For some reason this morning my mother is on my mind. She has been gone for 16 years and the few drops of Chanel No.5 in the bottom of the bottle from her dresser are still holding an aroma that can only be attributed to her. Christmas is a time when I remember the care my mother took to give her wild brood of family special memories. So I dug back into my files and found an article I had written about my mother to celebrate Mother’s Day 2000. It made it into the Toronto Star newspaper much to our surprise and delight. Now, on this chilly December day when my emotions are on the surface, it feels right to post it here. Not sure why. Perhaps to inspire someone else to honour their mom or the mothers in their lives. They deserve it.

My Mother

The shine of her eyes against her beautiful clear skin is breathtaking with the folds of wavy black hair. She is trim and beautiful and she glows with excitement. She seems to be bursting with energy and life. My mother on her wedding day. I look at the picture and wonder what thoughts filled her on this momentous occasion. At nineteen, she looks like a pin up girl and her smile is so full of promise I yearn to have known her then. I see the picture of my parents leaving the church and wonder what my mother felt as she stepped into her new life. What dreams did she have? What hopes did she long to fulfill?

My mother. A lovely bride who, within thirteen years, would have lost her beloved father, given birth to eight children and had a husband with two jobs taking him away from home often. Who could have predicted such a transformation of events for this fresh-faced young woman?

I spent most of my life wanting to be different from my mother. I would cringe when someone said I looked like her, or smiled like her, or talked like her. Since I lived with my mother for my first twenty years, I knew her bad habits, mistakes, fears and perceived inadequacies. When I was compared to her, I felt that the comparison was focused on the negative and this upset me a lot. I dreaded being around anyone who might make this suggestion.

I am forty-five years old now. I look through different eyes at my mother. I hold that wedding picture in my mind and try to imagine what I would have done if I’d been her. Would I have had the strength to survive and to even thrive as she did? I’m not so sure. Maybe that’s one comparison that others wouldn’t have made.

I began to look at what she had done to see if I could really find fault. I wanted very much to picture myself in her shoes. It wasn’t easy.

My mother is a survivor and she found her way. Sometimes you just have to step up to the plate and step up my mother did. The super woman of today has nothing on my mother. Today a mother may have to manage a career, family and household but in today’s world there is support available. In my mother’s day, especially living in rural Ontario, the days were long, busy and lonely. My mother didn’t know about spa days, retreats, day care or massages. The monthly visit from the Avon lady was an event. Her world was filled with baking, meals, laundry, housekeeping and nurturing. But rather than lay back and lose herself in the confusion of a large family my mother found ways to express her creativity through her talents.

Every Christmas our schoolteachers received her delicious fruit cake which took hours of preparation. The little packages were neatly wrapped in foil with a small decoration on top. Presentation was important to my mother. In spring she carefully wrapped the ends of our lilac branches with wet newspaper and foil as we paraded to school. She left sweet treats for the mailman and volunteered at the church. She taught Brownies and Girl Guides for years, even becoming a District Commissioner which meant lots of time and responsibility. She attended the neighbourhood wedding and baby showers, sent baked goods to school sales and even looked after a friend’s children after school.

Her generosity wasn’t limited to the community. She logged more hours on the roads delivering and picking up her children than the local school bus. She carefully handcrafted a Christmas stocking for each of us. Her sewing machine buzzed constantly making expertly tailored suits for herself and stylish outfits for my sisters and I. My home video shows six of us proudly posing on Easter Sunday in her fabric creations. The girls in crisp white blouses, navy skirts and bright pink capes with polka dot lining. Of course, we had brand new white gloves, purses and decorative, head bands. Such elegance! The boys were in suits that were altered just right and their shirts and ties were clean and neat. Her gifts seemed unlimited. There was always a birthday cake and always a Sunday roast dinner. Holidays were filled with magic as the house was transformed with the sights and sounds of the season. My mother!

My mother’s fun night out was grocery shopping Thursday evenings with her friend. If they could spare a couple of dollars they split a Chinese food dish before heading home. She was a conscientious hostess when my older brother and sister began having dance parties and somewhere in there, she entertained large groups of my father’s business associates. In our teenage years she even took on a part time job.

I know that my life is what I make of it. I either jump in or lay down and die. As I looked back over my mother’s life, I doubted I had the fortitude to endure what she did. She made a decision, conscious or unconscious, to do the best she could and although her regrets are like any other mother’s she has nothing to be ashamed of. I raised only one child and had nightmares with him. How did my mother ever survive eight?

There are a lot of women in my mother’s age bracket who have never looked within themselves to see if their needs are being met. They weren’t from a generation that even had the terminology for these feelings. Maybe that’s how she did it. I may not admire her selflessness and compliance but I can’t help but admire her strength and endurance.

So, as the date drew near for my parents’ anniversary party I began to wonder if the old friends and relatives would pass along those long ago sentiments. I wondered how many people would shake their heads and say I looked just like her. I also wondered if anyone would say that I had her laugh or her mischievous grin.

In November 1999, the beautiful young bride glowed in a stunning long dress ensemble at her fiftieth wedding anniversary. She was as vibrant as she had ever been and she basked in the glow of her children, her eighteen grandchildren and many friends. One week after Mother’s Day she will celebrate her seventieth birthday. I can hardly believe it. Time may be marching on but when I look at my mother I still see and feel all the enthusiasm and vitality that were reflected in that long ago picture.

My mother is a matriarch of global proportions. There could never be another woman like her … but I wouldn’t mind the comparison if anyone happens to notice.

Daryl Wood

May 2000