by POPSIE 1956
I always think about it around Mother’s Day too.
Come this December, it will be 9 years since my Mom Marie passed away from this terrible, terrible illness.
She was 82, and was in a nursing facility for only the last three months of her life.
How many times I fought to get her in sooner, but I wasn’t in charge.
That was on my Step Dad Joe.
He equally fought to keep her at home and take care of her.
But in the end, he couldn’t do it, not even with my help, or the help of his own kids.
The decision was made not by his head, not by his heart, but by his body.
His prostate cancer that had been in remission returned, and he couldn’t do both.
I have learned over these 9 years to try and stay away from the negative.
I have learned over these 9 years to try and stay away from the regret.
I refuse, however, over these 9 years to hold back my anger.
I remain pissed off to this day.
Then I take a breath, let it out, and reflect on a few things.
I look at what my Mom gave to me.
The first is her gift of laughter. Marie was the one who always played practical jokes, who always had a whoopie cushion on hand, just in case, and who always had cartoon pictures showing people’s naughty bits telling dirty jokes.
I’m sure my friends will say that all sounds familiar.
Then there was her laugh, of which I echo note for note to this day. When she and I would get together with my Aunt Helen (her older sister), it was comedy in harmony.
I think she knew that I knew what she was talking about…and that spurred her on even more.
Mike’s Mom was the Cool Mom, she was the Mom everyone wanted.
I try to use that reasoning today with my Grandsons..they just know Popsie ain’t right.
I also learned about having a great work ethic. My Mom was up EVERY MORNING at 6 to clean the house, or take care of bills, or get dinner ready for that night, before she had to leave for work, when she got home, she didn’t stop for a couple of more hours and everything was where it should be.
What my Mom and I had was extra special, as I have mentioned before, my Dad Sam passed when I was 13, she and I were all we had.
That’s tough for a teenage boy who didn’t had a male role model, and even tougher for a middle aged woman in the early 1970’s who didn’t know about teenage boys and raging hormones.
We didn’t have “the talk”…she gave me a book and walked away quickly.
Today on Facebook, in tribute to her, I posted a very old picture of her (the one you see here). It’s from the 1940’s (I’m presuming “The War Years”), when she was in her early 20’s.
Looking at the picture, I see a lot of my facial features in her.
And I see that smile too
One last thing, and if you have a relative who has or had contracted this horrible disease, you’ll understand, but I worry at least once a day that someday I’ll get it.
But as someone once told me, if I do…I’ll never know it.
If you’ve lived through this Hell, or are going through it currently, feel free to touch base with me.
Holding back the anger only makes it worse.
Thank you Mom.