My Father has been the one to tell me of the passing of everyone ever close to me. I remember vividly as a child when he told me that my Mother's younger sister, my Aunt Mary had passed away. It was the first person I was really close to that had died. While in college, the call came that my childhood friend had died. Then being told of both his parents, first his mother, my Grandma, and then several years later his father, my Grandpa. All conversations have been in his rather matter-of-fact style. Death is a part of life, and his practical approach while perhaps jarring to some is oddly comforting. I was aware a call would be coming soon.
At 3:30 AM April 20th, Dad called to tell me his Wife, my Mother, had passed.
If you are unaware of the situation, please read my previous post about the accident my Mother had suffered a little over a year ago. She has spent the year largely unresponsive and several evaluations had finally confirmed that she was no longer there. It would be only a matter of time and the decision was made to let things pass a natural as possible.
My brother Chris spent the greater part of last year creating a digital archive of all the photos and memories he could find. He presented me a disk drive full of them for Christmas. It took me several weeks to finally sit down and go through them. I knew it would be painful for me.
I was surprised with just how much he managed to find. My Mom never talked much about growing up. It was painful for her. Her own Mother had died when she was only 8 years old. I have very little concept of my Maternal Grandmother, but my Brother had found a photo of her. She appeared to be a lovely woman. I have never been able to comprehend the emotional toll that had to have taken on my Mom.
There was a treasure of memories from her childhood that she had kept squirreled away from us. Again, perhaps they reminded her of hardship, perhaps we just never thought to ask to see them. I do know she struggled greatly with weight. What I believe was her senior picture was my Mother at what was her heaviest. A plain Jane looking uncomfortable with her photo being taken.
A few short years later though show pictures of my Mom at nursing school. The change was dramatic. She had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. There was evidence of more cheerful and confident times with the girls. She has life-long friends from that period of time, and the pictures confirm that this may have been Mom at her prime.
The story of my parents meeting is told with much tongue-in-cheek. The romantic version is that my crossed a crowed dance to my Mother to bravely ask her to dance. The more realistic version is that Mom was seated in the first chair, and Dad was just going to go from gal to gal until someone said yes. Truth be told, I've always been a sucker for the romantic version. I believe Dad was taken by the striking lady, and the most confident decision he ever made was to become his whole life.
Mom lost her father before my Dad was ever able to meet him. I only have one real photo reference of him. He looked much older than he was. Hardships had obviously weathered him greatly. Mom has never spoke of him much at all.
Their wedding was by far not the type of affair we put on today. It was a simple Catholic Mass followed by a small reception in the church hall with refreshments. Mom appears so angelic in these photos. Quiet. Peaceful.
My parents life came together in a series of photos of the house I grew up in being built. Then sharing the new house with friends. There is evidence of parties that happened. I often wonder if my girls will ever be able to wrap their head around the fact that my wife and I had a vibrant life well before they came along. I know I sometimes wonder about my parents.
Then us boys come along. My Mom was cursed with boys. She desired to have a little girl, but was denied on three tries. All new parents love noting more than capturing as many moments as possible. This is where Mom tends to disappear from the photos however. She was the family photographer. There are actually few photos of my Mom and I together in my formative years.
My older Brother David was a challenge. He has never been classified with anything concrete, other than to say he was developmentally challenged. My parents did what they could to raise us the same, but there always was an overarching concern with David. Knowing what I do about motherhood now, I can't imagine how Mom dealt with it it. We had to go into Cleveland once a week for David to talk with a psychologist. Half the session was one-on-one with David, with the other half being just with my Mom to learn and understand what David had said. David had a way of referring to her as Mother, with an authoritative and antagonistic tone. But David was Mom's big baby. David will never be able to able to live on his own, and Mom was just fine with that. She liked having him home with her.
My younger brother Chris was Mom's real baby. He was born 7 years after me. Mom was able to really enjoy having this baby. We all did as a matter of fact. Mom started to appear in more photos as I was able to start taking more. Both Chris and David have a different relationship with Mom. Even as grown men, they still aren't afraid to lay their heads in her lap. I can't tell you the last time I did that.
The next 15 years are photos of vacations and life events. Mom never appears in these either, because she again was mainly the photographer. She never overly expressed herself. She would quietly observe our achievements. But she was always proud. Making Mom laugh was a triumph. Making Mom tear up meant you really impressed her. I longed for both.
Us boys are terrible. Granted, nobody is safe in our house from the near constant teasing. Mom got her share. Whether is was referencing the perpetual frown that seemed to have aged to her face, or the high-pitched "meh" sound of disgust we would use to imitate her. There are several photos captured of her unapproving glare from the top of her glass frames.
I put my Mom through heartache. One of her great disappointments in me is that I did not embrace the church. Her faith is what got her through a great deal of life's hardships. I did not find the same solace in prayer as she did. I had a great personal struggle through my twenties and early thirties. I know she thought about me often. She wanted me to have the opportunity to get married and give her grandbabies. I put her through one wedding and marriage that failed within a year. At least we got married in the Catholic church, but I ignored her pleas to apply for an annulment. The second marriage stuck, but that was not held in a Catholic Church against her greater preference.
Mom just liked having us home. Of course when we came to visit she would have time to talk to us, but for the most part we would not interrupt her daily routine. She would spend the night in front of the television doing her daily crossword, but she would rather you be sitting in the room with her than going out and doing something else.
Grandbabies did eventually come. Mom was the only person I confided in when we first found out we were going to have Mia. She was the first person I called after Mia was born. I declared myself son of the year because I finally was able to bring an Ireland girl into the family. Heck, I even introduced one more a couple years later. I adore the moments I captured her with my girls. Mom adored being with them and hearing about them. Out of all the heartache I have of her passing, the fact that they were cheated time with her is what weighs on me most.
There are moments of Mom's life that have never been captured. There are no photos of her dedicating her life and career as a nurse. She worked for decades in the one place she told us she never wanted to end up - a nursing home. Her job was caring for souls in the last days of their lives. It had to get to her more often than not, yet she had to come home and be Mom when we needed her. As I write this I feel like there continues to be so much of my Mother that I don't know. Perhaps that is by design, I'm not sure I want my own children to know of my own personal struggles and fears.
The last time I got to spend with my Mother was well documented. It was Christmas, which will always be my favorite time spent with family. Mom was always such a large part of that. This was such a good Christmas, as the girls were both old enough to really charge everyone with excitement for the day. Every day is a blessing, but if this was to be the last time I got to choose to spend with anyone, it would be around the holidays.
As she walked out the door to head back home, my last words to her were the important words you should always be able to end every interaction with.
I love you Mom.
