My mother died seven years
ago in September, one month before Daylight Savings time ended. I always
thought it was an appropriate time for her to leave us, if there ever was an
appropriate time. She was a morning person who loved the light. When the last rays
of sun vanished from the sky she became someone completely different, tired,
moody, almost lethargic. By 8:30 she was asleep, completely, irrevocably, until
the first blush of dawn woke her, completely energized, to face the day.
For a long time I didn’t miss
her. The last years, when her Alzheimer’s controlled everything, were difficult
ones. She was a strong woman, capable and intelligent, the child of immigrants
who earned a masters degree when most of her generation didn’t finish high
school. It was that intelligence that made us hesitate and hope that our
suspicions were groundless. She stayed in her home long past the time when she
should have had care, fiercely asserting her right to do as she pleased, until
that was no longer possible. Those memories, raw and painful, are hard for me to put aside.
Although my mother and I
weren’t close, we made our peace in the end, mostly because she was my mother
and we had our moments. When I was little, she sang in the mornings. I liked
that, and she couldn’t keep a straight face when scolding me, breaking out in
laughter before the admonition was complete. I liked that, too. There were no
curfews or bedtimes in my family, no serious rules or chores. Everyone just did
what needed to be done. I didn’t like that. I was part of the first TV
generation. I wanted a mother like Mrs. Cleaver or Donna Reed, mothers who
wanted to know where their children were during the day, mothers who inspected
teeth and checked over homework.
In retrospect, I realize she
cared deeply, demanding excellence in her own way with high expectations,
strong opinions and an unwavering belief that fairness should prevail.
She wasn’t the easiest of
mothers but she cared about people, she loved animals, she worked hard, we
could count on her in a pinch and, as my daughter recently pointed out, she
knew what was appropriate no matter what the circumstance and always behaved
accordingly. Not too bad a legacy for a mother, or for anyone. Happy Mother’s
Day to all.
