I found the small princess doll that looked like Belle.
It reminded me of days gone by—of sweet desires—
squeaky toys, stars and moons and skies of clouds.
When hair was twisted, crunched, or in curls, and I knew just how to make you happy. But had no clue how to be myself.
I only knew to drown in moments full of babies’ savory odors, squeals of joy, and salty tears. All of you in a circle around me—corralling my importance.
Sunlit days overflowed with parks green, chilled by oceans, dripping with ice cream—the passenger seat full of Mema or Aunt Edith. Islands loomed ahead, while smooth rocks and shells shaded like the sunset waited for us, below chipped picnic tables on uneven ground.
Autumn leaves fell on dreams of a future where an apple pie would rule majestic from the center of a bare shining table in a cozy clean kitchen. I would stand handing out cookies to my babies as they flowed home from school into my cinnamon fantasy that first found its seed in my grandmother’s sunlit afghan 15 years before.
On brisk days of reality, I pushed strollers and recounted days gone by to tiny ears alongside bow lips that only opened for “Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma” and did not yet know, “Enough.”
Russet snapshots flash—a baby in red on a flat rock in Appleton’s ridge, sweet full cheeks flush in plaid on a blanket covered with leaves at Aunt Edith’s stoop, and a perfect chin beneath a crown of curls that finally dips down in sleep as R.E.M.’s relentless lullaby around the sun works its magic, as the van passes the “Witchy Pumpkin” yet again.
Winter was crisper than autumn, the sharp bite of Northeasters edging out sunny dreams. These days brimmed with Mema in Ames, Walmart, Penny’s—donning her Santa cap as I tried to recreate her magic. It’s so cold here, I do not want to drift back, save for those few balsam weeks.
Spring blooms eternal in southern places, but up here only my dreams of summer could take root in the chilled muddy ground. I chased them impatiently into Aunt Edith’s kitchen for tea as little hands reached in the cookie drawer and we made ready for a drive. Mema’s office would be surprised by a lunchtime visit and little feet would not want to touch the brittle frosted grass of winter’s cold grave.
Those days my best friends were old ladies and my favorite memories were remembering ones older still, all my dreams were merely dreams, and I was trying to be what I had imagined I would be, not what was my share of destiny.
This is where I drift back to now, with a sweet small ache for cocoon days of dim lights by a bedside where tiny feet kicked as I lifted them to change—to days when a trip to the store could bring time with my mother or Aunt, simple favorite foods, and a bright light in small eyes.
I don’t know yet how to reconcile the longing for such company as I’ll never have again—the yearning for a mother, for a family with roots deep in the earth. But I plow on, up hills framed by blueberries with small hands in mine, that grow despite my pleas. I look at the eyes of changing faces and try to keep focused on a path still into them, so that one day we can drive by old places and tell new stories in between, and sweet desires will have safe haven and new dreams will be discovered.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Today. 11-30-09
It's the year anniversary of Ma dying, here are some of our memories.
Shea: Always getting ice-cream every time I went there.
Fiona: Sitting at her crowded table, under the happy lamp. I colored in a mermaid coloring book picture and she told me to put it on the refrigerator.
Linda: Going to a store on Christmas Eve alone with her when I was little. It was cold and dark, the parking lot was nearly empty. The store was bright but almost as empty. We were getting our traditional Christmas Eve rippled sour cream and onion potato chips. On our way out, I saw a sweet white stuffed mouse wearing a Christmas hat and scarf on a display shelf, I pulled it down and hugged it tightly. She bought it for me, which was unusual back then. Not like the Mema she became--buying anything a grandchild looked at. I am holding that same mouse right now. He is even more sweet and precious to me now.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Birthday Princess, Linda, June 4, 2009
Today is my first birthday without my mother. To say my birthday without my mother doesn’t feel the same seems redundant. Without our mothers, we would have no birthday. There isn’t a mother in the world that doesn’t remember something about her child’s actual “birth” day. The details of our children’s first Christmas, first Easter, even first birthday celebration get fuzzy and blend together. Pain makes memory more vivid, emotional or physical. It makes sense that this day remains crisp in a mother’s mind, the memory of a small human making its way out of your body in one form or another.
But this morning when I woke up, I was surprised to find that umbilical cord was still there, the end now dangling in the netherworld. I could pull it in hand over fist, and find its end raw and unattached. I waited for the reassuring calm and comfort that my brother and father have spoken of feeling enveloped in, as they feel my mother’s presence. But like my sister, I felt nothing. My mind then moved on to guilt. Wasn’t it too bad that I never said to my mother, “I can’t imagine a birthday without you.”, or “thanks for the life”, or even a simple, “thanks for all the birthday spoils”, of which there were many.
What my mother lacked in patience for traditional mothering throughout the rest of the year, she attempted to make up in holidays and birthdays. I often feel the strain as a mother to try and live up to the exuberance of my holidays past, and the generosity of my mother in my children’s holidays and birthdays.
When we were little, whether our birthdays will filled with just our family of 5 or with a few friends thrown in, there were always streamers and balloons and cake and numerous, numerous presents. The last present was always hidden in a treasure hunt led by creative, witty clues all written in my mother’s neat slanted script. Later in life, when she lacked the energy or ability to do the actual “leg work” of a party she was still always ready with the cash fund and usually some general orders. No one’s birthday went by without a dinner, a cake, ice cream and some presents, even when cash was tight.
My mother’s indulgence has damaged my real world expectations. When C and I were first dating, I remember being stunned when he forgot to buy me a present. How could that be possible? I was the birthday princess! This year, lacking the drive of my mother’s birthday spirit, C asked me “Do you want a cake?” I looked at him as if he was crazy, as if he had just asked me would I need my feet for the rest of the day or would I like them chopped off. You see, my mother has spoiled me. What a shame, now that I am acutely aware of just how much, that I can’t spoil her back.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Joyce's Journal Entries
Ma had a few scattered journals, so much like me. New notebooks with one or two entries. Unfortunately, she became the most diligent about keeping them only when her focus became health oriented, interesting for a doctor but not so much for us. Deeper in the past I found a couple entries that warmed me to know she had such peace and embraced her Maine, her cottage, and her life for a short time each year. I was also impressed by her ability to capture these moments so beautifully in words.
Portion of Ma's Journal
9/22/1988
...What a glorious day!! I didn't see Mars last night as it was too cloudy. But today was outstanding. rich blue sky with wispy, fluffy clouds. Good full sunshine on the rapidly changing foliage. The swamp maples are ablaze. The trees are smaller and less full than sugar maples but their color is radiant beyond compare. Every now and then as you drive along you catch a sharp, clear blue sky, some beginning to change green leaves and an artists slash of brilliant red—unexpected—breath taking—thrilling brilliance. No pollutants today, no fog. Along most roadways the ferns and the undergrowth are fading to a pale orange, light browns. The trees are getting undressed ready for their winter covers. My cottage is friendly, peaceful, soaking up all the good vibes, breathing a sigh of relief as everyone pulls away. Just god and the animals remain. I heard a loon a couple nights ago that sounded very immature. It sounded like an early summer loon. I don't know how it could have wing feathers and develop meat enough to migrate. The loons are still with us.
Labor Day Sept. 4, 1989
The end of another summer at Lermond Pond. There are birds chirping, tweeting and whistling in the trees. The chipmunks chatter away at each other. A gentle breeze plays across the sun-dappled cove. I look for a fish to glide silently by but I haven't seen one in the past hour that I've been sitting here...Pond lillies grew in the Athearn's side of the cove this year. The Athearns never did come down this summer. The Keizers never even put their float in. They still don't want to sell so I guess the cottage will always be a place we long to have and hold. It's home to the kids and a great place to live six months out of the year.
A car came as I wrote (one always does) but it was a couple visiting “the Bossers”. The lake is still and blue. The trees are still green with no hint of fall in the distance. Up close some of the leaves are browning! The sky is endlessly blue. No clouds and only a hint of dust or pollution along the horizon. Hatchet Mountain is clearly visible with the power lie trail going over the middle like parted hair. As I write birds flutter from branch to branch making dancing shadows on the paper I write on.
Jack is sunning himself on the dock and Torie lies in majestic pose guarding her turf with a low grumble at the new intruding voices...
The sun is going over the top of the trees and the cottage and it's cooling down a little. The jay bird is still chark, chark, charking. A cicada rubs its legs. Spiders, ants and various bugs scuttle across my body and the table. It must be the season for “granddaddy long-legs” as I brush off three or four a day and I hadn't seen any since we arrived here before this past week. The breeze has picked up enough for me to put on my jacket. I haven't heard the call of a loon for a long time. Jack says he hears them every day. Sometimes at night I hear one.
The old man sits there like a little boy putting on his shoes. His body is golden like a greek god. You can't see his graying hair from here. I'll do a little color change on it today. Torie waits patiently for Jack to gather his mat and hitch up the float walk ramp.
I've rambled enough for one day. Almost an hour of just being quiet outdoors. I used to have two months of this every year. “You never miss the water til the well runs dry.”
Portion of Ma's Journal
9/22/1988
...What a glorious day!! I didn't see Mars last night as it was too cloudy. But today was outstanding. rich blue sky with wispy, fluffy clouds. Good full sunshine on the rapidly changing foliage. The swamp maples are ablaze. The trees are smaller and less full than sugar maples but their color is radiant beyond compare. Every now and then as you drive along you catch a sharp, clear blue sky, some beginning to change green leaves and an artists slash of brilliant red—unexpected—breath taking—thrilling brilliance. No pollutants today, no fog. Along most roadways the ferns and the undergrowth are fading to a pale orange, light browns. The trees are getting undressed ready for their winter covers. My cottage is friendly, peaceful, soaking up all the good vibes, breathing a sigh of relief as everyone pulls away. Just god and the animals remain. I heard a loon a couple nights ago that sounded very immature. It sounded like an early summer loon. I don't know how it could have wing feathers and develop meat enough to migrate. The loons are still with us.
Labor Day Sept. 4, 1989
The end of another summer at Lermond Pond. There are birds chirping, tweeting and whistling in the trees. The chipmunks chatter away at each other. A gentle breeze plays across the sun-dappled cove. I look for a fish to glide silently by but I haven't seen one in the past hour that I've been sitting here...Pond lillies grew in the Athearn's side of the cove this year. The Athearns never did come down this summer. The Keizers never even put their float in. They still don't want to sell so I guess the cottage will always be a place we long to have and hold. It's home to the kids and a great place to live six months out of the year.
A car came as I wrote (one always does) but it was a couple visiting “the Bossers”. The lake is still and blue. The trees are still green with no hint of fall in the distance. Up close some of the leaves are browning! The sky is endlessly blue. No clouds and only a hint of dust or pollution along the horizon. Hatchet Mountain is clearly visible with the power lie trail going over the middle like parted hair. As I write birds flutter from branch to branch making dancing shadows on the paper I write on.
Jack is sunning himself on the dock and Torie lies in majestic pose guarding her turf with a low grumble at the new intruding voices...
The sun is going over the top of the trees and the cottage and it's cooling down a little. The jay bird is still chark, chark, charking. A cicada rubs its legs. Spiders, ants and various bugs scuttle across my body and the table. It must be the season for “granddaddy long-legs” as I brush off three or four a day and I hadn't seen any since we arrived here before this past week. The breeze has picked up enough for me to put on my jacket. I haven't heard the call of a loon for a long time. Jack says he hears them every day. Sometimes at night I hear one.
The old man sits there like a little boy putting on his shoes. His body is golden like a greek god. You can't see his graying hair from here. I'll do a little color change on it today. Torie waits patiently for Jack to gather his mat and hitch up the float walk ramp.
I've rambled enough for one day. Almost an hour of just being quiet outdoors. I used to have two months of this every year. “You never miss the water til the well runs dry.”
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Tuna Casserole Recipe
I learned quite a bit about old fashioned cooking from Ma. This one is not so old fashioned, but it's definitely a family favorite!
Ma’s Tuna Casserole
1/2 stick of butter
3 c. milk
1/4 c. flour
1 bag noodles (Muellers is best)
1 sm. can peas
2 tbl. sugar
1 can tuna
10-12 slices of American cheese
Make a white sauce using the butter, milk, and flour. (Over medium heat, melt butter in a saucepan. Beat milk and flour. Add milk/flour mixture to saucepan. Raise heat to med/hi. While stirring contantly, bring to a boil and remove from heat. The sauce should be lightly-moderately thick, but it doesn’t matter too much.)
Meanwhile, bring water to boil in a pasta pan. (Cook noodles as directed. Better to slightly undercook than to overcook, but it’s not a huge deal. Strain noodles when finished.)
Pour white sauce into the pasta pan and return noodles to the pan as well.
Heat peas and strain. Add sugar and stir lightly. Add peas to the pasta pan.
Drain tuna and add to the pasta pan.
Stir entire mixture.
Rub stick of butter on edges and bottom of a 2-3 qt. baking dish.
Pour mixture into the dish and spread evenly.
Cover entire top with slices of American cheese. Place extra cheese over seams between slices.
In preheated oven, bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes. (It’s okay if the cheese gets some brown spots.)
Let cool a bit. Then serve in sections (like lasagna).
To reheat, cut a section and place on a plate. Heat in a microwave. (It helps to cut the section in halves or thirds before reheating.) This is one of those dishes that gets better when reheated!
Enjoy!!!
Ma’s Tuna Casserole
1/2 stick of butter
3 c. milk
1/4 c. flour
1 bag noodles (Muellers is best)
1 sm. can peas
2 tbl. sugar
1 can tuna
10-12 slices of American cheese
Make a white sauce using the butter, milk, and flour. (Over medium heat, melt butter in a saucepan. Beat milk and flour. Add milk/flour mixture to saucepan. Raise heat to med/hi. While stirring contantly, bring to a boil and remove from heat. The sauce should be lightly-moderately thick, but it doesn’t matter too much.)
Meanwhile, bring water to boil in a pasta pan. (Cook noodles as directed. Better to slightly undercook than to overcook, but it’s not a huge deal. Strain noodles when finished.)
Pour white sauce into the pasta pan and return noodles to the pan as well.
Heat peas and strain. Add sugar and stir lightly. Add peas to the pasta pan.
Drain tuna and add to the pasta pan.
Stir entire mixture.
Rub stick of butter on edges and bottom of a 2-3 qt. baking dish.
Pour mixture into the dish and spread evenly.
Cover entire top with slices of American cheese. Place extra cheese over seams between slices.
In preheated oven, bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes. (It’s okay if the cheese gets some brown spots.)
Let cool a bit. Then serve in sections (like lasagna).
To reheat, cut a section and place on a plate. Heat in a microwave. (It helps to cut the section in halves or thirds before reheating.) This is one of those dishes that gets better when reheated!
Enjoy!!!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Bat Tales (Linda)
My father dubbed Ma "Batman" because she was always investigating and spying on what seemed to be drug deals that went down on our dirt road in Tennessee. Flashlights were her weapon of defense.
Once when we were young, Allison's friend Becky (I'm guessing she was like 14 at the time) called Allison and said she was alone and thought she heard someone in her house. I think she had her Dad's gun too. Most people would have called the police, or just told Allison she was being paranoid. But no, Ma loaded us all into the van and drove over there. I'm sure Allison could give more detail to the story. I believe it was her Dad who was coming up the stairs and she had a gun on him around the time we got there? Maybe not. Anyway, the point is that she had spirit and adventure and courage in her. It was fun sometimes to be her kid and ride in the batmobile.
Once when we were young, Allison's friend Becky (I'm guessing she was like 14 at the time) called Allison and said she was alone and thought she heard someone in her house. I think she had her Dad's gun too. Most people would have called the police, or just told Allison she was being paranoid. But no, Ma loaded us all into the van and drove over there. I'm sure Allison could give more detail to the story. I believe it was her Dad who was coming up the stairs and she had a gun on him around the time we got there? Maybe not. Anyway, the point is that she had spirit and adventure and courage in her. It was fun sometimes to be her kid and ride in the batmobile.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Gail Rowell Mank's Memories of Joyce
These are memories written by Gail Rowell Mank. (She sent them to me, Linda, written by hand as she doesn’t have a computer. So, words by Gail, typos by Linda.)
Our family lived in Maine, but because my dad wanted to buy a farm in Maine we all moved to Massachusetts so dad could work in a steel factory to earn and save money to buy that hen farm in Maine.
Once the money was saved, my mother came back to find a place and that was when we started living in East Union. I had completed kindergarten in Massachusetts
I don’t remember the first time I met Joyce and Margaret, they lived in a little brown house near May’s summer home. Ralph had built the house.
Us three girls were playmates from the time we moved to East Union. There were two other girls in the neighborhood that we knew, but we three played together.
We played dolls a lot in those days. We often played on the front door step that was granite, and it is still there! We would pretend our dolls really ate what we gave them. We also played with paper dolls. They were fun, but not always easy to change their clothes with the paper tabs. They didn’t hold very well.
Joyce was taller and had a larger frame. Margaret had dark curly hair. I was always the small one no matter where we went, however, I was the boss! I don’t think then we thought who was tall, little, or whatever.
In the summer months, we would spend hours in the brook below Ralph Jones’ Farm. It was just a small area with one deep place. It had plenty of eels and blood suckers! We were too young to be left alone, so Pete would have to stay with us when we went to the brook. Not happy days for him! The time did come when our parents felt we could swim well enough to go alone.
We would pack our lunch, most always it was peanut butter or whatever we had on hand to eat. We would call up on the old crank telephone. Our ring was 3 1, three long rings and one short. We would make plans for the day. We would swim and then walk back up to their house. Each one had a door step to dry out on. One of the few times we were quiet.
One year I had a great wish to have a Cupie doll for Christmas. We talked about how we would share her, take her swimming. We talked about that all summer. Christmas came, but no Cupie doll We didn’t always got what we wanted in those days. we just accepted it and went on!
We always went to the Union Fair together. I can still feel the excitement of waiting until the day came for us 3 to go! We were left off at the fair grounds for the whole day. That was a fun day. None of us had much to spend, so we made it last. We must have walked miles!
One time we decided to clean a small hen pen out for a play house. What plans. We would paper it, get furniture, etc. The clearing out project was more than we had planned, so we picked out a smaller house. Easier to clean. We did fix it up to look like what we thought was great. Had play dishes, empty cereal boxes. I had a cousin (boy) make a visit from Massachusetts He would tease us about our playhouse and what he was going to do to it. Us 3 girls put a stop to that.
We use to play in our garage in the evening. Dad had bags full of grain to feed the hens. We painted the regular light bulb red. That was a big deal to put that on in the evening. A red light at that stage in our lives had no meaning, except it was pretty and no on had one like it!
One summer I got a box of hand me down clothes from my cousins in Massachusetts. It had a couple af Halloween costumes, a clown suit, etc. We decided we would put on a show for our area, right in the garage! We would invite the neighborhood kids and parents or anyone that would come! That took a lot of planning, big time stuff! We figured out a program and we would ask one cent! Lena came and some of the kids and my mother. We knew we were all headed for Hollywood. I use to sing a lot in those days. No doubt. I thought I was the star of the show!
We used to play Cricket a lot. Think Lena showed us how to play. We used a stick and tennis ball. She would play with us.
In the summer months, Lena would do the washing outside. She would set up 2 large tubs under the washer, wringer, all manual labor. She would call us to take a turn at the crank to turn the wringer part.
They had an outhouse a distance from their house. One day the cat came while Joyce was there and bit her ear! She was so mad at that cat.
In the winter, we always had good hills to slide on. Lena would often join us in that sport too. We would hitch our sleds all together and start from the corner, (now Brooks Rd.) go all the way down to the end, turn the corner, go all the way down to the end, turn the corner, go all the way down the cemetery hill, across the bridge and part way up the hill. Lots of ice! We used to go on May’s hill in the field when it had a good coating of crust. We would take a piece of cardboard and hoped you would get on it before it slipped and went on alone! I remember the moon being so bright and we would be out all evening. Nice trip down, but a hard walk back. We didn’t need exercise machines back then.
I would often spend the night with Joyce and Margaret. We would play games all evening. We would make so much noise in that kitchen. Lena was a good sport to play. She always acted like she was having a lot of fun! I was the one that slept in the middle. All 3 in the same bed! In the little brown house, the rooms upstairs wasn’t finished. We didn’t pay much attention to material things back then. Lena would fix a whole baker sheet full of white bread, butter with the cinnamon sugar baked in the oven. That was the best.
When Fred Simmons died, he left the farm house to Lena. The little brown House was empty for awhile. One Halloween we had a party there. We had some apple cider that was a little stingy and we were sure we were a little drunk. I think I put on a show that evening!
The farm house had a lot of memories. Playing in the hay. We would play hide and seek. Jumped from high places that no doubt was dangerous.
We would sleep out in a tent on some summer nights. We had an old, canvas Army tent. We would set it up on the front lawn. Took old quilts, comic books, crackers, and other snacks. One time Joyce found an adult book. That was a real secret! We really didn’t fight much for having 3 girls together. Joyce was the brains. She loved to figure out any kind of a puzzle in a paper or magazine. She did very well in school. I was sure I could beat her in speed typing, no way. She was much more serious in her education and she would beat me. She always figured out the bonus word in shorthand.
Once in awhile in the summer, Ralph and Lena would go to a movie in Rockland, Strand Theatre. I would get ready and then go to their house. The girls would be busy trying to find something to wear. A lot of cotton material and that needed ironing! Us 3 would ride in the back of the pick-up truck. I was always after Joyce for buying hard candy and chewing on it during the movie! We would stop in West Rockport on the way home at a small eating place. It was owned by Pearlie Merrifield. I am sure it wasn’t state inspected. What good hamburgers. A great treat for us to go to a movie and eat out after.
At my house, we had an outhouse. It was in the shed, but we went to it by the summer kitchen. We didn’t need to go outside. It had 3 holes, large, medium, and small. One would let the other know if they had to go to the toilet! So, all 3 girls would go too! Joyce had the large hole, Margaret the medium and Gail the small hole. We would talk and visit like it was the most natural thing to do!
My mother always kept a pantry full of extras like nuts, cherries, powdered and brown sugar, olives. Joyce and Margaret would want to go look at all those extra things. Some of those things were never seen except at Christmas or Thanksgiving! We didn’t have a lot, but more than most in our neighborhood.
I always liked cooking and us 3 would make things at my house. I had put a cake in the oven, (not a mix) Joyce was to check on it when the timer went off. She came and told me the timer went off, but she wasn’t sure it was done, what should she do?? That use to make me so mad. She was so smart at school and yet something simple was a puzzle. She said one time I got mad at her and threw a knife!
I remember Lena getting the old work horse out in the winter. She would hitch it up to the sleigh. What fun that was. Joyce fell off in the road and she was mad and just sat there for awhile. We use to take long walks in the woods. We would take a lunch and explore a new area. No T.V., so much we didn’t have and yet we were rich in so many ways.
We use to play marbles in the driveway. We use to ice skate on a farm pond in East Union. Later in life we would walk to Lermond Pond and skate with other kids. They would burn rubber tires for light and warmth.
Joyce and Margaret use to come to our house to look at the tree (Christmas) in the bay window. My mother liked a pretty tree. They were hard to find, but my brother would end up finding one that looked good enough to bring in to the house. She would always put the angel hair on it. We had lots of gifts. I think the story was told that Lena liked to see what she had before Christmas!
One Christmas Joyce and Margaret was looking at the gifts we got from Aunts in Massachusetts. They always wrapped the gifts so special and bought nice things. We looked over one package and decided we would open it. So off to my room and to my surprise then, we found a pretty bracelet. Our secret! That Christmas Eve when we opened our gifts it was no surprise and I felt so guilty! I never did that again.
We felt so grown up when we were all allowed to go to East Union to swim at the popular swim area where all the “big kids” went swimming. It is called Morgan’s Mill now.
Once I graduated from Union High School and got married, I didn't see my pals much. Joyce went off to college, Margaret married and not in Maine. I always did try to catch up with Joyce and sent her a Christmas card. We spent 20 years in the Navy and then we moved back to Maine. I use to see Joyce once in awhile when she made it to Maine on vacation. She finally moved back and we were adult friends again with a child’s mind. Joyce always understood how I liked the simple and childish things. She often treated me like the baby.
We really had lots of hours to talk and reminisce. This all took place when I was the care giver for Jack’s mom Gwen.
I’ll never forget the gift of money she gave me just before we left for Boston for Merv’s mouth surgery. She knew about being in Boston, the waiting and the healing time. She always gave way more than she needed to.
She was my forever friend. I loved her and she knew it. We shared so much over the years, a real treasure that some never know.
You had a mom that loved her children and grandchildren. She often gave more than she had. She never gave a little, it had to be a lot!
One year I dressed up for Halloween and went to her new house. She didn’t know it was me. I came home and called her. She laughed so hard. No one could laugh like she did, except Lena. I enjoyed calls to her and hearing her laugh.
We were happy in our childhood, not knowing the cares of the real world.
I’m sure there are more stories, but for now you will have a few to think about. We had such a bond that no one else can replace.
Memories from the past by--Gail Rowell Mank.
Our family lived in Maine, but because my dad wanted to buy a farm in Maine we all moved to Massachusetts so dad could work in a steel factory to earn and save money to buy that hen farm in Maine.
Once the money was saved, my mother came back to find a place and that was when we started living in East Union. I had completed kindergarten in Massachusetts
I don’t remember the first time I met Joyce and Margaret, they lived in a little brown house near May’s summer home. Ralph had built the house.
Us three girls were playmates from the time we moved to East Union. There were two other girls in the neighborhood that we knew, but we three played together.
We played dolls a lot in those days. We often played on the front door step that was granite, and it is still there! We would pretend our dolls really ate what we gave them. We also played with paper dolls. They were fun, but not always easy to change their clothes with the paper tabs. They didn’t hold very well.
Joyce was taller and had a larger frame. Margaret had dark curly hair. I was always the small one no matter where we went, however, I was the boss! I don’t think then we thought who was tall, little, or whatever.
In the summer months, we would spend hours in the brook below Ralph Jones’ Farm. It was just a small area with one deep place. It had plenty of eels and blood suckers! We were too young to be left alone, so Pete would have to stay with us when we went to the brook. Not happy days for him! The time did come when our parents felt we could swim well enough to go alone.
We would pack our lunch, most always it was peanut butter or whatever we had on hand to eat. We would call up on the old crank telephone. Our ring was 3 1, three long rings and one short. We would make plans for the day. We would swim and then walk back up to their house. Each one had a door step to dry out on. One of the few times we were quiet.
One year I had a great wish to have a Cupie doll for Christmas. We talked about how we would share her, take her swimming. We talked about that all summer. Christmas came, but no Cupie doll We didn’t always got what we wanted in those days. we just accepted it and went on!
We always went to the Union Fair together. I can still feel the excitement of waiting until the day came for us 3 to go! We were left off at the fair grounds for the whole day. That was a fun day. None of us had much to spend, so we made it last. We must have walked miles!
One time we decided to clean a small hen pen out for a play house. What plans. We would paper it, get furniture, etc. The clearing out project was more than we had planned, so we picked out a smaller house. Easier to clean. We did fix it up to look like what we thought was great. Had play dishes, empty cereal boxes. I had a cousin (boy) make a visit from Massachusetts He would tease us about our playhouse and what he was going to do to it. Us 3 girls put a stop to that.
We use to play in our garage in the evening. Dad had bags full of grain to feed the hens. We painted the regular light bulb red. That was a big deal to put that on in the evening. A red light at that stage in our lives had no meaning, except it was pretty and no on had one like it!
One summer I got a box of hand me down clothes from my cousins in Massachusetts. It had a couple af Halloween costumes, a clown suit, etc. We decided we would put on a show for our area, right in the garage! We would invite the neighborhood kids and parents or anyone that would come! That took a lot of planning, big time stuff! We figured out a program and we would ask one cent! Lena came and some of the kids and my mother. We knew we were all headed for Hollywood. I use to sing a lot in those days. No doubt. I thought I was the star of the show!
We used to play Cricket a lot. Think Lena showed us how to play. We used a stick and tennis ball. She would play with us.
In the summer months, Lena would do the washing outside. She would set up 2 large tubs under the washer, wringer, all manual labor. She would call us to take a turn at the crank to turn the wringer part.
They had an outhouse a distance from their house. One day the cat came while Joyce was there and bit her ear! She was so mad at that cat.
In the winter, we always had good hills to slide on. Lena would often join us in that sport too. We would hitch our sleds all together and start from the corner, (now Brooks Rd.) go all the way down to the end, turn the corner, go all the way down to the end, turn the corner, go all the way down the cemetery hill, across the bridge and part way up the hill. Lots of ice! We used to go on May’s hill in the field when it had a good coating of crust. We would take a piece of cardboard and hoped you would get on it before it slipped and went on alone! I remember the moon being so bright and we would be out all evening. Nice trip down, but a hard walk back. We didn’t need exercise machines back then.
I would often spend the night with Joyce and Margaret. We would play games all evening. We would make so much noise in that kitchen. Lena was a good sport to play. She always acted like she was having a lot of fun! I was the one that slept in the middle. All 3 in the same bed! In the little brown house, the rooms upstairs wasn’t finished. We didn’t pay much attention to material things back then. Lena would fix a whole baker sheet full of white bread, butter with the cinnamon sugar baked in the oven. That was the best.
When Fred Simmons died, he left the farm house to Lena. The little brown House was empty for awhile. One Halloween we had a party there. We had some apple cider that was a little stingy and we were sure we were a little drunk. I think I put on a show that evening!
The farm house had a lot of memories. Playing in the hay. We would play hide and seek. Jumped from high places that no doubt was dangerous.
We would sleep out in a tent on some summer nights. We had an old, canvas Army tent. We would set it up on the front lawn. Took old quilts, comic books, crackers, and other snacks. One time Joyce found an adult book. That was a real secret! We really didn’t fight much for having 3 girls together. Joyce was the brains. She loved to figure out any kind of a puzzle in a paper or magazine. She did very well in school. I was sure I could beat her in speed typing, no way. She was much more serious in her education and she would beat me. She always figured out the bonus word in shorthand.
Once in awhile in the summer, Ralph and Lena would go to a movie in Rockland, Strand Theatre. I would get ready and then go to their house. The girls would be busy trying to find something to wear. A lot of cotton material and that needed ironing! Us 3 would ride in the back of the pick-up truck. I was always after Joyce for buying hard candy and chewing on it during the movie! We would stop in West Rockport on the way home at a small eating place. It was owned by Pearlie Merrifield. I am sure it wasn’t state inspected. What good hamburgers. A great treat for us to go to a movie and eat out after.
At my house, we had an outhouse. It was in the shed, but we went to it by the summer kitchen. We didn’t need to go outside. It had 3 holes, large, medium, and small. One would let the other know if they had to go to the toilet! So, all 3 girls would go too! Joyce had the large hole, Margaret the medium and Gail the small hole. We would talk and visit like it was the most natural thing to do!
My mother always kept a pantry full of extras like nuts, cherries, powdered and brown sugar, olives. Joyce and Margaret would want to go look at all those extra things. Some of those things were never seen except at Christmas or Thanksgiving! We didn’t have a lot, but more than most in our neighborhood.
I always liked cooking and us 3 would make things at my house. I had put a cake in the oven, (not a mix) Joyce was to check on it when the timer went off. She came and told me the timer went off, but she wasn’t sure it was done, what should she do?? That use to make me so mad. She was so smart at school and yet something simple was a puzzle. She said one time I got mad at her and threw a knife!
I remember Lena getting the old work horse out in the winter. She would hitch it up to the sleigh. What fun that was. Joyce fell off in the road and she was mad and just sat there for awhile. We use to take long walks in the woods. We would take a lunch and explore a new area. No T.V., so much we didn’t have and yet we were rich in so many ways.
We use to play marbles in the driveway. We use to ice skate on a farm pond in East Union. Later in life we would walk to Lermond Pond and skate with other kids. They would burn rubber tires for light and warmth.
Joyce and Margaret use to come to our house to look at the tree (Christmas) in the bay window. My mother liked a pretty tree. They were hard to find, but my brother would end up finding one that looked good enough to bring in to the house. She would always put the angel hair on it. We had lots of gifts. I think the story was told that Lena liked to see what she had before Christmas!
One Christmas Joyce and Margaret was looking at the gifts we got from Aunts in Massachusetts. They always wrapped the gifts so special and bought nice things. We looked over one package and decided we would open it. So off to my room and to my surprise then, we found a pretty bracelet. Our secret! That Christmas Eve when we opened our gifts it was no surprise and I felt so guilty! I never did that again.
We felt so grown up when we were all allowed to go to East Union to swim at the popular swim area where all the “big kids” went swimming. It is called Morgan’s Mill now.
Once I graduated from Union High School and got married, I didn't see my pals much. Joyce went off to college, Margaret married and not in Maine. I always did try to catch up with Joyce and sent her a Christmas card. We spent 20 years in the Navy and then we moved back to Maine. I use to see Joyce once in awhile when she made it to Maine on vacation. She finally moved back and we were adult friends again with a child’s mind. Joyce always understood how I liked the simple and childish things. She often treated me like the baby.
We really had lots of hours to talk and reminisce. This all took place when I was the care giver for Jack’s mom Gwen.
I’ll never forget the gift of money she gave me just before we left for Boston for Merv’s mouth surgery. She knew about being in Boston, the waiting and the healing time. She always gave way more than she needed to.
She was my forever friend. I loved her and she knew it. We shared so much over the years, a real treasure that some never know.
You had a mom that loved her children and grandchildren. She often gave more than she had. She never gave a little, it had to be a lot!
One year I dressed up for Halloween and went to her new house. She didn’t know it was me. I came home and called her. She laughed so hard. No one could laugh like she did, except Lena. I enjoyed calls to her and hearing her laugh.
We were happy in our childhood, not knowing the cares of the real world.
I’m sure there are more stories, but for now you will have a few to think about. We had such a bond that no one else can replace.
Memories from the past by--Gail Rowell Mank.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Ma's Eulogy (Allison)
Thank you all for coming here today to honor and remember my mother, Joyce
Moran. I want to share with you some of my favorite memories of my mother.
I probably remember the least of our childhood even though I am the oldest. I
blame it on a mild concussion I received in high school while others disagree.
Living in Tennessee the earliest memory I have of Ma is waiting for her to come
home from work from the Tennessee School for the Blind where she began
working when I started kindergarten. As John, Linda and I got older, Ma was the
one to transport us to and from baseball, softball and basketball practices, and
dance classes. She was always in the bleachers or stands cheering us on, never
missing a game or recital. Even though she worked full time, we were always her
first priority.
Ma could never deny us anything we wanted. We lived on a country road where
stray cats were often dropped off. We would bring them home and ask to keep
them. She would always let us and we ended up with 28 cats at one point.
Christmas was very special for us. We would always have a live tree while our
friends had an artificial one. Ma would always buy us the best presents and
seemed to know just what to get. Ma missed the white Christmases she used to
have as a child growing up in Maine. She would tell us stories of blizzards and
high banks of snow that we couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Ma’s favorite time of the year had to be summer. Since Ma was a teacher, we all
got summers off and as soon as June hit, we were on our way to Maine. We
stayed in a cottage on Lermond Pond and Ma really came to life as she fished,
swam, played cards and visited with her mother, Aunt Edith, and all the other
friends and relatives she saw only once a year. Ma taught me how to swim when I
was little and I think of her every time I am in the water. Every evening she and
my dad would go out fishing and their return was announced by the rhythmic
sound of Ma rowing the boat to shore.
My family moved to Maine the summer after I graduated from high school. Ma
was torn between wanting to live in Maine and the guilt of leaving me behind. Her
guilt resulted in many, many care packages and letters while I attended college in
Tennessee. When I moved to Maine to join my family, I was happiest about living
with Ma again. When you are separated even for a little while from your parent,
you feel it deep inside.
As I married and started a family, Ma was there for me in every way possible. She
supported me and shared in my happiness. When my daughter Sarah was
diagnosed with cancer as a baby, Ma and held my hand and cried with me and
gave Mark and I the support and love we needed so desperately to get through the
situation. Sarah is now a happy, healthy freshman in college.
Ma soon became known as Mema to my girls Sarah and Leah. My girls would
spend weekends at Mema’s and Grampa’s and get spoiled rotten. Mema would
always make her special Frenchy toast for them and watch every Disney movie
ever made. She loved my girls more than you can imagine. Mema was like a
second mother to them and her house was a haven. As my girls got older, Ma was
there for every game, concert, open house or other school event they were
involved in to support them just as she did her own children. Ma even came to
games and concerts after she was in a wheelchair. This past June she attended my
daughter Sarah’s graduation from high school with the help and transportation
provided by staff at the Knox Center. We were thrilled to have her at the
graduation and she was thrilled to be able to come.
Ma began working at the Department of Human Services in the Adult Protective
section in 1984. Her clients were very important to her and she treated them all
with respect and kindness they were more than a name on a piece of paper. Many
people have told me that she was the type of social worker that exists less and less
these days. I learned by example from Ma and I feel that I have the same
compassion for students that she did for her clients. I had the privilege to give a
speech at Ma’s retirement party in 2003 honoring her years of supporting our
family.
Ma’s decline in health was hard on all of us. She ended up in a nursing home in
April of 2006. We were blessed to have her at the Knox Center for Long Term
Care on the skilled nursing floor for 2 ½ years. The folks there gave my mother
and my father (who spent almost as much time there as Ma did) so much love and
care that it made having her away from home a little easier. The staff at Knox
became Ma’s family.
Ma’s passing will affect a lot of people for a long time. She was a loving, caring
person who always put others above herself. She loved her children and her
grandchildren unconditionally. I will always remember her smile and her laugh. I
will think of her every time I play rummy or 83. I will think of her as I swim
during the summer. I will think of her as I take pictures of my children. I will
think of her as I drive up Mays Hill or sit by the water at Lermond Pond. Ma will
be with me for the rest of my life and I will always love her.
Moran. I want to share with you some of my favorite memories of my mother.
I probably remember the least of our childhood even though I am the oldest. I
blame it on a mild concussion I received in high school while others disagree.
Living in Tennessee the earliest memory I have of Ma is waiting for her to come
home from work from the Tennessee School for the Blind where she began
working when I started kindergarten. As John, Linda and I got older, Ma was the
one to transport us to and from baseball, softball and basketball practices, and
dance classes. She was always in the bleachers or stands cheering us on, never
missing a game or recital. Even though she worked full time, we were always her
first priority.
Ma could never deny us anything we wanted. We lived on a country road where
stray cats were often dropped off. We would bring them home and ask to keep
them. She would always let us and we ended up with 28 cats at one point.
Christmas was very special for us. We would always have a live tree while our
friends had an artificial one. Ma would always buy us the best presents and
seemed to know just what to get. Ma missed the white Christmases she used to
have as a child growing up in Maine. She would tell us stories of blizzards and
high banks of snow that we couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Ma’s favorite time of the year had to be summer. Since Ma was a teacher, we all
got summers off and as soon as June hit, we were on our way to Maine. We
stayed in a cottage on Lermond Pond and Ma really came to life as she fished,
swam, played cards and visited with her mother, Aunt Edith, and all the other
friends and relatives she saw only once a year. Ma taught me how to swim when I
was little and I think of her every time I am in the water. Every evening she and
my dad would go out fishing and their return was announced by the rhythmic
sound of Ma rowing the boat to shore.
My family moved to Maine the summer after I graduated from high school. Ma
was torn between wanting to live in Maine and the guilt of leaving me behind. Her
guilt resulted in many, many care packages and letters while I attended college in
Tennessee. When I moved to Maine to join my family, I was happiest about living
with Ma again. When you are separated even for a little while from your parent,
you feel it deep inside.
As I married and started a family, Ma was there for me in every way possible. She
supported me and shared in my happiness. When my daughter Sarah was
diagnosed with cancer as a baby, Ma and held my hand and cried with me and
gave Mark and I the support and love we needed so desperately to get through the
situation. Sarah is now a happy, healthy freshman in college.
Ma soon became known as Mema to my girls Sarah and Leah. My girls would
spend weekends at Mema’s and Grampa’s and get spoiled rotten. Mema would
always make her special Frenchy toast for them and watch every Disney movie
ever made. She loved my girls more than you can imagine. Mema was like a
second mother to them and her house was a haven. As my girls got older, Ma was
there for every game, concert, open house or other school event they were
involved in to support them just as she did her own children. Ma even came to
games and concerts after she was in a wheelchair. This past June she attended my
daughter Sarah’s graduation from high school with the help and transportation
provided by staff at the Knox Center. We were thrilled to have her at the
graduation and she was thrilled to be able to come.
Ma began working at the Department of Human Services in the Adult Protective
section in 1984. Her clients were very important to her and she treated them all
with respect and kindness they were more than a name on a piece of paper. Many
people have told me that she was the type of social worker that exists less and less
these days. I learned by example from Ma and I feel that I have the same
compassion for students that she did for her clients. I had the privilege to give a
speech at Ma’s retirement party in 2003 honoring her years of supporting our
family.
Ma’s decline in health was hard on all of us. She ended up in a nursing home in
April of 2006. We were blessed to have her at the Knox Center for Long Term
Care on the skilled nursing floor for 2 ½ years. The folks there gave my mother
and my father (who spent almost as much time there as Ma did) so much love and
care that it made having her away from home a little easier. The staff at Knox
became Ma’s family.
Ma’s passing will affect a lot of people for a long time. She was a loving, caring
person who always put others above herself. She loved her children and her
grandchildren unconditionally. I will always remember her smile and her laugh. I
will think of her every time I play rummy or 83. I will think of her as I swim
during the summer. I will think of her as I take pictures of my children. I will
think of her as I drive up Mays Hill or sit by the water at Lermond Pond. Ma will
be with me for the rest of my life and I will always love her.
Ma's Eulogy (Linda)
Someone close to me said if you're going to speak at a funeral what you say should be honest, real, and not sugar coated re-creations of the past. Now, I won't name any names, but he's my brother and he's sitting right there. And any of you that know him, you know he said a few swear words in there with that little piece of advice. So, I will tell you, when we were growing up, Ma lost her temper as often as she lost her car keys. Though she improved as we got older, she was often irritable and extremely particular, I would get flop sweats going to the grocery store to shop for her, standing paralyzed in the aisles scrutinizing her list, trying to find exactly what she was specifically describing. If you came home with the wrong kind of garbage bags, or the wrong kind of anything, (which you inevitably would) you were going to hear about it. She was consistently critical. When I would bring my babies to her, their feet were never the right temperature, if they had on socks, she'd strip them off and tell me how hot their poor feet were. If they didn't have on any socks she'd cup their feet in her hand and chastise me bringing out my baby with no socks, I soon learned to carry a pair with me on all Mema excursions. Ma was bossy, even before she was immobile, she'd set herself down in a chair and lord her dictatorship over the kitchen, doling out tasks for us to do and then watching every step, correcting you as you went. She often drove me crazy, when I was 6 months pregnant with Shea, Ma and Old most generously opened their home to my family when our house was under reconstruction, and for two months I most ungratefully wondered exactly what sin of my past I was paying for, to have to live with her again and not be able to drink. I always believed my sister Allison was her favorite. By believe, I mean, I can guarantee you if I look at my sister right now she'll be nodding knowingly, if not a little smugly.
All of these things are true, and so is this—I loved her, needed her, craved to be with her— beyond reason, beyond doubt, beyond even sometimes my own comprehension. I've sometimes wondered, is this a particular disease of being the youngest and if so, is their medication to cure it?
Fortunately, I've never sought a cure, I just continued over the years to seek out her love, company, stories of the past, and simply the sound of her voice. And many times, I’m sure, I was irritable and drove her crazy right back.
There are aspects to my dedication of hunting and gathering and revering all things Ma and Mema that I understand. She was an interesting, multi-dimensional, sometimes controversial character, and the only time you could possibly say her company was dull was when she was asleep, which was admittedly a good deal of the time as the years went on. You wouldn’t call her an angel, you’d probably call her a pistol. I think what people loved about her was her honesty; she told it like it was and didn’t really care if you liked it or not, the first word she mouthed after she woke up from her tracheostomy surgery was “bullshit”. She was smart, funny, and irreverent. And even after years of fog inducing drugs and infections, she was sharp as a tack. I used to sneak down to the nursing home at night to play Rummy with her, sometimes bringing a little audience member in the form of one of my girls. The very first time I played her there, she was laying in bed having just had a Vicodin for sleep, I beat her by a small margin, and I thought, “Finally I've found a way to even the playing field!” If she was sitting up in her wheelchair, I knew I didn't have a chance. Eventually, it became clear that first game was the last I’d win, she’d just been a little rusty. After many games as she'd lay in bed, Vicodin onboard, having to pull herself up on her little triangle grip thing each time to see the play on the tray of cards, beating me time after time; I finally started asking her for tips to improve my game.
She was truly a caring woman, in fact she was criticized in the first years of her job as a social worker for caring too much about her clients, and even in the last years of her work when she would spend an inordinate amount of time playing solitaire at the office, people would still stop my sister and I and say what a difference she had made in their loved ones life who was a client of hers. She may sometimes have seemed to have forgotten precisely what time the workday began (or lunch ended), but she never forgot she was an advocate for her clients, not for the state.
Ma knew how to sincerely say she was sorry, a skill many people never master. I heard her put this skill into necessary practice many times after she swore like an angry, bossy, severely wounded sailor, as the nurses moved her from her wheelchair to her bed at Knox.
But for me this was an especially healing trait, years ago, my mother did an amazingly simple thing after our childhood of her not being the mother to us that she had wanted to be. She said she was sorry. She said she wished she could have her babies back and do it all over again. And a very simple beautiful thing occurred inside of me, I forgave her. And about 13 years later another amazing thing occurred, I had my third child under the age of 4, and suddenly I understood her, a little bit more, probably than my siblings, who only have two right now. Good luck, John.
She always provided for us, we never went hungry or cold, or without a ride, a birthday cake, or a place to sleep, she always kept her home open to us, our friends, and later our children. When we'd come home from college, she'd stock the pantry with lucky charms, mac and cheese and all our favorite foods. When I was sad and homesick in another country or just another county, I could always count on ma for sending me copious amounts of letters
She was a strong woman and a capable woman, she was never afraid to drive in a snowstorm, change a tire, or jumpstart a car.
She loved, spoiled (corrupted), fed, played with, taught (corrupted) and snuggled all of her grandchildren with indulgent and often overindulgent love and generosity. I remember once when Sarah was little, her father telling her “When an adult tells you no, no means no—unless it's Mema”. I can only hope they absorb and carry on within them the lessons she showed them about unconditional love and not the lessons she taught them about lighting matches.
But what my mother truly had was a magnetism I can’t put words to. I can only provide evidence of it. My sister and I live about 5 miles away from my mother’s house. A week never went by that one of us didn’t see her, until they put a few states between us. We gathered around her home every holiday, every family birthday, without fail until her home became a nursing home, and then we gathered there. My father kept a vigil by her side these last few years, finally giving her the years of courtship and devotion she deserved. At Knox, she was a difficult case who medically should have been considered a bit of a thorn in their side, instead she became part of their family. Last night we read something the nurses had composed about Ma that moved us and more importantly made us laugh, realizing that they had truly known and loved her just the way she was, as we did. I see it also in the lifelong friendships she’s made.
My father, my sister’s family, my brother's family and my family, we orbited around her— many planets to her sun, even though sometimes she’d yell, sometimes she’d snap, sometimes it was hard to tell if she was even all that pleased to see you (she always was). But we’d come back again and again, to get a little more of the something that she never knew she had. Her pull is a magnetic force I’ve never felt anywhere else. I can’t remember a day in the past 11 years that I haven’t wanted to see or talk to my mother. And I can’t imagine that will change. I know my brother felt it, when instead of feeling burdened that Ma was in Rhode Island and the responsibilities that brought, he felt grateful to be with her and be needed by her. I know his wife and children felt it too, as they made the nearly hour long trip out every weekend to visit her. I know my nieces felt it even years beyond when “Mema Central” was still open and helping to raise them, as Sarah gave up a weekend at college with her friends and with her boyfriend to come and see Mema in Rhode Island, and especially when Leah was with Mema when we went to say goodbye. I know my children felt it and feel it too—from Shea plowing into Ma’s house every time we went there making a bee line for Mema as he called her name, finally presenting himself to her with a simple “Mema, I here now”; to Fiona, referring to Mema as her “other Mommy”; to Gwenyvere who said to me the other day about Mema dying, “It seems like someone turned the world backwards and didn’t tell me.”
I am so grateful that I had these past years in Maine with Ma, when she could still ride alongside me taking advantage of the adventurous spirit she had instilled in me. I have loved and appreciated every moment and thing she has given to us from our lunches at Denny's, going to Walmart (which Gwenyvere dubbed “Mema's store”), ice cream at Dormans, tea at Aunt Ediths, bunnies and dollhouses at Ames, so many rides, trips to islands and orchards, church and donuts, drives over the mountain and especially all of the stories she shared with me of the old days--to all my babies she has held, sung to, played with and loved. I thought she was a big part of my world when her label was “Mommy”, but as “Mema”, she achieved world domination.
I told my mother weeks ago, that she’s never just lying in a bed. That I carry her with me, I take her with me on all the little adventures and rides that she trained me for: taking pictures of autumn trees, taking rides to look at Christmas lights, telling stories of the past, seeing movies, staying up way too late at night, listening to the sound of a loon calling, even just shopping at Walmart and JC Penny. She is somehow, my everything, and now I have to figure out a way to pick up my babies and walk new paths without being able to tell her the tales. I will miss the sound of her laughter, the stories of her life, the sound of her voice.
Years ago, after receiving a grim prognosis for my mother’s life, I said to my husband that I didn’t think I wanted to live in a world where my mother didn't exist. Since Sunday night, I’ve been waiting for that feeling to descend upon me, that I no longer have a mother. Many sad and heavy moments have come, but that sensation has not. Because I still have a mother, she’s just not here anymore. She is within me, about me, around me, in every corner of my life, in every inch of my soul, she is there, and will always remain— my mother.
All of these things are true, and so is this—I loved her, needed her, craved to be with her— beyond reason, beyond doubt, beyond even sometimes my own comprehension. I've sometimes wondered, is this a particular disease of being the youngest and if so, is their medication to cure it?
Fortunately, I've never sought a cure, I just continued over the years to seek out her love, company, stories of the past, and simply the sound of her voice. And many times, I’m sure, I was irritable and drove her crazy right back.
There are aspects to my dedication of hunting and gathering and revering all things Ma and Mema that I understand. She was an interesting, multi-dimensional, sometimes controversial character, and the only time you could possibly say her company was dull was when she was asleep, which was admittedly a good deal of the time as the years went on. You wouldn’t call her an angel, you’d probably call her a pistol. I think what people loved about her was her honesty; she told it like it was and didn’t really care if you liked it or not, the first word she mouthed after she woke up from her tracheostomy surgery was “bullshit”. She was smart, funny, and irreverent. And even after years of fog inducing drugs and infections, she was sharp as a tack. I used to sneak down to the nursing home at night to play Rummy with her, sometimes bringing a little audience member in the form of one of my girls. The very first time I played her there, she was laying in bed having just had a Vicodin for sleep, I beat her by a small margin, and I thought, “Finally I've found a way to even the playing field!” If she was sitting up in her wheelchair, I knew I didn't have a chance. Eventually, it became clear that first game was the last I’d win, she’d just been a little rusty. After many games as she'd lay in bed, Vicodin onboard, having to pull herself up on her little triangle grip thing each time to see the play on the tray of cards, beating me time after time; I finally started asking her for tips to improve my game.
She was truly a caring woman, in fact she was criticized in the first years of her job as a social worker for caring too much about her clients, and even in the last years of her work when she would spend an inordinate amount of time playing solitaire at the office, people would still stop my sister and I and say what a difference she had made in their loved ones life who was a client of hers. She may sometimes have seemed to have forgotten precisely what time the workday began (or lunch ended), but she never forgot she was an advocate for her clients, not for the state.
Ma knew how to sincerely say she was sorry, a skill many people never master. I heard her put this skill into necessary practice many times after she swore like an angry, bossy, severely wounded sailor, as the nurses moved her from her wheelchair to her bed at Knox.
But for me this was an especially healing trait, years ago, my mother did an amazingly simple thing after our childhood of her not being the mother to us that she had wanted to be. She said she was sorry. She said she wished she could have her babies back and do it all over again. And a very simple beautiful thing occurred inside of me, I forgave her. And about 13 years later another amazing thing occurred, I had my third child under the age of 4, and suddenly I understood her, a little bit more, probably than my siblings, who only have two right now. Good luck, John.
She always provided for us, we never went hungry or cold, or without a ride, a birthday cake, or a place to sleep, she always kept her home open to us, our friends, and later our children. When we'd come home from college, she'd stock the pantry with lucky charms, mac and cheese and all our favorite foods. When I was sad and homesick in another country or just another county, I could always count on ma for sending me copious amounts of letters
She was a strong woman and a capable woman, she was never afraid to drive in a snowstorm, change a tire, or jumpstart a car.
She loved, spoiled (corrupted), fed, played with, taught (corrupted) and snuggled all of her grandchildren with indulgent and often overindulgent love and generosity. I remember once when Sarah was little, her father telling her “When an adult tells you no, no means no—unless it's Mema”. I can only hope they absorb and carry on within them the lessons she showed them about unconditional love and not the lessons she taught them about lighting matches.
But what my mother truly had was a magnetism I can’t put words to. I can only provide evidence of it. My sister and I live about 5 miles away from my mother’s house. A week never went by that one of us didn’t see her, until they put a few states between us. We gathered around her home every holiday, every family birthday, without fail until her home became a nursing home, and then we gathered there. My father kept a vigil by her side these last few years, finally giving her the years of courtship and devotion she deserved. At Knox, she was a difficult case who medically should have been considered a bit of a thorn in their side, instead she became part of their family. Last night we read something the nurses had composed about Ma that moved us and more importantly made us laugh, realizing that they had truly known and loved her just the way she was, as we did. I see it also in the lifelong friendships she’s made.
My father, my sister’s family, my brother's family and my family, we orbited around her— many planets to her sun, even though sometimes she’d yell, sometimes she’d snap, sometimes it was hard to tell if she was even all that pleased to see you (she always was). But we’d come back again and again, to get a little more of the something that she never knew she had. Her pull is a magnetic force I’ve never felt anywhere else. I can’t remember a day in the past 11 years that I haven’t wanted to see or talk to my mother. And I can’t imagine that will change. I know my brother felt it, when instead of feeling burdened that Ma was in Rhode Island and the responsibilities that brought, he felt grateful to be with her and be needed by her. I know his wife and children felt it too, as they made the nearly hour long trip out every weekend to visit her. I know my nieces felt it even years beyond when “Mema Central” was still open and helping to raise them, as Sarah gave up a weekend at college with her friends and with her boyfriend to come and see Mema in Rhode Island, and especially when Leah was with Mema when we went to say goodbye. I know my children felt it and feel it too—from Shea plowing into Ma’s house every time we went there making a bee line for Mema as he called her name, finally presenting himself to her with a simple “Mema, I here now”; to Fiona, referring to Mema as her “other Mommy”; to Gwenyvere who said to me the other day about Mema dying, “It seems like someone turned the world backwards and didn’t tell me.”
I am so grateful that I had these past years in Maine with Ma, when she could still ride alongside me taking advantage of the adventurous spirit she had instilled in me. I have loved and appreciated every moment and thing she has given to us from our lunches at Denny's, going to Walmart (which Gwenyvere dubbed “Mema's store”), ice cream at Dormans, tea at Aunt Ediths, bunnies and dollhouses at Ames, so many rides, trips to islands and orchards, church and donuts, drives over the mountain and especially all of the stories she shared with me of the old days--to all my babies she has held, sung to, played with and loved. I thought she was a big part of my world when her label was “Mommy”, but as “Mema”, she achieved world domination.
I told my mother weeks ago, that she’s never just lying in a bed. That I carry her with me, I take her with me on all the little adventures and rides that she trained me for: taking pictures of autumn trees, taking rides to look at Christmas lights, telling stories of the past, seeing movies, staying up way too late at night, listening to the sound of a loon calling, even just shopping at Walmart and JC Penny. She is somehow, my everything, and now I have to figure out a way to pick up my babies and walk new paths without being able to tell her the tales. I will miss the sound of her laughter, the stories of her life, the sound of her voice.
Years ago, after receiving a grim prognosis for my mother’s life, I said to my husband that I didn’t think I wanted to live in a world where my mother didn't exist. Since Sunday night, I’ve been waiting for that feeling to descend upon me, that I no longer have a mother. Many sad and heavy moments have come, but that sensation has not. Because I still have a mother, she’s just not here anymore. She is within me, about me, around me, in every corner of my life, in every inch of my soul, she is there, and will always remain— my mother.
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