So Mother’s Day is well in the past and Father’s Day is creeping up and I realize that my new job and real life is getting in the way of writing a new post.
I feel a little guilty (okay, more than a little) that I couldn’t find a single comprehensible thing to write about my mother, who passed away 2 years ago this coming September.
Sure, life is hectic with a new job and worrying about the twins moving to another city and worrying more about whether or not my kids will forget me when they only see me only every other weekend.
But I write a blog so I should be able to plumb the depths and write something about my mother, like other people who write blogs, right? I should be able to write something about my mother on Mother’s Day, one would think.
The thing is that even when my mother was alive, I was ambivalent about Mother’s Day. My mom left my dad when I was 5. My dad was always the person missing from my life. Getting his attention was always such an important goal.
My mother, on the other hand, was always around. Sort of.
When my parents split, especially in the early years, she was working 2 or 3 jobs. She cleaned houses and worked in a factory and it seems like she was gone from breakfast time until about the time my little sister and I went to bed. My older sister shouldered a lot of the burden of caring for my younger sister and me in the first year after my parents split. A lady from the old neighbourhood would make us lunch when we came home from school. (Yes, in the old days we would walk 5 minutes to school and come home for lunch. And lunchtime was well over an hour long. We had it so tough.)
Aside from that, I have no recollection of anyone helping my mother out. Yes, my dad would see us every other weekend, but that was for a couple of hours. As the years went by we would spend more time with him and the visits became more frequent, but there was never any doubt that mom took care of us, pretty much on her own. There was no family to take over when she needed time. I know she was often lonely and likely depressed, but she never asked for anyone to look after the kids or complained. There was no other family to lend a hand. It was all her.
She was not a saint. She battled demons often and sometimes not privately, but we were always fed and clean.
And she did that on her own.