That's Life: Memories of Mother
All I want for Mother's Day is to receive phone calls from my two children, Christopher and Jennifer ... .I would prefer a visit, of course, but since they do not live just down the block and have another "mother" in their lives with whom I need to share them, I understand why they will not be able to drive up to Williamstown to spend Mother's Day with me.
I was far from a perfect daughter, yet I called my mother every week, and since my husband's mother had died before I even met him, I was free to spend every Mother's Day with my own dear Momma.
Oh Momma, I miss you so.
I best remember you wearing spotless, starched house dresses, the scent of Dier Kiss bath powder clinging to you. Somehow when you wore those simple, cotton dresses, it seemed you belonged only to us, your family. As soon as you put on your blue shantung dress or a skirt and blouse, I knew you were going out into the world to attend a wedding or be with the people with whom your worked or played bingo.
And Momma, I remember how safe I felt as a little girl with my hand in yours as we walked to the grocery store.
Even when I became a woman with children of my own, I felt pampered and safe when I was with my mother. When the children and I spent a weekend with her, she allowed me the luxury of sleeping in late.
As soon as the children climbed out of bed, Mother would take them into the kitchen and together they would make muffins for breakfast. What fun the children had kneading the dough and then using a glass, cut the dough into circle shapes. I know that because they would tell me so — telltale flour on their noses as well as their hands. And how I loved awakening to the scent of freshly baked muffins.Years later, I felt so helpless when Mother was suffering what would be her final illness.
Never one to complain, she bore her pain with a strength that was beyond comprehension. I visited her one of the last days she would ever spend at home. She looked so tired, I suggested she go to bed and nap. "I can't," she said. "I haven't been able to sleep for two nights. My mind just keeps going."
I mentioned that I had heard of a remedy for clearing the mind of all troubling thoughts. "We can only think of one thing at a time, so concentrate on a number and keep repeating it in your mind," I said. And lo and behold in a couple of minutes, there Momma was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep.
When I left that night, I kissed her and said, "I love you, Momma." She looked at me with sad eyes and murmured, "Oh, Phyllis." I wondered if perhaps the catch in my voice and the fact that I held her longer than usual had betrayed me. I feared my Momma soon would be gone from us.
But Mother would not want me to dwell on sad memories. So, I will try to erase them from my mind, and think of the happy times we spent together — vacationing on the seaside when my sisters and I were young — mother preparing lunch and bringing it to the beach, where we wiled away the day. In the evenings, we walked to an amusement park on the boardwalk and Mother would buy tickets so we could ride in "teacups" turning round and round. We also liked playing games, where we could win prizes. How thrilled we were when Mother won a waffle iron for maneuvering a mechanical rabbit to the finish line before any others reached it.
A harsh word never came between my mother and me. She did not interfere in my life, giving advice only when asked for it, and I never found fault with what she did.
What did it really matter, that she ruined the quilts my sister Gloria and I had bought for our twin beds by putting them in the washing machine. Mother told me what had happened when I came home from work. "What am I going to tell your sister?" she asked, knowing my sister would let her know in no uncertain terms that she was upset.
When Mother came to visit when I was married and had two babies, she helped in the kitchen after dinner, drying and putting away the dishes, pots, etc. I had washed. I did not tell her "No, the cups plates go on the other shelf," I appreciated that she wanted to help, and I could straighten out the shelves after she left.
And she was a great help - taking Christopher and Jennifer for walks when they were still in baby carriages, and playing with them while I cleaned house. She could come only on Fridays, because that day and most weekends she was not scheduled to work as a sales clerk at a department store. How I looked forward to Fridays!
Mother traveled by train and bus to get to my apartment, and would arrive with a box full of freshly baked goodies she had bought at a bakery near the bus stop. Soon after she came in the front door, we would sit at the table in my little kitchen and drink tea and munch on buns, while the children were happily occupied chewing cookies and rummaging through Mother's overnight bag.
"I put something in there for both of you," she would say to the children, and they would look very pleased with themselves when they found a coloring book, crayons or a toy truck and story book.
I enjoyed the alone time with Mother when we would sit on the sofa, chatting. while the children napped. We did not have many chances to do that, so it was special.
Mother was not a demonstrative person who showered me with kisses and hugs, but her love shone through in all that she did for me. I wish, as in days gone by, she could hear me say, "Happy Mother's Day, Momma"
