My mother died in January of 2015. I was not there when she died. But I had spoken to her on the phone 15 minutes or so before she was gone. I have told you about that before. Still hurts, when I think of it, as it continues to pain me when I think about how certain people decided it would be more appropriate to go on a vacation rather than to bury our mother. No need to dredge that up more than I already have. I am right on this subject and anybody who disagrees with me is wrong. It is as simple as that in my mind.
But I want to write about my mother for a bit. I hope you will indulge me.
We didn't have a pile of money when we were growing up. As typical then as it likely still is now for families, we were not told a great deal about the financial situation, but it did not go unnoticed that others lived in bigger houses than we did, and their parents drove nicer cars, and they went on vacations every summer, something we simply did not do. It was what it was.
Dad worked at a job that didn't pay as much as other families made. He was a good person, more or less, but he was a poor business man always listening to sob stories from people. He did an awful lot of pro bono work for people over the years. That was time he didn't spend with us, or doing paying work.
Mom would get a cheque every week to pay for groceries. Dad, and then we as we got our drivers licenses because Mom never drove, took her into town, usually Kentville, to buy that week's provisions. She would make every dollar stretch until it screamed bloody blue murder.
She was a complicated person, my mother. Mercurial. Head strong. Stubborn. Took no feces from anybody. Spoke her mind, no matter what. There were times she exasperated me, but as we both grew older we grew closer. I would speak to her on the phone nearly every single day.
As my parents grew older, and they had medical appointments in the city, I would take vacation days and family illness days to make sure they got to them. If I hadn't done it, they would simply not have got to those appointments.
I think about my parents a lot. Both of them. They did not have easy lives. They would be both aghast at how my sisters and I don't get along, as they wanted us all to co-exist peacefully.
But today, I think of my mother, and how despite the hard times she had, she also had some good times. I hope that I was able to contribute in some way to those good times, or at least, not to make them any worse.
Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!
See you tomorrow.