make her happy. Hersheys Kisses, too!!!

She didn't care for Frank Sinatra. She liked Elvis's movies, plus John Wayne, another oversight.

[LoriW]

My Mom. What can I say, she was the single most influential woman if not person in my life.

She grew up in a small town in Illinois, the oldest of 3 daughters. She was tall and must have been that way since a child because she said she always stood out for that reason. She married my Dad at the tender age of 18 (against her parents wishes) in 1961 and the two soon left Illinois for Arizona.

My Mom came to Phoenix with my Dad because her Italian born grandparents resided there and they wanted a new and fresh start. Mom and Dad first rented a tiny house in north Phoenix back then. I imagine they wanted children shortly after their move to Arizona but that was not be be. They struggled with infertility and I am sure after much consideration they turned to adoption...they wanted to be parents.

I became my Mom's first child. I have the honor of the first to call her "Mom" but not too long after me came a son and then nearly 3 years after him another son. Her family was now complete!

My Mom was a compassionate, strong wonderful woman. She was a Mom who ran Brownie troops, soap box derby races, arranged school carpools and kept Little League scores in 110 degree heat. Along with being a wife. She enjoyed her family, her friends and had a deep faith in God rooted in from her Catholic upbrining. She was always there for a friend in need to talk, a neighbor boy who needed a basketball uniform hemmed, her grandparents who needed their mail translated into Italian.

I can never recall a time my Mom was not there for me as well. She sometimes was there more than I wanted, especially as a teen! She was at every home game, every school event, she rushed me to the ER when I broke my leg as a child. She showed me how to play so many board games and card games---a favorite past time for her, and she dried my tears.

My Mom always enjoyed a visit with a friend, drinking a cup of warm coffee and just chatting at the kitchen table. She loved to dabble in crafts and ceramics. She crocheted so many special blankets and loved the morning crosswords and word find puzzles in the morning paper.

She was an extremely dedicated nurse who cared for so many during her life. She graduated with a nursing degree when she was 34 years old. She worked for many years on an orthopedic floor of a local hospital and then spent many more years at various nursing homes. Just a little over 3 weeks before her death she began a new job with hospice in the town shere she and my Dad moved to 10 years ago. She loved it. She comforted her patients and family with gentleness and compassion. On Thanksgiving she drove me over to her new office. She was so happy. My Mom was a great nurse....I know, I was one of her longest returning patients.

As an adult I had grown to have a deeper respect for my Mom. Especially after the birth of my own daughters. It was then I realized, like an epiphany, the love my Mom has always had for me. I could now understand why she did things a certain way.

I wateched her care for each of her newborn granddaughters with gentleness, care and pride. She tended after me as well making sure I slept and was doing okay. Both times she left I cried like a baby myself, even though she was just an hour away. 30-something years old and I still needed my Mom!

Fast forward to 2005...I got to spend a week with her and my Dad with my daughters in Illinois. Their old stomping grounds. We laughed, takled, played cards and joked. That trip has now become a treasure in my mind.

In August 2005 my husband lost his much loved grandfather. As soon as I found out I called my Mom....to let her know and for advice on how to break the news to my 9 and 6 year old daughters. He passed away suddenly of cardiac arrest. My Mom said, "He must have been a good one...because he went quickly." When our family went to Texas for the funeral my girls started to cry over the loss of their great grandfather adn then the beautiful spray of flowers sent by my parents. I am sure it was my Mom who ordered them.

Thanksgiving 2005 we were going to spend in Texas with my husband's father who was tying up loose ends from his Dad's estate, but my husband's job did not permit and we spent an unconventional Thanksgiving with my parents. My Mom made an Italian dish called "pasta frita" rather than the traditional turkey and fixings at her youngest sisters request. I remember the majority of that day so vividly. We ate, played Bunco, sat outside and chatted and my Mom even spoke to my youngest brother who has been somewhat estranged from us for over 5 years. I spent the night that night...something I rarely did...I am glad I did. I woke to hear my Mom in the kitchen chatting and laughing with her granddaughters. She fixed them toast and cereal. I got up and she made me toast too. She was dressed in purple scrubs for work, stethescope in her pocket. She kissed me goodbye that morning and we said I love you and that's the end.

My Mom----my world, my caretaker, my confidant, my role model, my first soft place to fall. The woman I had know for nearly 40 years died 5 days later. Suddenly and unexpectedly and I recall her words that she told me just over 3 months prior about my husband's grandpa. My Mom was a "good one".

We buried my Mom just over a week ago, on May 3rd. I will go there on Sunday and place upon her grave some bright and happy daisies because that's what she was. She was my Mom--a great one and I aspire to be that kind of a Mom to my own daughters. I love her and miss her more than words can ever show. She was a good Mom. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

[tara12]

Yes ... i AM FINDING IT OVERWHELMING TO FACE

[MaryBeth]

LoriW

I extend my sympathy for your recent lose of your mom and what a wonderful tribute you gave to her. I live in central Illinois, was wondering where your parents lived here, you do not have to say, if you would rather not. My mom passed this year, Feb 22, I also will be going to the cemetry on Mother's Day. I was very happy that they got her name engraved on the headstone as I had aked for it to be done by then.

Paul

Mom's favorite movie was Gone With The Wind, flower favorite was Lilacs, and she loved ice cream. actually anything sugar, and never had a health issue regarding that, unlike her daughter ! As a side note, she did not like cats, and today Iam adopting one from a local shelter. My daughter is a cat lover and kept saying you need a little companion now mom to keep you company so I finally came around to the idea. I can just see mom looking down and seeing how this will work out, funny how we still worry about what mom would think ! MaryBeth

[Paul S]

Marybeth:

Mom's favorite movie was "The Quiet Man". We had lilacs all over the place. I glimpsed them coming into bloom when I drove by the old house. I now avoid doing that. I drive around now intentionally avoiding seeing the old place, which may mean that next year I may relocate. Mom and Dad also had Rose of Sharon (a/k/a althea) growing everywhere. These past 10 years (2006 obviously an exception) there were lilies (Easter and Asiatic) growing in patches. They were ones that I had gotten her for Easter and Mom's Day. They should be coming up soon, blooming in a month or so. Another reason to avoid the place. I do not think that the new owners are much into gardening. I can't bear to see what they may do.

Mom loved ice cream too, there was rarely any refusal on her part of a good bowl.

She also really liked Bette Midler's song "The Rose". Didn't like the movie, tho. Years ago I bought her a music box that played the song. She loved that. I have it now, near a picture of her with Dad taken on their 50th Wedding Anniversary.

LoriW: That was a wonderful tribute. Your love clearly showed. Thank you.

[LoriW]

I have loved reading about everyone's Moms. I send my sympathies to each of you.

Mary Beth

My Mom was born in Spring Valley, IL and was raised in the nearby town of Peru/LaSalle right on the Illinois River. My Dad was born and raised in Ottawa, IL about 15 east of where my Mom is from also on the Illinois. My Grandma still lives in Peru and I have many more relatives through central and northern Illinois. Where in Illinois are you from/live?

Lori

[MaryBeth]

Lori What a small world, my mom was born in Spring Valley as was her mom. My Great Grandparents came over on the boat from Italy and settled there. I live in Peoria, Ill. My good friend has kids living in Lasalle, Peru, infact she is going to her Grand Daughter's high school graduation this coming Thurs night from LaSalle High School. My friend will be moving to Streator in the near future. My Great Grandpatents, and my mom's dad are buried at the Spring Valley Cemetry. Thanks for sharing ! MaryBeth

[LoriW]

Mary Beth,

WOW! This is a small world. Not only was my Mom and her sisters born in Spring Valley but my Dad's Dad was as well. My Dad's grandfather immigrated here from Ireland and they lived in Hall township back in the 1850's...which is Bureau County. I believe he is buried somewhere in the Spring Valley area too.

My Gramma was born in Mark, IL which is in Putnam coutny. I belive that was predominately Italian. It is a tiny town. Have you ever heard of that one?

Lori

[MaryBeth]

Lori Yes, I know where Mark is.indeed a small town. What year was your grandma born in ? My mom was 1912. Her dad worked in the coal mines for awhile in Spring Valley. My mom would always talk of the Cherry Mine disaster in Spring Valley.I know Spring Valley well, would always take mom there for Memorial Day to decorate the graves, and visit some cousins still living there.Did you ever eat at the Red Door in Peru ? I think it is closed down now. I have alot of great memories there with my mom and daughter.

[LoriW]

Mary Beth,

My Grandpa...born in 1918 was born in Cherry, IL. He is buried in the Cherry cemetery. I know exactly what you are talking about...the Cherry mine disaster. My Grandma was born in 1923 and her brother 1924. Several of my relatives also worked in the mines too!

Yes, I remember the Red Door. Tasty food. When i go see my Grandma I like to go to The Igloo on route 6 for pork tenderloin sandwiches.