Radioactive

Mothers' Day (Belated)

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Omeprazole
On The Stereo: Imagine, John Lennon - Mom's favorite song

My mom has long been gone from our lives.  Interestingly, the days that I do not think of her, are few, and far between.  It might be my advancing age, but my thoughts often drift to my family and friends, who have preceded me in reaching our ultimate and definitive destination.  Most often, I remember Mom.

I am absolutely sure that sharing a womb, and being attached, literally, creates a bond, that endures long past your birth.  You can build a relationship with your father, after you are born, but you remain a part of your mom.  Forever.

                           James Mullen and Agnes Farrell (Nan) Sanders, on their wedding day

Wisps of memory from my very early years, float past from time to time.  Rutherglen, Scotland, a voyage by ship to New York and Grand Central Station, a cabin in Northern Ontario, snow and cold in Bracebridge.  All have left light imprints.  But my recollections become much more crisp, from the moment we moved into 45 Adair Street, in Orillia, Ontario, Canada, in 1952.

Mom was sitting, putting on makeup, in preparation for her and Dad's friends, coming to our house for a small party.  I studied her, and wondered why she did not look like a mother.  I asked  her when she was going to grow up and be like my friends' moms.  When she asked what I meant, I told her she was far too beautiful to be a mom.  I told her she looked too young.

No wonder she liked me.  

We had a great relationship, her and I.  We were on our own.  My dad worked and was home, like most fathers of that era, in the evenings and on weekends.  For that very short period, we had only each other.  She spent her time making meals and teaching me.  She taught me reading and writing and mathematics.  She educated me in manners.  I learned right from wrong.  She wanted me to always be honest.  She answered the unending questions of a young boy.  She read me stories.  She was my friend.

And then she found a job.  We needed money to survive, if we were to live in a house and afford the food and clothing we would need, in this new country.  I surmise here, as I never heard my parents discuss such things, with me present.  It was déclassé.  I was not privy to such matters.

Then, at six, I was alone.  I had school during the days and neighborhood friends filled the rest of my time.  I believe I was a happy kid.  I learned to manage my life.  I was mature for my age, and quite self sufficient, when push came to shove.  I made my own meals when they were gone, and entertained myself with lots of reading and playing catch and road hockey with the other boys on our street.  Larraine came along when I was about ten, and after a few years, I watched over her, as well.  She was a good kid, and my Dad's joy.  

Two years before I met the child bride, my dad died of a massive heart attack.  Afterwards, my mom, for almost two more years, did not acknowledge his death.  She had refused to have a funeral, and carried on with her life, as if nothing had changed.  She left the lights on for him every night.  She continued working every day.  Then the inevitable happened.  She had a complete breakdown.  A good friend of mine,  Alan French,  called me, in Toronto, to come and help her.  She was a mess, as we say in Alabama.

That is when I found out about all of this.  I stayed with her as long as I could, before heading back to work.  She talked. And she talked.  And she cried.  Like a baby she cried.  For a long time, she was inconsolable.  Then I sorted out her finances.  Nothing had been touched since Dad's death.

And I found the unthinkable.  She had been getting calls from a church, who spoke to her every day.  They knew her pain.  They were suffering with her.  They eventually tapped her for a contribution.  And then more. And more. And more.  She was grateful for their concern and love.  She gave them every cent of the savings she had.  She was essentially broke.

It was four years later, that she came to be a full time Nana.  It gave her a new life.

How bad this world can be.  To contrive a scheme to embezzle a grieving widow's savings, is so much more than despicable.   I cannot dwell on it.  This sort of thing could easily drive someone crazy.  Not me.  Not today, anyway.  Move on.

I wanted to tell you this story, but not on Mothers' Day.

Two decades later, Mom got her chance to be the mother she always wanted to be, but could not afford, when I was young.  Kath and I needed help with our children.  Three years and two days after Stephanie's birth, we celebrated another baby, Kristin.  Kath stayed home for a year to mother both children.  

I was employed, and Kathy needed to go back to teaching.  Money again.  Never seems to end.  We had a lady near us offer to look after the kids, but that did not go well.  She was not at all the nice person we thought her to be.  Bruises on the babies, and an unwillingness to leave our home, told the story.  We were at a crossroad in our professional and personal lives.  We contemplated Kathy quitting, which would have created other financial problems.  We had one other option.  Mom.

I asked Mom if she would like to babysit our girls.  We were uncomfortable in experimenting any more with our children's care.  She could not have been happier.  She was winding down with her waitressing job and the opportunity to share time with her grandchildren was every bit a dream for her.  The confluence of our needs made life ideal for us all.

There were obstacles to overcome.  She would travel from her home in Orillia on Sunday afternoon and stay with us in Toronto until Friday evening or Saturday morning, depending on weather, and then return home.  She needed a better car for the trip.  We looked after that, as best we could.  Our only real edict, was that when we were home, the parenting was ours.  We knew that would be problematic for her, but she never broke that single, but necessary rule.  I know that had to be difficult for my mom.  It would be hard for her to manage and love the children all day, and then let someone else experiment with them, without asking her advice, whenever we walked through the door.  Kathy did not want to abdicate her rights as a mother.  Understandable.  She was the best mom that I had ever seen.  And yes, I am a touch prejudiced.

Like many mothers, today, she worked long days, came home to make dinner for all of us, solved family issues, made the kids breakfast and shared her love freely and bountifully.   We were all grateful.  As I saw my job, I was a referee, a disciplinarian, provided laughter, read stories, taught them how to play all sports, and loved them to death.  That, in no way, was my full job description.  But my mom, their Nanny, while we were gone, provided all of that, and more.

My mom never really drank the demon alcohol.  She would have a glass at parties, when my dad was alive, but they seldom shared a drink in their home.  I changed that.

When I arrived home from work, usually late, I would offer the ladies a vodka and tonic.  Kath expected it and enjoyed the few minutes of adult company and conversation.  Mom's eyes lit up.  I mean, her whole face shone.  She was whacked out from entertaining the girls, and keeping them, and her, active all day.  The very idea that she could be with Kath, and her very own son, and talk to us, exclusively, was as much as she could handle.  God never saw a mother who enjoyed life more.  And with a drink in her hand.  Many of my readers knew my mom.  Tonight,  give her a toast.  She will love you for it.

And after she had completed her time with our, and her, children, she moved to Kingston, to do the same for Larraine, my sister.  She, too had two children.  Fabulous boys, Jeff and Christopher, whom she taught and loved, until she died, quietly, sleeping on the couch, in the arms of her daughter.



But this day, I want to wish my mom and Kath a happy day.  Mom is long gone.  Kath is here, without children.  Stephanie called from Mexico. and left a short message.  Kristin and Doug called her last evening and talked to her a long time.  They made her a happy mother.

I have never stopped loving my mom.  I will never stop loving my Kath.

Grammy with grandsons, Eli and Avet.  Eli calls her his #1relative.  Pretty awesome designation.


Happy Mothers' Day to Stephanie and Kristin.  They have made great families, and love their children, with all their hearts.  And my sister.  These are mothers I will always love.  To all my great friends who are mothers, I love you, too.  For what you have accomplished, for what you have given, and for your unconditional friendship, Happy Mothers' Day.



Next week, back to our first home, head and health.

Comments are most welcome at https://www.jrobinmullen@gmail.com