A Mother’s Day Remembrance

 — by Margie Doyle —

Mothers give you shelter from the storm

I think my mother was a mother her whole life. The eldest girl in a family of six girls and two boys, she left school at 16 to work to support her family: her dad was an Anglican minister in the prairie towns of Canada before arriving in Vancouver, B.C. Her mother was a wild, opinionated woman who embarrassed my grandfather and left my mom to pick up the pieces.

Then when she married my dad, who was supporting his parents, brothers and sisters, she had her own children: three boys and two girls. They moved to Seattle after World War II, and her sisters and their husbands and kids would come to Seattle for vacations; simple, silly family times with lots of singing and laughter, and a good share of heartache with war, illness, and making a living always presenting challenges. Her nickname was “Tiger.” She taught us to never tell a lie, not to sweat the small stuff, and to always respect our Dad.

After she raised us, Mom went to work looking after other people’s children. When my brother and his wife split up after having a little girl, Mom raised her too. My niece is now a hospital administrator and the mother of two great university students; she says simply, “Gramma saved my life.” She means that just being there for her, loving her,  finding ways to share adventures with her, was a godsend in those insecure days.

When Dad died, Mom started looking after elderly folks in their homes, but I think when she realized one of the people she helped was younger than she was by a good ten years, she decided not to do that anymore.

But she still mothered; her other grandkids, and her kids as they matured from teenagers to adults to middle-age. We presented her with divorce and disappointment as well as grandchildren. She was always ready for a party and wanted more than anything to just be with us.

She was a good woman; her life was founded on taking care of others. She didn’t have time to think of self-esteem or lawsuits. There were meals to put on the table, kids to educate and a home to keep running.

Seeing us having friends and fun or knowing we were all safe in our beds as she settled into hers was the ultimate in happiness.

She died almost 20 years ago. Ever since then, I think of her as waiting just behind heaven’s door, always ready to welcome new residents of eternity, with a hug, a smile, a good simple meal: open arms to an open heart.  I just hope she knows the comfort of being mothered after all her years looking out for others.