Against the Wind

Mother died a year ago this Wednesday. I’m finding the clouds lifting. I’m enjoying the sense of spring coming more every day. I’m considering spending a chunk of my inheritance on a long arm quilting machine. But in her memory, I’ll copy some words from the last pages of LOMS 1941-1945.

Tribute to Mother

Mother wrote notes in her 5-year Line-a-Day books as long as she was able. They were for her information only, but she enjoyed reading them to us when she would come to visit after we were married. When eye problems left her nearly blind, she quit trying to make daily notes. Unfortunately she had also lost her hearing. Following their move to the Presbyterian Manor, she suffered a series of incapacitating strokes and became dependent upon Daddy to care for her in the unfamiliar surroundings. The woman who died on Feb. 21, 1981 had little resemblance to Mother. Her friends assured me that eventually I would be able to work past her infirmities and find the person I knew and loved, but it didn’t happen.

Following Daddy’s death on June 27, 1983, my sisters and I were offered condolences by numerous manor residents. Repeatedly we were told, “Your father was a wonderful man who devoted his life to caring for your poor invalid mother.” We assured them they were one-hundred percent wrong. Mother spent her life making Daddy’s life easy. Still I could not get beyond the woman who didn’t seem to remember me. When we cleaned out their quarters, I was given her diaries and Daddy’s journals. I brought them home, packed them away and never expected to look at them.

However our oldest granddaughter wanted to know about her mother’s childhood and mine. I told myself I would write something someday, but I was always too busy. Recuperation after heart surgery game me the time necessary for the project and I had no more excuses. I nearing the end of my handwritten document when I wanted to know how old Nita was when she severed the end of finger in the hinge side of our heavy front door. I got out Mother’s diaries and started reading to learn when that occurred. That event changed my life.

In her diaries, I found the woman I had lost years before. She has been with me in spirit as I have struggled to learn the intricacies of the computer and to produce books that would have made her proud.

Mother was very self-effacing. She never believed she had any talents and saw herself only as the person in the background who kept the household running on an even keel. She felt her job was to make it possible for Daddy to do his. The pages in my books are a testimony to the capable woman who provided a wonderful home for all of us. Mother was a remarkable woman and I found the person whose unfailing love, example and wisdom molded me.

Even though these books are formally dedicated to Tania, Marianne and Tara Castellano, in the truest sense all three volumes are dedicated to Mother. Without her diaries, they never would have been written. She lives on in these pages.

Grief was never marked or acknowledged in my family. Stern pilgrim stock all. I would say that my Grandfather’s unhealed grief for a lost son was one of the most formative tragedies in Mother’s life. The other was when her mother, not knowing her, sent her out on her last visit. “Ray,” Grandma said, “who is that woman? Send her away, I don’t like her.” That broke Mother’s heart. She worked on the Magnus Opus to the day she died trying to wend her way back on the only path she had found to heal those aches. She never complained about this, but about the current malfunction of her computer… which she wanted set up in her room the week before she died, she complained mightily!

Rest in peace, Mother. Your Father knows now your worth and you need no longer suffer by comparison to a ghost. Your Mother knows and remembers you and can comfort you. Fears have subsided. One day I’ll join a long line of strong women, and their menfolk in rest and finally resurrection. I love you.

NB My brother reports that Mother was deeply conflicted about this photo Josee took at her last Winfield. I think she prefered a more dignified formal sort of photo. But she could always turn on a megawatt grin. And we all love the photo that was her presence at her oldest granddaughter’s wedding.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 22nd, 2010 at 11:43 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.