Love Personified
She was never given much, yet she gave me everything
Every year I dread Mother’s Day.
You would think I’d love it, especially since I have five kids, all grown now. When they were little it was cute. The paper cards they made in school, jumping on my bed to say Happy Mother’s Day and declare their undying love for me, and sometimes breakfast in bed. Though honestly, their dad was behind most of it.
Now it’s just another day.
As a Salvation Army Officer (minister), I had to preach a Mother’s Day message every year. I think once I told my husband he should do it, but for the most part it was up to me. It was difficult because there really isn’t that much about motherhood in the Bible. Women mostly pop up as the mother of a great man.
There was Mary’s sacrifice which echoed Hannah’s, though not the same. Oh, and then there’s the famous Proverbs 31 woman, praised for running the household, making money, feeding everyone, clothing everyone, never sleeping apparently, while her husband sits in the square with the other men.
Typical.
But what makes Mother’s Day hard now is simple:
My mom is gone.
My mom passed away October 8, 2009, a month before her 89th birthday.
And not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. I wrote about her in my old blog:
I don’t think we’re ever really prepared to lose a parent, no matter how long they live or how old we are. I cannot imagine what life will be like without her. I feel like an orphan. I want her back.
When I think about the type of mom she was, I am amazed at how she even knew how to be a mom.
She was born in East London near the Tower Bridge in 1920. Her dad worked the docks and apparently was not a nice man. Her mom died in 1923. Her father remarried and together they brought my mom and her sister to Canada, leaving behind four other siblings.
They arrived in Canada in 1926. My mom was five, her sister nine.
Six weeks later her father died.
Their stepmother did not want them and beat them regularly. My mom told me a story of how her stepmother threw an iron at her and it hit her in the head. My aunt married the boy next door at just 17 to escape. That same year her stepmother gave my mom away to Children’s Aid. In 1933 many older kids were placed into the homes of wealthy families as apprentices and servants, though we all know what it really was.
Indentured labour disguised as opportunity.
My mom, young and naive, became pregnant at 19 and was forced into a home for unwed mothers. She was allowed to stay and nurse my brother for five months, and then she was sent back to work, and only allowed to visit him one afternoon a week.
Then she met my dad at my aunt’s house, and apparently she fell hard for him. She was 5’2” with bright red curly hair and my dad was 6’ with nearly black hair and blue eyes. It was right before he was sent to basic training after joining the Royal Canadian Army, in the Irish Regiment, with his younger brother. They were to be deployed to fight in World War II.
He wanted to marry her right away, but she hadn’t told him about the baby. When she finally did, he asked for and was granted leave to go back to Toronto to marry her. They put his name on the birth certificate and he took my brother Terry on as his own son.
For the first time in her life, my mom was free.
My dad was gone for almost five years. He watched his brother get killed by a bomb in Italy, but carried on. When he came home he was a different man and drank every day to cover his trauma.
My mom remained faithful to him for 42 years until he died of cancer in 1981. She gave him three more kids — Ron in 1946, Pat in 1948, and then me, 11 years later in 1959, twenty years after her first child.
Can you imagine what she went through? And if I shared it all with you, it would have to be a book.
I tell you all this because even though nobody had ever really shown her how to be a mom, never mind a good mom. And yet, somehow she managed magnificently. My brothers and I loved her fiercely. She was love personified.
She raised us with a firm hand and a lot of love. When I was small I loved to cuddle with her because she was soft and warm and always smelled lovely. She raised me in a no nonsense way providing loving care, but there was no mollycoddling! “Okay, that’s enough now, go out and play.” She loved to laugh and you’d often hear her around the house singing or whistling old wartime songs. One of her favourites? All The Nice Girls Love a Sailor
For you listening pleasure…
https://youtube.com/shorts/ETARJC-g3Dg?si=25A_GuyOnyW6QY-h)
All the nice girls love a sailor All the nice girls love a tar For there's something about a sailor Well, you know what sailors are Bright and breezy, free and easy He's the ladies pride and joy Falls in love with Kate and Jane Then he's off to sea again Ship ahoy, ship ahoy.
She lived with an alcoholic who drank away the equivalent of the grocery budget. He left the raising of the children to her and was emotionally absent even if physically present. He did not want her to work outside the home, so we had very little.
But it was enough, and she made it work.
By the time I was seven years old both my brothers had moved out. So it was just me after that. It was like being an only child, except these two annoying grown men kept showing up now and then and eating our food and bossing me around.
My mom was my safe place. With her I always felt loved, even when she was mad at me and disciplining me, which honestly wasn’t often. But when she did…I ran!
Respect though. She expected it.
In 1998, after years of bugging her to come live with us, she finally did. She had breast cancer that year and was recovering, so I pulled out my secret weapon… my twin girls! She couldn’t handle much pleading from them before she caved and moved across the country a month or so later.
She lived with me for 11 years.
During that time she developed vascular dementia. Slowly I watched our roles reverse. But even near the end, you could often find me laying in bed beside her watching her favourite shows or playing Rummy 500. She had absolutely no verbal filter by then, which led to many laughs. Well, mostly for all of us.
During those years she got to spend time with her grandkids and enjoy the birth of several of her great-grandchildren. When I was working, my daughter would come stay with her during the day and would often plop her babies on the bed beside her while she made lunch or ran around doing things.
My mom loved this.
We also had care aids provided by our healthcare services who came and helped. I couldn’t have done it without all of them, including my husband, who was so good with my mom. She loved him and treated him like a son.
At the end, her final stroke disabled her completely. She spent the last month of her life in hospital. My oldest brother came out to stay and spend time with her. He was always her sunny boy. At the end of his visit he told her he had to go home, but that he loved her so much.
The next day she stopped eating.
That week I sat beside her singing all her favourite hymns while the nurses often stopped quietly outside the door to listen. I massaged her with cream to keep her skin moist, trimmed her eyebrows, and made sure those chin hairs were gone.
Because priorities.
The kids all made their way to the hospital that week to say their goodbyes, tears, and sadness everywhere.
She slowly crossed into unconsciousness. But the night before she passed, she suddenly became alert, like she had just woken up. I spent time telling her how much I loved her and what a wonderful mom she had been. She told me she loved me.
She passed away early the next morning during nurse’s shift change, sometime between 7:00 and 7:30 a.m. It was October 8th, 2009, just before her 89th birthday. I arrived around 8:00 and when I saw she was gone, I laid my head on her and sobbed. It felt like I couldn’t control myself and that I would never stop crying. I berated myself for not staying longer the night before. Why did I go home?
For quite a while after I was despondent and often I would sit and be staring at nothing in particular. No more safe place. How was I going to move forward.
I used to think sympathy cards were meaningless when you were deep in grief, but I’m telling you, send them. Every single card I received, and there were so many, was read and went straight to my very core. Those messages of condolence, the handwritten notes, the scripture verses were like a balm to my broken heart.
We had a service for her here on the West Coast. I was surprised at the number of people who came. Everyone she met loved her and she loved them right back. Hugs all around all the time. Even some of the care aides came to the funeral.
Then we took her home to Toronto be buried with my dad.
I was stunned that the church was standing room only. They all came, every church member who knew her, almost every grown-up kid she taught in Sunday School, every girl she mentored as a Brown Owl in Brownies, every friend still alive from her bowling league, and many of my old school friends who remembered her smiles and good naturedness. The kids from the church remembering her as the candy lady in the back row, her friends from the women’s group remember her as the bag lady (she like buying bags, lots of bags!)
I think my brothers, who didn’t know much about her later life after they left home, were stunned by the impact she had on so many people.
I was so proud to be her daughter.
After she passed away, I would go to work and people would tell me their problems while all the time I’d be thinking, “What is wrong with you people? Don’t you realize my mom died?”
Over the years the pain slowly softened and was replaced with memories of happy times and laughter. Holding her hand while walking to church together, our arms swinging to the rhythm of our steps. Grocery shopping together. Her reading stories to me and teaching me to read before I even reached kindergarten. Holding her hand while we walked and her reminding me to stay on her left side because she was deaf in one ear, thanks to that evil stepmother. Teaching me to play Cribbage to learn my numbers. Making jam tarts with leftover pastry while she baked pies. Her high pitched screaming when my cat Buffy brought her a bird in the kitchen. The time my big walking doll scared her half to death in the middle of the night because she thought it was me standing in the corner of the kitchen.
All the stories.
Every one of them brings joy to my heart.
And as I sit here with all these thoughts and memories, I’m emotional, tears brimming. Here I am at 67 and feeling the loss as if it were yesterday.
I know she is with me every day. I miss her with every fibre of my being.
I have never regretted looking after my mom as she aged. It was a complete and utter privilege to be there for her and provide that safe place for her at her most vulnerable time. It was hard, though, and without help from my daughters, my husband, and the health services, I could never have done it. Between full-time work, teenagers, preschoolers, and an aging parent, I burned out more than once.
And yet I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
In that old blog in 2009 I wrote:
Whatever I have today, whatever I have become, whatever I have accomplished — it’s because of my mother, and what she taught me, what she did for me, and what she poured into me. I owe her so much.
Dear God, Today we thank You for mothers — for their love, their sacrifices, their strength, and all the ordinary ways they cared for us day after day. For those missing their moms today, bring comfort. For those still able to hug their mothers, help them cherish the time they have. And for the moms still raising kids, grant patience, strength, and perhaps a little extra coffee. Thank You for the gift of love that stays with us long after someone is gone. Amen
Thank you, dear reader, for continuing to read, share your stories, and stay in touch. I appreciate you all so much. As Mother’s Day arrives, I know many of you are also missing your moms, grieving complicated relationships, or carrying both love and loss together in your hearts today.
I can only say this: I know. I understand. And I offer my heartfelt condolences to you.
And if you are fortunate enough to still have your mom with you, give her an extra hug. Even if she drives you slightly crazy sometimes. Especially then.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute to your wonderful mom. Happy Mothers Day! 🌺🌷🌸
Beautiful lady. She raised a beautiful daughter. Love you. Happy Mother’s day. 🤗🙏❤️