To Honor My Mother...

It’s here again.  Mother’s Day.   And I am remembering my mother….

In working on my family tree, I have traced both her biological parents and her adoptive parents.  The former were immigrants from Germany.  The latter were an older, childless couple: he from an old St. Louis family, and she a German war bride.  He was a surgeon serving in the Army during WWI and she drove an ambulance….

My mother was orphaned at 8, having lost her mother to cancer and her father to the bottle.  He couldn’t manage 3 children, so they were put up for adoption.  She found a home within a year, but her older sister and younger brother languished in the orphanage for a couple more years after she left.

I remember her smell.  She wore “Evening in Paris” and I loved its fragrance.  I remember her soft skin as I rubbed my hand along her arm, waiting to ask a question.  I remember her voice, gentle as a breeze, but with sharp edges when I had misbehaved.  Fortunately, that wasn’t often.

I remember her clothes.  She had a lovely figure and the clothes to go with it.  There was a gray, wool suit, with red flowers on the shoulders, like epaulets.  She looked lovely in that suit, with her hat and the netting in front of her yes.

I remember her handwriting: each letter perfect.  When I asked how she could write so beautifully, her answer was simple: “Catholic school.”   She wrote letters to me, infrequently, and they are full of her perfectly formed cursive writing.  A treasure, to this day….

I remember her laughter.  It wasn’t quiet, or “lady-like”…..  When she finally “got” Daddy’s jokes, she would laugh and snort until she cried.  No one in the room was able to keep from laughing with her.  I remember one hot and ugly summer day: she took us to the movies to see Lucy and Dezi in “The Long Trailer.”  The movie was funny, but Mother’s laugh warmed my heart.

I remember her tears.  They filled her eyes and languished there, afraid to run down her cheeks.  She cried as quietly as she laughed loudly.  Deep, deep tears of sorrow, shaking her body and making her sick.  They didn’t happen often but, when they did, they cast a pall over the house….

I remember the last time I saw her, as surely as if it was yesterday.  She was having trouble getting ready to go on a cruise.  She couldn’t think of what to pack.  Only in hindsight did I realize that she was suffering from memory problems.  And I can only conjecture what actually happened to her, as she was 8000 miles away, on a cruise ship, in international waters.  A stroke or an aneurysm is my best guess.

And I remember the day Daddy came home on the plane from that trip.  We were all there to greet him.  Somehow, I didn’t believe that what was true…..was true.  With my two older children on either side of me, I kept my gaze glued to the open door of that airplane, till every last person had disembarked, waiting to see my mother.  And then, I nearly sank to the ground.  And would have, if my children had not caught me.

I remember how it felt to know that truth.  That she was not ever coming home again.  And now, nearly 30 years later, it still stings….  And yet, life goes on.  I am now older than my mother lived to be.  Of course, I didn’t smoke for 50 years, either…..

So, today, I have to say: “Happy Mother’s Day, Momby”…….  You are loved and missed, dearly.

Cali