Perhaps it's the season or it may be the time in my life but I have been reflecting on the memories of my Mother a great deal lately.
She will be gone 30 years this March coming. She passed away at the age of 64 the same age I am now. I now know how young she was when she died. I'm torn by the feeling that somehow she was cheated out of life.
The last 10 - 8 years of her life she spent in the hospital for months at a time for various illness. Her lungs failed her first and for most of her adult life she was a shut-in. I have childhood memories of coming home numerous times and finding a priest giving Momma Last Rites just in case she should pass in the night.
Mary Dorothy White Dupuis was only 4 foot 11 1/2 inches. She said the 1/2 inch made a difference. Dad was over 6 feet tall and just for fun we would line up between them and make steps. By we, I mean my siblings Joanne, Paul, Margie (than me in the middle) Gerard, Stephen and Leo. Dad would be first in line and as time moved on Mom moved down the human steps until finally she was at the end of the line. How she giggled whenever we did this. At Home & School meeting, The principal would ask for all parents of children in grade one to stand, grade two, grade three, etc - Momma sat down only once I think. By the end of roll call she would be red faced. Those were the few times I remember going somewhere with Momma for they were so few. I remember winning an award in grade 6 or 7 for a poem I wrote for Remembrance Day. Dad and Momma went to the local Legion for a Remembrance Day ceremony and I think a got a silver dollar.
I remember Momma and I took a bus uptown to see My Fair Lady. She coughed a lot and an usher came over to ask her to be quiet. I told him off and sent him away. (PS - I get that from my Dad) Momma just smiled and look at the screen enjoying a rare day out.
I am writing because I'm fighting to remember her voice. I have a mirror to remind me of her face it stares back at me everyday. This face doesn't have the sweetness of her's or the warmth of her eyes but it's her face just the same. I'm crying. Sorry I don't mean to go all sentimental but it is the season.
With all this said, I don't want you to think that Momma was a weak person because she wasn't. She handled adversity like a lion tamer pushing it back and rose to conquer each and every day. She never complaint and prayed to our Lord for strength.
Momma had more talent in her little finger than most people had in their entire body. She mastered so many skills; Knitting, crocheting, quilting, sewing, painting, stain glass and ceramics. I think she passed that push to try anything without fear to all of us and certainly one of her greatest gifts to me.
When she developed cataracts and couldn't do anything but listen to the radio or the TV it hurt us all. By then Momma's heart wasn't well enough for even a cataract operation. I have had cataracts. I now realized the pain and despair she endured but never complainted, at least not to me.
When she died we were broken. The centre of our world, our Momma was gone. I don't think any of us have fully recovered from the loss. The funeral we knew would be difficult were so many of us the wake would be trying. Dad was still working and all of us children had friends and acquaintances from our work places. How selfish it now sounds as I write this? How large we thought our own worlds were? Shame on us for thinking so little of her.
What we did not expect was the number of people who came because they knew Momma. Our Momma who was a shut-in and no one visited that much besides us.
All the people our sweet angel touched came to pay their respects. Doctors, nurses, chaplains, ladies who shared a hospital room with her years before. People who saw her name in the paper and remembered her and were honoured bound to tell us stories of how she spoke to their hearts and souls. They just had to come to share their stories with us. We filled books of signatures - names of those she touched in some small way. So much for a little shut-in. Momma's spirit was never trapped in that frail body of hers it soared to the heavens above.
Momma's the angel on top of my Christmas tree. I have only one wish and that's to remember her voice.
Love you Momma - Sweet Dreams
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