Brandon Sun - PRINT EDITION
Mother’s Day is just around the corner (a hint for my daughters who are reading this column?).
It has been a special day since my daughters were born, and an opportunity to have a quiet soliloquy with my own mother, who passed away many years ago.
For me, Mother’s Day will always be a bouquet of wilted dandelions clutched in sticky hands, of mushy cards that always seem to fall short of what you really want to say, of breakfast in bed so you don’t have to cook; in short, a day of appreciation and connection. It’s connection because it’s a day that goes up and down the generational ladder because we are all someone’s child.
Like most of you, I have always felt that my mother was an extraordinary woman.
She was always smarter than I, stronger than I, could cook a more tender turkey than I, and she could always make me feel better about myself and the world.
She and my father had divorced when I was in grade school, at a time when divorce was a stigma that set her and us apart from other families.
Then, like now, raising a family on your own is a constant financial struggle. But then, unlike now, a woman often didn’t have the support or understanding of her family, her friends or her community if she made the decision to leave her husband.
Because she was a single mom, my mother’s first concern was always security. She had a good job, and my sister and I always had a roof over our heads and food on the table, but an indelible lesson I learned was about priorities.
I learned about the difference between want and need, but the wonderful thing about my mother was that she believed that a treat is sometimes a need, not a want. I remember sitting on the front step with an ice cream, pouring out a broken heart.
Much more difficult, (and I have no idea how she managed), was being able to go on a class trip to Russia. The scrimping and saving and doing without that must have been necessary so we could afford the plane ticket, and to my current shame, was not even noticed. Only now can I appreciate the sacrifices she must have made to make sure that I wasn’t left behind by the class.
From her I learned to work hard — is there anything more exhausted than a single mother of young children arriving home from a long work day to cook, to clean, to referee, to crawl into bed late and then rise early to start the day all over again? There isn’t anyone to share the worries, the work and the responsibility, to help shoulder the load.
Yet, I never remember her tired. She always had time to help with homework, to listen to our stories from school, to champion our causes.
Looking back at that time through my own "mother" eyes, I see that what she gave up to make time for us was time for herself.
Of course, that is not to say that she had no "me-time."
I remember her sewing a brilliant fuchsia pink "hot-pant" outfit, although I don’t think I ever saw her wear it outside of our apartment.
I do remember her reading. There were always stacks of library books beside the bed and we learned at a young age to wait quietly in front of her until she got to the right spot before interrupting.
My mother also taught me resilience. It didn’t matter what happened to our little family unit, when knocked down we just got back up and kept going.
When the car broke down and couldn’t be fixed, we took the bus or rode our bikes.
When she needed to upgrade her skills so that she could get a better job, she went back to school and we learned to cook and clean on our own.
I remember buying her a new pencil case, a binder and scribblers with monkeys on them with my babysitting money, so that she would know that I was proud and excited that she was a student like me!
Of course, Mother’s Day is also about my daughters. I see much of my mother in them. That thread that links generations together is strong.
One daughter always has a stack of books nearby, on her kitchen table, on the floor by the bed.
One has an extravagant sense of style and would have adored her nana’s hot pink outfit.
One is a planner, a list-maker, a scheduler who is relentless at working to achieve her goals.
This trio of young women are the bouquet I offer up to my late mother. They are the flowers in my life-garden that are flourishing because of her. It is her strength, kindness, and drive that has passed from her to me to them.
Perhaps someday, there will be another generation of sticky dandelion bouquets for me to celebrate on Mother’s Day and I’ll see my mother’s smile again on a granddaughter’s shining face.
» Shari Decter Hirst is Brandon’s mayor. Her column appears monthly.
» s.decterhirst@brandon.ca
Republished from the Brandon Sun print edition May 5, 2012
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Mother’s Day is just around the corner (a hint for my daughters who are reading this column?).
It has been a special day since my daughters were born, and an opportunity to have a quiet soliloquy with my own mother, who passed away many years ago.
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Mother’s Day is just around the corner (a hint for my daughters who are reading this column?).
It has been a special day since my daughters were born, and an opportunity to have a quiet soliloquy with my own mother, who passed away many years ago.
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