~ ALICE VERONICA~
This
may or may not be off my usual topic – but off topic may be a welcome relief to
some of you! Today is my Mother’s
birthday. She would have been 106, but
we lost her 50 years ago. Early onset
Alzheimers is what her medical chart said.
At the time it was called premature hardening of the arteries. “Alzheimers” was not in the common
verbiage. I was eleven when she was
hospitalized, but she had been showing signs and symptoms for a long time and
was being treated (more like manipulated) by archaic medical treatments – all of
which left her more confused and less able to cope. The angels took her home at 56.
I’ve
been thinking a lot about her today and, even though I was only with her for a
fraction of her lifetime, I feel I benefited so much from her gentleness and
strength.
She
had to be strong, she was raising 3 very active boys – two teens and an 11 year
old – when I showed up. Surprise! My Dad
worked two jobs but between them they raised some pretty good kids (I’m a
little questionable:). My three
brothers are all very accomplished, stable, truly nice people. In this world today, I think that’s quite an
accomplishment for any family – especially one where one parent is fighting a
heinous disease and the other is trying to balance his grief and the realities
of day to day life.
She
was the most gentle person I’ve ever known.
I don’t have a lot of memories of my short time with her – I think I’ve
blocked out a lot. But the few I do have
are very precious. She loved to laugh
and she would get the rest of us laughing until we were all crying. One Sunday afternoon, she was in the kitchen
with my sister-in-law, making dinner.
All of a sudden I heard them screaming.
I went running in and there they were standing up on kitchen chairs
screaming and laughing and crying all at the same time. A tiny mouse had found its way into the house
and was checking out the dinner menu. I
laughed so hard I thought I would be sick.
Once
my brothers knew she was terrified of mice, it was open season on the practical
jokes. Their favorite was to wait until
my Mother was sitting on the couch in the living room at the end of a very long
hallway. They would tie a string around
a rubber mouse, make a noise, and hide in the closet. My Mother would turn and see the mouse slowly
wandering across the hallway and the screaming, laughing and crying would begin
all over again.
I
can picture her sitting at the piano, playing at every family gathering. She loved to play and she played by ear. She couldn’t read a note of music, but that
didn’t matter. She taught me how to play
When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob
Bobbin Along but I wasn’t the most dedicated student. I really wish I had been. What a gift she had!
When
it was time for me to go to Kindergarten, she decided to home school me. It wasn’t called that at the time, but that’s
what she did. By the time I got to first
grade, I could write my name and address, the alphabet, my numbers, do simple
math, and say all my prayers (I went to a Catholic school). I’ve had a lot of exceptional teachers over
the many years of education I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, but none
as caring and effective – and none with her tender and smiling disposition. There’s an unfortunate side note to this
memory. My Mother allowed me to write
with whatever hand I chose. I was a
lefty. When I went to school, the old
Irish nuns slapped my hand with a ruler whenever I used my left hand. According to them left-handedness was a sign
of the devil. Oh the good old days!
She
had the most beautiful smile. I can
close my eyes and see it clearly. When I
was in 2nd grade, I ran a marathon of diseases – all back to
back. I presented at school one day with
a case of the measles and was immediately sent home. When that was waning, the chicken pox moved
into our house. My immune system
apparently had taken a vacation, because Rheumatic Fever followed – all within
a 3 month period. My Mother was back to
home schooling again, and nursing, and humoring a really miserable 7 year old
patient. She played the piano, we played
games, (remember, no TV in those days – no Wii – no iPOD – no Angry Birds). She taught me how to crochet and knit and
mend. She answered my many complaints
with hugs and kisses and her beautiful, steady smile.
My
Mother liked liver and onions, but none of the boys would eat it. I remember her making it for our lunch –
often! She said she was going to get one
of us to like it. It didn’t work with me
either!
Whenever
I had a cold, she would sit me down in the kitchen and get the Irish Whiskey
out. I got a little bit in a tiny shot
glass and was told it would cure the problem.
After that, she would cut a lemon in half and give me a saucer with
sugar in it. She said to dip the lemon
into the sugar and suck out all the juice.
This was absolutely guaranteed to make me feel better – and it did. She had the cure for everything.
When
my best friend was hit by a car and killed the first day of our summer vacation
after second grade, I was inconsolable.
I was holding his hand one second and he was flying through the air the
next. She was the only one who could
calm me – the only one who had the right words.
Sometimes when I’m particularly upset by something, I talk to her. I wish she could hug me but I know she’s
there with me smiling that smile and loving me as no one else ever could or
ever will. That’s what Mother’s do and
she was very good at her job.
Happy
Birthday Mother! I love you!
