22. My Mother

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written. I haven’t forgotten about it. Life gets in the way, as it does for us all. When I think about it, I’ve given much thought to what to say next. The story of the unfolding of the mysteries of my life have been told. At least, as much as I think I’m probably ever going to know. And I am so satisfied and happy with the story that is mine. So now, I’d like to share about the people who brought me up, made me who I am, and those who have supported me along the way. It only makes sense to start with my mom.

Ruth Anne Wilson was born December 13, 1939. Yep…today is her birthday. If she were still with us, she would be 81 today. She was the oldest of three girls, her sisters are my aunts, Peggy and Mary Jo. Her parents, Stanley and Ruth, my grandparents, were two of my favorite people ever. Memories at grandma and grandpa Wilson’s house are all happy ones. Lots of smiling and laughter, and grandma usually cooking in the kitchen- always including homemade mashed potatoes. I can imagine that growing up there was a very loving environment.

I have thought a lot about how to describe my mother. Many of you reading knew her, so you know how difficult this is. But she was…full of LIFE. Truly. While she was here, she really LIVED. At different stages of her life, she had varying degrees of resources and opportunities. But whatever her circumstances, she made the best of them and squeezed every drop out of every chance that came her way.

My mother was a beautiful woman, with sparkling eyes and a bright smile, which she shared easily and often. As a child, what I remember about her is that she was my source of comfort. I used to get sick just about every year as a kid- ear infections in the summer, and strep throat in the winter. And each time, she would set me up on the couch so I could watch cartoons. She would bring me medicine and a heating pad to soothe an earache, and when my stomach was upset from strep, she would open a can of Coke and leave it in the fridge until it went flat. The bubbles hurt my super sore throat, but the Coke was soothing to my stomach. Cinnamon toast and “flat Cokes” were the therapy in the first day or two of strep.

Cooking wasn’t her “thing”. She could, and would do it…but wasn’t into it at all. There were several dinners on regular rotation that we loved- I still make her meatloaf sometimes. She always baked our birthday cakes, and as a kid I remember those candy topping things- remember those? They were candy letters stuck to paper? I have a vivid memory of her fighting to get them off the paper in one piece, and then putting them on the cake like a puzzle in frustration when they broke. My mom’s talent and passion was not in the kitchen, but in the garden. Flowers, not veggies. She had an amazing green thumb, and her yard was always beautiful with blooms.

When we were kids, money was tight. My dad was out of work for a while during the recession of the early 80’s, and when he did get work, it was entry-level and low-paying. By then, my brother and sister were also in the picture. My sister had Cystic Fibrosis. That meant medical expense, and time and attention to her care. So, for a time, my mom stayed home with us. There were some things they never talked about, not ever. Some of the money troubles were just never spoken of. They just somehow made sure we had what we needed. I know that this was a difficult time for them financially, but also emotionally. I wouldn’t call them prideful people, necessarily. But they were both hard workers who had a hard time needing help. We were on government aid (food stamps) for a time. I do remember my mom talking about that in later years. She had to take us to the office a time or two to pick them up, and that really bothered her. They lived simply, saved money wherever they could, and when we were just a bit older my mom went back to work in the evenings, and worked almost the rest of her life.

My mom was so great at finding creative ways to do fun things with us that didn’t cost money. We made regular visits to the Krohn Conservatory. This worked well for all of us- as we got a trip out and about, and she got to surround herself with flowers. I remember walking Cincinnati parks, collecting leaves, acorns, rocks…once when I was older, she encouraged me to bring a notebook and write about the day, and what I saw, etc. I specifically remember we met someone in the park that day. Was he an artist or something? I don’t remember…but I do remember his name was Freedom, and I remember writing about it, and talking to my mom about it. That woman never met a stranger, and was always happy to speak to anyone, and was teaching it to me. I think that people who know me now, would say that’s a lesson I learned. I may not be as good at it as she was, but I’m trying.

As I got older, my mom and I started to butt heads some. I was a teenager who could sometimes have a smart mouth, and she had a hot temper. It wasn’t a great combination. It was the usual stuff of growing up…me pushing boundaries, her pushing back, trying to help me make good decisions. But many times things got loud. We would both get SO angry, and I was just so sure that she didn’t understand me or my life. She was 33 years older than I was, and although I knew she was once a teenager, that was the 1950’s. Literally a lifetime ago. How could she possibly understand me?? This is all coming full circle now, as I’m 32 years older than my daughter, who just turned 15. We aren’t as loud, but some of the struggles are the same. I can’t express how much parenting a teenage girl makes me miss her and wish she were here.

My mom had an unshakable faith. She taught it to us by example. We went to Catholic church every week, and only missed if we were sick. When we had to do difficult things- like getting vaccinations- she would always say, “offer it [your suffering] up for the poor souls in Purgatory”. If we couldn’t sleep, she would tell us to pray the Rosary. Pretty much anything we needed in life, she would give advice/direction, and follow it with “say a prayer”. We were taught that there is more than this life on Earth, and that God is loving and forgiving, and that we could- and should- talk to Him often.

I think that the gift of faith is probably the greatest gift that my mom gave me. She told me once, “Sometimes, life gets so hard that all you can do is get on your knees and beg for help”. I knew she meant it. Not only had she and my dad had hard times financially, but they had also (by the time I was a senior in college) lost not one, but two children. One as an infant to prematurity, and one to Cystic Fibrosis at age 17. I eventually watched her lose both her parents, and watched her beat colon cancer, and later fight lung cancer as long as she could.

Before I get to that part of the story, though, there’s more to tell about the mom I knew as I got into adulthood. Looking back, one of the things that stands out, and something else I know I learned from her, was how she prioritized spending time with her friends. She had a large circle of her “Regina girls” from high school that she was still in touch with. I remember many late night phone calls with long talks and big laughs. They would get together as much as they could, and when possible, took “girls trip” weekends. She made many newer friends through other moms at our schools. She also formed a strong bond with a small circle of friends at work. She was always very social and loved being among people, talking to them and asking about them. It was amazing how much detail she could remember about other people’s lives. Even in the times when her own life was unimaginably painful, she never lost that. She was always asking about others.

I haven’t really talked much about her and my dad. The best thing I can say about them, is that they were absolutely in it for better or for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. Their marriage wasn’t easy, but they didn’t quit. If they ever thought about or spoke of quitting, they never did it in front of me. Once we all got older, they had a bunch of years when they could “relax” a little and enjoy each other more. For a while, they went back to bowling together. They would take trips together with friends to beaches or cities they’d never been to, and go out to dinner on the weekends. They loved and cared for each other. I have my mom’s wedding rings now, and I love how her engagement ring sparkles and reminds me of them…I always remember it was especially sparkly in church. Must’ve been the lights, but it’s a memory that sticks.

My dad had a head injury and subsequent dementia before he died. My mom cared for him at home as long as she could. It scared me to death. He was 6’4″ and she was 5’5″ so she took some risks, but she was determined to keep him home as long as she could. It frustrates me at the time- I worried about the safety of both of them. But in hindsight, it was a loving choice on her part. He wasn’t able to communicate it but I’m so certain he felt it.

My parents were both alive when my children were born, and were so happy and proud to be grandparents. My mother was over the MOON. When Maggie was born, she couldn’t get enough. She said she was a “star” almost every move she made, and was sure she would grown up to dance and play piano- both of which, she did. She was equally excited to learn that twin boys were coming. At both births, she made sure to get my dad to the hospital to see the new babies. It wasn’t an easy task but she wasn’t about to let him miss it. She spent time with them when she could and always called to ask what they were doing on any given day, or what new discovery they had made. Grandma Ruth loved being a grandma and loved my babies.

We lost my dad in May 2008. Not a year later, my mom had been complaining of back pain that was getting worse. Finally some imaging told us why. She had a lung tumor. I had feared this most of my life. Both of my parents were smokers for years. They had both quit a good 15 years before this tumor, but the damage was done. The tumor was in a location that was not operable, but she underwent radiation and chemo, and at her 70th birthday, she was looking great, feeling great, and we were hopeful that she could beat this thing.

I said earlier that she was full of life. She was also always on the move and in a hurry. People often told her she needed to slow down. She told us “I’m going to reassess at 80!” 😆 She never felt she had time to slow down.

In the summer of 2010, the back pain returned. I blamed it on other things (denial can be powerful) but I believe she knew exactly what was happening. I remember exactly where I was standing when she called. I was about to leave work. “The cancer is back, and it’s on my spine.” Just typing the words brings back the punch-to-the-gut feeling. I knew. I prayed and I begged but I knew.

The nurse in me jumped into action. Phone calls, appointments, getting control of bank accounts so I could manage her life while she focused on her health, second opinions, images…none of it would matter. That damn tumor was fast, and in six weeks, it would grow to invade her spinal cord. After several days of intense pain, she would be paralyzed from the chest down. The only blessing was that when it took her motor neurons it also took the sensory neurons so with paralysis came pain relief.

She went to inpatient hospice. She had been staying with my aunt Peg, her sister, and now none of us were able to care for her- and there would be no more treatment. She was there for two weeks. That tumor MADE her stop moving. But for two weeks, she still had her beautiful smile, sparkling eyes, but laugh, quick wit, gentle and selfless soul, and unshakable faith. Her room was called the “party room” because of the constant stream of visitors. I was there almost all the time and it was the coolest thing to see. Her mind was 100% intact and she was THRILLED to see “her people” and so humbled they would take time to see her. The facility was kind enough to provide a daily cart of coffee and snacks for the visitors. It was October, and on two beautiful sunny afternoons, they put her in a chair and wheeled her to the patio to enjoy the sun. She was so grateful.

During one of the quiet moments with only family around, she said to me through tears- “I just pray that I have the strength to do God’s will.” I was stunned. This woman had literally done nothing but exactly that her entire life. I do not remember her complaining about any of the hard times. There was always someone somewhere who had it worse- pray for them. I felt in that moment she was handing that faith over to me to carry on. We didn’t say it, but I felt it as strongly as I do today.

Just before midnight on October 8, 2010, my mother died. I still really can’t believe it sometimes. I know she gave me everything o need to live this life without her, but I just really wish I didn’t have to do that. She and my kids are missing out on each other and that’s what hurts the most. I show them pictures and tell them as many stories as I can. I am well aware that she’s living through me in many ways. I can hear her in the things I say.

There is just no way to tell the story of this woman in one blog post. I sure wanted to give it my best shot. I hope I did some justice to the woman and mother she was. I am so, so, glad she was mine. ❤️ Happy Birthday, Mom. Miss you more than I can say.