My mom gets the short end of the stick. She has lived a hard a dutiful life and has always done what she believes is right. She has a tender heart filled with lots of love. When I was small we lived in a small neighborhood of older people. I loved all of those people and remember them all taking turns to babysit me, while my parents went out. My mom and dad would get ready to go out and I remember sitting next to her on the floor and watching her put on her make up. Then she would lightly spray her perfume “White Shoulders” or “Wind Song” on before getting ready to go. I remember getting a hug and soaking up the smell of her before she left. I was small about 18 months old but I can tell you exactly how that house looked inside and about our furniture. I doubt myself whether I can have memories back that far but I do.
I remember when she brought my brother home. My Gran and Pap were keeping me and kept telling me my Mama would be home soon with my new baby brother. I sat on the old springy bed and she gently laid him in my arms. I don’t know what I thought during that time but I still remember holding him and her gently helping me.
My memories are jumpy. The next thing I remember is moving into our new home. I was 3 and my brother was 2. He was kicking me with his cowboy boots on our way down the basement steps and I pushed him. She was right behind us but she obviously didn’t see or was too much in a panic to even notice what I had done. He flew over the side and fell about 8 feet hitting head first on the concrete. I remember him laying there not really understanding what had just happened. She scooped us up and ran us both to the ER where he had x-rays. Even then my brother had a hard head because he didn’t have a concussion. To this day I feel bad about that incident. I didn’t push him to hurt him, just to make him stop kicking me with the pointy toed boots.
Then I was picked to be a flower girl and my brother a ring bearer in a wedding. I was 4 and he was 2 1/2 but that day was special for another reason. It was the day my older sisters were coming to live with us. My dad used to show me the pictures of my older sisters on a regular basis. He would tell me all about them, but I don’t think I really understood why they had a different mom. When they came to live they were used to living in the city and were a bit more on the wild side than we were used to, but my mom brought them in, loved them and raised them like her own. She did everything a mother should do for her children and more, so that they would feel loved and welcome. My oldest sister returned at some point to live with her mom and when I was 7 my mom brought home a new baby sister for us.
Our house was small and my parents both worked full time and then some but we were always loved, had food on the table and had our needs met. I think sometimes my older sisters had a really hard time adjusting to small town life. There was much less for them to do. There were rules and it was a ways to drive for them to go out. (One sister had mice hidden but that’s a whole ‘nother story).
As my sisters got older for their own reasons they left the nest and didn’t return. I think this really hurt my mom who had gone out of her way to raise them the way the should be. It has made me angry at times that my sisters sucked up so much love and time from my mom that could have been given to her own 3, but I admire the fact that mom never complains and did what she thought was right.
Now being old and hopefully wiser I realize what sacrifices she made raising another woman’s children and her own. It’s quite a lot to bite off when you’re not even 30. I admire her and love her always for thinking of others instead of herself and always having plenty of love to go around. I wish her love, blessings, and many more Happy Mother’s Days.
