11 May Susan’s Sound Advice #537
It is Mother’s Day, and as I have done before, I am reposting this blog article I wrote about my mom. She definitely was “one of a kind”!
My grandmother was 47 years old when she gave birth to my mom. They say that when you are a child of an older mother, you are destined to have some special quality. Well, my mom had many. She embodied what the word “unique” means. She was the youngest of eight children, and had a happy and secure childhood, filled with the love of her older siblings, extended family, and, of course, her parents. She grew up in Montreal, and was known to be the mischief maker in all aspects. During one of the many winter storms which left a blanket of snow on the ground, she jumped out of the window from her upper story bedroom, much to the dismay of her older sisters who were babysitting her at the time. On another occasion she decided to “sled” down the stairs of the house, leaving her with a head wound which, again, her sisters and brothers had to disguise with a giant bow so that they wouldn’t get into trouble for not properly watching their baby Dorothy. As she grew into a beautiful young lady, one of her sisters who had moved to New York City, sent her a name of a sergeant stationed in Brazil, who was the nephew of a friend of hers. The sergeant also received my mom’s name from his aunt. They started writing to each other, but when my mom was asked to send a picture of herself to him, she refused. She did not want her picture passed around from one enlisted man to the next. So, this sergeant had to go by his instinct from the letters alone. Knowing he was coming home to his native New York City, he asked my mom to come and visit her sister in order to finally meet this woman whom he had written to for almost a year. She did, and the rest is history. My mom and dad became engaged over that very weekend! After they were married, my mom relocated from Montreal to live in Brooklyn with her new husband. My brother was born and then I, and the family moved to Queens. From as far back as I can remember, my mom’s greatest pleasure was in creating something…from artwork to crafts, to dinner parties…she was always busy. As a child, I whined and cried whenever she dragged me to hardware and paint stores…I hated them. She loved these stores more than anything. These were the places where she found the tools to create her artistry. I hated them, and obviously made her life miserable by whining and complaining until she finally had to leave. She wasn’t the typical mom with the apron and the pretty dress. No, my mom was the one with the hammer sticking out of her pocket while she was on the sidewalk outside our apartment building smashing marbles for her latest project of a backsplash for our oven. The kiln in our apartment was her tool for melting the marbles onto tile to make this beautiful masterpiece. Lo and behold, she ended up creating the same backsplash for many of the neighbors who were awestruck by this unique idea. When she didn’t think the lobby of our building was decorative enough, she worked for a week on a mural, which, forty years later, is still there. Her greatest joy was sharing her talents. She hosted numerous dinner parties, and catered these parties while whistling away. Our house was one social gathering after another. Her energy and creativity were topics of constant conversation among the many who could not keep up with her. She traveled with some of her friends (on the rare occasion that she didn’t travel with her husband) to such exotic places as Guatemala and Columbia, and lived to tell the tale. She and my dad also traveled extensively and saw much of the world. Photography was another passion of hers, and the photos of these travels were awe inspiring. My mom has always been there for me. She worshiped the ground I walked on. We truly were best friends. We shopped together, went to lunches together, and took trips back and forth to Montreal together when my dad was working and couldn’t get away. My whole extended family in Montreal was such a huge part of my childhood. Those times when my parents packed us into the car for the trip were memories that I can still taste. Her sisters and brothers were just as kind and loving as my mom, and the warmth of those family moments is something I can never forget. In the year 1999, my mom suffered a massive stroke. This is the cruelest thing that could have ever happened to her. She was left paralyzed on one side of her body, and lost the ability to walk. She went from a woman with complete independence and creativity, to basically, an invalid. She fought hard to regain some movement, but it was an uphill battle. During those years, she became depressed…but she didn’t give up. She began to paint and create things again, with the use of only one arm. After visits with doctors, physical therapists, etc. , she would get to work making a handmade item for them to show her appreciation. My dad was a shining light for my mom. He could not do enough for her. He became her caretaker and spent every waking minute caring for her needs. My mom has since passed away…a brain tumor was what ended the life of this extraordinary woman. She is gone, but my sense of self and knowing that I can be unique and not follow the crowd, has been inherited and, hopefully, passed on to her grandchildren. She is with my dad…their love story continuing in Heaven!
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