Last Sunday was Mother鈥檚 Day and, again, I arrive at the party a little late.
If truth be known, I wasn鈥檛 much interested in writing about moms. We take them for granted most of the year anyway, so what鈥檚 another Sunday on the mom list?
But, something I overheard from a woman who was talking about how tough her mother was, brought me around to considering my own mom鈥檚 resiliency.
I reflected on my childhood, teenage, young adult and even a few older adult years when my mom was still around and it dawned on me 鈥� she was pretty tough too. In fact, I could recall only two occasions when I saw my mother cry.
She was a female businesswoman and professional photographer when photography called for years of apprenticeship along with physical and artistic skills. Her studio was my playground when I was a youngster. I didn鈥檛 realize just how tough she was, until last week. I began recounting those watershed moments in her life when one would expect tears of joy, sorrow or anger. Nada, except for two.
No tears at my sister鈥檚 weddings, either one of them, not at the births of my sister鈥檚 babies. No tears at our nuptials either, just smiles.
No tears when she was told her sister had passed away. Just sadness. She knew it was coming.
She had cried when her own mother died. We were at the hospital, I was a teenager. I remember that vividly because it was probably the first time I had seen her tears.
No tears during an extended period with her marriage breaking down, or when the divorce proceedings began or ended. Just acceptance, some anger and sadness.
No tears as we said goodbye to family pets of various stripes and breeds, even her very favourite dogs, cats and canary. She just said goodbye and watched my sister and I drain our tear ducts and provided comforting words about dogs and cats and heaven, and helped us bury the bird.
No tears when she sat in a car in Regina and informed me the diagnosis had been confirmed and the cancer probably wasn鈥檛 going to be beatable. In fact, she made a small joke as I choked back words. Nobody says the right thing on those occasions. I thought I would have expected to have seen a few tears, but that tough lady remained stoic. She never came off as stoic or particularly stalwart or strong in her every day wanderings. But, here she was, bearing up to the news with a straight face.聽
The only other time I saw tears coming from my mother was when we thought it might be a good idea for her to move out of her big rambling two-storey home into something more manageable, and obviously, smaller. At first she was okay with the idea. About a week later I checked in with her. We were living in the same town at that time. We were going to set a timeline for a transition and it would be major because she had over 50 years of 鈥渟tuff鈥� in that house.
She stood at the kitchen sink and cried. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to move out, I want to die here.鈥�
She did.
She also warned me that clearing out those years of accumulated memories after her demise, was going to be a drawn out nasty chore. She was half right. It was a lengthy challenge, but it wasn鈥檛 nasty because it provided an opportunity for me to remember a tough and unique mother.
Just like you did last week.聽
