Conference quark::mennotes-v1

    My mother 'sold her soul' out to my father.  She is almost a mirror
    image of his personality having allowed him to dominate her
    personality. She is a kind gentle woman who did pretty well raising
    us.  Her major fault is the selling out of her personality. This
    resulted in a non-balanced parental relationship.  By this I mean
    parents provide checks and balances on one another. This was lacking
    with my parents.  What one thought the other thought. What one did
    wrong or right the other did wrong or right.  The problem was a double
    hit on the bad things as well as the good things. My relationship with
    my mother was dominated by my fathers wishes. As a grown son, to take
    my mother out for a cup of coffee is not allowed... too threatening
    to my father. 
    
    To her credit: She tried in her gentle way to raise us kids 'right'.
    Her basic values and love was there.... if you could see past my Dad.
    This is coming down on my Dad more than I had intended.... but its
    there... that dominence, to the point where I can't even write about
    my mother without tripping all over him.
    
    I think I could have had a normal relationship with my mother if my
    Dad had 'allowed it'.

    My Mom dies when I was 10 (almost 28 years ago). I only remember
    the good about her and haven't a clue as to if there was any bad.

    I remember her as someone who was always there for me. Who let me
    cry when crying seemed to help. Both examples I've tried to follow
    with my son. Her example was short lived and didn't have the impact
    that that of many mothers did. But I remember she cared and she
    tried hard. I remember she took pride in being "Mrs Ace's Mom" and
    I try to take the same pride in being "Ace's Dad" (which I hear pretty
    regularly as my son has my old nickname).
    
    I miss her terribly.
    
    I do have a mother in law who is as close to a second mother as I
    could have. We get along great and she hears from me that I love
    her often. I met her first as an adult (more or less assuming early
    20s is adult [doubtful assumption]) so she didn't have much influence
    on my growing up. As an adult she's had some influence. She had a
    stroke a few years ago and was disabled. She has had to adapt quite
    a bit and her inner strength has been an inspiration to me.

    We talk often and openly. Occasionally telling each other things
    we don't tell her daughter (my wife). I'm there when she needs me
    and she's been there for me. Both emotionally and financially. She's
    a great person whom I respect a lot.

    			Alfred

My mother dropped out of school to marry my father. She came with him to this
country in 1957 barely speaking English. She raised four kids with my father
gone half the time (almost exactly - he was a submariner) My mother went to
school part time and studied at home till she got her high school equivalency.
While I was in Junior High and High School she studied and got an Associate
degree from the local community college. When I was 17 they divorced. The money
that had been saved for the kids college education went to start a new
household. I put myself through college with loans and work, a few years after
I graduated, my mom got her BA, then MA in Social Work from San Diego State
college.

She is now a social worker in San Diego associated with a clinic, and also has a
a private practice. She specializes in counselling children and wives of mixed
marriages, especially where the wife is Asian.

I'm extremely proud of her and love her dearly.

	-- Charles

    I have TWO moms!
    
    My mother and father divorced when I was 4.  Both remarried.  When I
    was nearly 10, I came back East to live with my dad and step-mother,
    Edith.  I was supposed to stay just one year (my mother was getting
    married in California, and needed some time to get her new life
    started, so my sister and brother and I went to live with dad), but
    wound up staying 'till I was 15.  At that time I moved back to live
    with my mother and step-dad.  All four people were/are very important
    to me.
    
    My mother is from Ireland... and is a gentle, loving woman.  I am her
    "baby" still (I'm now 50!), and her first-borne.  We have a close
    relationship, and I often visit and stay with her (as often as I can,
    that is, because she is still in Calif.)
    
    But, we do have our problems... she is still very "possessive" and I
    have to be firm sometimes... she is also very protective.  I called on
    her to help support me when my ex-wife and I were getting divorced. 
    She listened more than she talked... and that was good.
    
    My step-mother is a ball of fire!  She is a wonderfully active lady who
    lives in Medford, Ma. and we get to visit fairly often.  She had a big
    impact on me when I was an early teen.  
    
    She has recently found a "fella" (my dad died 10 years ago), and called
    my wife to ask her how I might "take it"!  Of course, I was very happy
    for her (and it's obvious to all that she is a very happy woman)!
    
    I have excellent relations with both my moms, and I count them among
    the best parts of my life.
    
    tony

    My mother died when I was 22, I was just married for 6 months and she 
passed away early on the day before Christmas. It ended 8 years of illness 
and pain. I missed her but her life had degenerated to a point where it was 
hardly life, more just painful existance. 

Mom had her bad points, she tended to be able to lay a guilt trip on me for 
many things, and it took a long time to understand how she did that. I 
don't think she did it deliberately though and don't hold that against her.
She was a good typical mother of the '50's, did volunteer work, housework, 
tended a small garden sometimes and put up jellies in the fall. Did the 
wash and ironed, and a million other "womens work" that being a wife/mother 
involved in those days. 

She also was independant enough to teach me to sew, cook, wash and iron 
before I left for college, enjoyed driving my brothers '62 Chevy with the 
409 HP engine, and had a handgun permit and her own 32 revolver in the 
house for protection. She was state pistol champ in '36 (?) in Conn so 
owning a pistol and having a loaded one in the house was neither foreign to 
us or dangerous. She was also a town meeting member in town as was Dad. It 
weas always fun in the house for 2-3 months before TM as they didn't 
necessarily agree on any given topic, causing lots of debates and dinner 
conversation.

Still love her, wish she had lived longer to see her grandchildren, but 
know she would have caused a lot of stress in my family if she had lived...
Definately more ambivilent feelings than towards Dad...

My other Mom was stepmother to a friend of mine. She would listen to me, 
talk to me, put up with my garbage, give it back in spades and otherwise be 
an adult friend to me. Never put me down or caused me pain...a real gem of 
a mom!

    Vic 

    I was 16 when my mother died.  Since I was the youngest of 4 kids,
    everyone tried to "protect" me....even my mother....while she knew she
    was dying.  I remember her telling me and everyone within earshot, not
    to allow me to visit her anymore.  I remember sitting in the staying in
    the waiting room while I watched my two brothers and my sister go into
    that room.  It was one of the hardest and frustrating times of my life.
    I "know" that she was only trying to protect me but I *NEEDED* to "see" 
    her die.....that sounds strange but it really isn't.  It threw me into
    a long period of self-denial.  You see my mother and I were close
    friends.
    
             I remember my mother as a person everybody that met her liked.
    Most times I would meet a "grownup" and the first things out of their
    mouth was "aren't you Mrs. Dawson's son?".  When I admitted it, they
    couldn't do enough for me.  I found out that she "did" things for
    people without being asked and just had a "sense" of what people
    needed.  She was a very special person and I loved her.
    
    
    Dave

As in the father's note, I'm struck by the fact that I had a very abnormal
childhood - I was happy!  And, I didn't have alcoholic or divorced or
early-deceased parents - I had a stable, loving, two parent family - and still
do to this day!  (Thanks again, noters, for giving me more blessings to count -
and my sympathies to those who didn't benefit from a good early home life.)  I
guess the ultimate compliment I can pay my mother is that the world would be a
lot nicer place to live in if everyone had a mother (and father) like mine.
                                                            
A huge share of the credit for any success I now have, or might attain, has to
go to my mother.  She raised us basically alone during the week, while my dad
worked and went to school.  Dad was there every weekend, and a couple nights
during the week, to give her a break, but Mom, of course, as the 'primary (or
daily) caretaker, instilled in me my primary values (and continues to this day!
:-)  (Like all mothers, she will always be my mother, even when I'm fifty - but
I now feel, instead of a 'burden' as most teenagers/young adults feel, that
this kind of 'security' is a very nice thing to have - I know I can always go
home again).

She started reading to me at a very young age, and by age 4, was helping me
read every book I could find (love that Dr. Seuss! :-).  IMO, her cultivation
of my love of reading led to my success in school, and resultant ability to
'find a good job'...   IMO, the ability to read well is THE MOST important
factor in getting a good education, and her nightly diligence certainly paid
off in my case.

As I mentioned in the 'father' note, we didn't have a lot of money to work
with, but mom somehow managed to keep us well-clothed, well-fed, and happy. 
She learned how to be a great cook (and now, after my divorce, always cooks
extra when I go over for supper so I can have a night of leftovers, instead of
frozen pizza :-).  Like my dad, she is a tireless worker, and her ability to
make the house our home on her limited budget, with two growing, boisterous,
often sick boys, is truly an heroic achievement.  We still kid her about being
up until 2 in the morning the night before they leave for vacation getting
everything ready for their trip.
                                                            
In addition to the normal 'Mom' things, (again, perhaps I'm assuming something
I shouldn't - by this I mean cook, clean, do laundry, sew, be the chauffer,
keep us in school and out of trouble at home, educate us, tend our wounds,
etc.) she also would get involved in our activities.  And she was a real sport
too: she'd toss the ball with us when dad was at school; she became a real
hockey fan in the early 70's, bringing my brother to the rink at 5 in the
morning (and staying to watch!); encouraging us to join a bowling league, 
soccer, track, little league, basketball league - in short, when dad couldn't
be there, she was... 

Mom was an only child, and this I'm sure played a large part in her willingness
to make lunch for half a dozen neighborhood kids (yet she was also able to
teach us that it wasn't fair to her to show up on the doorstep with four
buddies in tow, and ask her (beg? plead?) if they could stay over...).  
I now know that my mother was really quite dependent on her mother during my
(and my younger brother's) early childhood.  She called her daily for advice,
and, I'm sure, an adult voice to talk to.  My mother really changed after her
grandmother died, and I'm continually impressed by her ability to master
something new (at age 50, she started to learn how to use computers (Wang), and
now is an expert at a variety of word processors and systems - just learned how
to use Pagemaker on the Mac this winter!)

One of the fondest memories I have of my mother took place only five or six
years ago, and demonstrate how much more liberated and flexible she has become
since her early years of marriage (I like to think that her boys had some
positive influence on her, too). My parents, my brother and I, and our two
s.o.'s went to Foxboro to watch Doug Flutie in a BC playoff game.  We had a
great tailgate luncheon she of course prepared (but dad cooked on the hibachi
:-), and proceeded to trek to the stadium...  (it was a long trek, so we each
took a beer for the trip.)  Well, here it is, late Fall, quite brisk out, and
my mother is walking with the rest of the (college) crowd, in fact, drinking a
beer with a glove on!  Well, we got closer to the stadium (near security), and
people were tossing their empties in their bushes on the side of the road.  In
my early years, mom might have offered a moral argument, but, in a manner that
said "hey, these kids are grown up now, we can't teach them any more morals
now", she tilted her head back (while walking), drained the remainder of her
beer, and casually tossed her can into the bushes! :-) And the story of her
throwing a dinner roll the length of the formal dining room table in response
to my dad's request to 'pass me a roll' is now also family legend :-) 

In case you can't tell, we always had a lot of fun growing up, and my mother 
also gave me the love of games - she must have endured thousands of games of
Parcheesi, visits from Uncle Wiggly :-), Monopoly, Yahtzee, cards - you name it,
we played it together.  She of course used games as learning opportunities: 
I was scoring Yahtzee before we were taught math in school.

Mom has always been there for me and my brother, and in fact always demanded
that we tell her about our day at school when we got home.  When we got older,
there were many late nights that turned into early mornings, discussing
everything under the sun at the kitchen table, long after dad retired for the
evening.

If you can't tell from the above, yes, I love my mother very much.  And, yes, I
do tell her...  Most recently when I informed them of my impending divorce, I
let them know how much I appreciated the job they did raising me (my ex left
in large part due to her extremely unhappy childhood as the youngest of five
kids of TWO alcoholic parents...)

Again, words really can't express, but hopefully, by reading this, she'll
understand.  So, I think I'll give this to her after I give the other note
to Dad on Father's Day...  (seeing I reference that note here :-)

So, Happy Belated Mother's Day, mom,

Love, 

Dave

    Reg 581.7
    Two GREAT notes ML in the same day. Sounds like you have two really
    special parents.
    One question-what happen to you > many  :*)
    
    Mike
    

>
>    Reg 581.7
>    Two GREAT notes ML in the same day. Sounds like you have two really
>    special parents.

    Well, first, thanks Mike, I had fun writing them...  and they are...
    
>    One question-what happen to you > many  :*)
>    
>                         -< Watch Too Many C's Games >-
>    Mike
    
    And secondly, just goes to show you, no matter how good the upbringing,
    you *still* can't control how your kid turns out!!!
      
    (I don't think it was the C's games, more like the early "left-handed
    Celtics rooter" training I received in college, if you know what I
    mean, say no more...   (sorry - inside ::CELTICS joke :-))
    
    ML-er, Dave :-)

	My mom died a year and a half ago, and the worst part is,
	I miss the friend that I made years after leaving home.

	When I lived at home there was frequently a clash of wills.
	Relatives have mentioned that we were too much alike.

	But, when I moved out, we really became good friends. I'd
	call her up and tell her about a movie or a book she should
	check out, and she'd do likewise.  She came into her own
	in the past ten years...getting a Master's degree, travelling
	the world, and so forth.

	She dedicated two years of her life to supporting my dad
	at home as cancer slowly claimed him.  After he died,
	she only slowly came back to life, and met a great guy,
	a widower, who was her intellectual equal.  They travelled,
	cooked weird gourmet food for each other, and it looked
	really good for her again.

	When she was diagnosed with a fast-moving cancer, they
	had a happy-sad wedding, and then suddenly it was she who
	was being taken care of.  I was there at her bedside when
	she breathed her last, and while there were horrible times
	in her last 4 days, I was glad to be there.

	I miss most being able to call her up and say, "Hey, you need to
	go see this neat movie...."

	Steve H

Posted for a MENNOTES reader who wishes to remain anonymous.


=======================================================================



    I sent the following letter to my father about two years ago...

    Dear Dad:
    I want to find out as much as possible about abuse that happened to me.

    I would like you to read this letter then I will call you in a couple of
    days to arrange a meeting.

    When I was 4 and Jack (pseudonym)was 6, we spend some time boarding with
    Mrs Genesis(pseudonym). I remember hiding in a closet there. That is really
    all I remember except that Mrs Genesis broke a plate over Jack's nose (he
    still had the scar last I knew) and we ran away. The family has talked
    about these two things many times. Last fall you mentioned visiting Jack
    and me there.

	    	Why were we there?
	    	Where did you and Mom live while we were at the Genesises?
	    	Were you and Mom living together?
	    	What was happening with [younger brother] during this time?
	    	How did Mom come to find the Genesises?
	    	How long did we stay there?

    There is absolutely no question that I was physically abused -and physically
    abused BADLY before I was 5 years old. I believe that some of the abuse
    happened with the Genesises and hope you will be able to remember it.
    Learning everything I can about the Genesises is important

    I also was badly abused before that. I have specific memories of being
    thrown up against a wall when I was only a few months old. These body
    memories surfaced last December when we were baby-sitting for [4 month old
    niece]
    and I was holding her in my arms. I also have VERY faint memories
    of some infant almost drowning. 

	    	Was it me?, 
	    	Was it Jack? 
	    	When did it happen?
	    	What happened?

    I believe that Mom abused us on a regular basis. Part of the abuse was
    simply not being there. Whenever I tell folks about Jack setting my crib on
    fire, the IMMEDIATE response -including psychological professionals- is
    		
		Where was your mother?

    Mom used to talk about the time I was climbing on a sink over
    some exposed pipes and fell and split my head open.

	    	Is that REALLY what happened?
	    	And even if it was, WHERE WAS SHE?

    Where was she when I fell off a second story porch??? She was in the
    kitchen adjoining the porch ignoring me.

    In addition it is clear that she physically abused us.  I wouldn't be a bit
    surprised at learning there were some hospitalizations as a result. I would
    bet that there are several such 'suspicious' episodes in our past that
    could easily be resolved by recognizing and accepting that Mom abused us
    overtly. 

    I know from Mom's DSS dossier, that she was badly abused by various foster
    parents. I also know that people who were abused often become abusers,
    indeed almost all abusers had been abused themselves. I KNOW she abused me
    physically! She beat me regularly with an ironing cord until I was 14 or 15
    years old. I will never forget being beaten in the face with a doubled up
    ironing cord! I will NEVER forget going swimming in the YMCA a couple of
    days after a beating, and one of the counselors asked me if I had been hit
    by a car or something. 

    Jac wouldn't let her beat him. He ran away from her. His punishment would
    be to go to his room. (Which wasn't even punishment because that's what he
    wanted to do). [younger brother] wouldn't let her beat him either. He told
    me that he just STOPPED her from beating her. But she had me thoroughly
    cowed. "Go get the ironing cord." And I did. I DESERVED the beatings. She
    had convinced me that I DESERVED to be abused.

    This abuse, this violation of my integrity, this violation of my boundaries
    left me very, very vunerable to the sexual abuse that I was subjected to
    starting at 6 years old. This abuse had a profound, profound impact on my
    life. I am just beginning to face up to the impact. I now am beginning to
    understand why I jump so badly when I am startled by somebody, why I had so
    many 'accidents' (mom's punishment was so effective that I incorporated it
    and now punish myself for real and imagined transgressions) and why I keep
    having 'visions' of myself being hurt or [my children] being hurt. Those
    scenes of the [children] being hurt are replays of hurts that happened to
    me.

    She also sexually abused me.

    People are AGHAST when I tell people about the sexual and physical
    abuse that I was subjected to, they frequently are astonished to discover
    that I have never abused anybody. (The [children ] are usually the ones that
    people assume I have abused). But I never have abused anybody except myself.
    My alchoholism was a reflection of trying to drown out all the painful
    experiences that happened to me growing up. It didn't work. It doesn't
    work.
    
    Many professionals are also astonished that I am still alive. Many, many
    people have succumbed to far less pain, and anguish than I experienced. 
    I have been involved with survivors of childhood sexual abuse for about 2
    years now. Over 100. The tales are horrid. But my tales are worse than
    almost all of them. Why? Because those who suffered as badly as I -and
    presumably Jack- seldom make it into middle class society.

    			they are drunks
    			they are on drugs
    			they are in prison 
    			they are in the middle class but as abusers
    			they are dead

    I am alive. And the ONLY reason I am alive is that I can't put [wife] and
    the [children] through the pain of suicide.

    My five years of sobriety have forced me to look at what happened. The
    sobriety has made the repression impossible. Afraid of what I have been
    remembering, I was admitted last February to a treatment facility for
    survivors of sexual abuse. Specifically to face and remember in a safe
    environment the abuse that happened to me before 5. At the last minute I
    stopped; because all the other patients were female survivors. I was afraid
    to be locked in with so many females who had been abused. I also did not
    trust the medical authorities.

    I must find and face my past
    I am strong enough now
    I have to face the pain I went through so I can FINALLY be free of it.
    I am ready
    I have no options

    But I have no memories before I was 5 or so. 
    Just faint, shadowy impressions of beatings, sex, body pain, and
    intuitions.

    Help me remember, please.

How do I feel about my mom ?


Well, actually, it's changed quite a bit.   When I wrote of my Dad in
the corresponding note, I couldn't help but make the immediate association
with my mom.

Mom, still married to Dad, has hard a rough time of it with her health for
most of the time I've been around. (34 yrs.) I've seen pictures of her as a
young women, and I could see why my Dad made a run for her.  Out of
7 sisters, she was hands down, the most beautiful in the family.  A real
knock out...  I guess somewhere between sweet sixteen, and her third kid,
(me) which she was forbidden by her doctors to have,, things just fell
apart for her inside.  But with all the problems she's faced, all the surgery's
and pain and fear, she never lost her faith, nor her love for life and
her family.  Those  things have pulled her through five way by-passes,
liver surgery, kidney surgery, tumors, you name it.. she's probably had
it twice..

I guess when I was growing up, where the dads of the world were out doing 
those mystifying things that all young sons thought had to be just the most
important thing in the world, mom was left to the task of housekeeping...  
(Of course realize this was back in the early 60s, and before women became 
totally 'Liberated' or at least expected to want to be)  

Even still, I guess 'Mom' couldn't have made out much better...  She was 
always there, could cook a mean 'anything-she-wanted-to' was generous to a 
fault, had a lot of close friends that I dubbed 'Aunty' and a lot of close 
sisters (my real Aunts) who were always kind to me and became close confidants.

She was imaculate, a women of strong faith, and like dad, didn't drink hardly
at all, (never even seen her tipsy till the day I got married..)  

But mom did have a temper.  She set out as the 'disciplinarine' in the
house, and wasn't afraid to enforce that role.  To the point where at
times I hated her...  (as only a son could hate their mother.  It's really
not hate, but maybe a bit of humiliation, some guilt, and a dash of pain..)
The one thing I think she did teach me that she didn't mean to was how to 
get pissed off..  I've got a considerable temper, and though today I cope
with it, years ago I was a pretty scary person when I was angry.

But, other than a crack on the arse with a belt, or a paint stirrer when
appropriate, my Mom did the thing that mothers of only sons (she also has two 
daughters) have such a hard time doing.  She "let go" when it was time.

I guess knowing when to let go is the important part,,,  then acutally letting
go is just a follwing of course..  But she trusted me..  During my coming of 
age, (late 70s) with the drinking age at 18, drugs as easy to come by as
T.V. guides, she trusted me to do right by myself.  And somehow, I always did.

Of course, I made it a bit easy on her.  I spent most of the time from 11 to
18 in my room with a Stratocaster and a few hundred albums, and by the time
I graduated, I was engaged to my wife, (whom I met in 9th grade) we were
married a year and a hlaf later..  but I'm sure there were those times when 
I'd get into a circle of friends that were on the 'dangerous side' that she'd
get scared.  Scared that I'd get in trouble, Scared that I'd do something 
stupid, Scared that she'd get a 3 a.m. phone call from the police station 
looking for someone to identify a body...  

But she still let go when it was time.  must have been hard.  I was the son
they waited 10 years to have,,,  

She nevermade me want to reble, never was cruel, would always go without for us
kids..  And she taught me to be kind, and gentle to women... (even when they
were'nt kind and gentle to me...  When I was 10, I was kicked in the groin
by a neighboors daughter, (she was 13) woke up a day later in the hospital 
and spent the next nine days there recovering from surgery for a pretty severe
heriner.   Had I listen  to myself,  the first thing I wanted to do when I got 
better was to cruicfy the little  b*tch that kicked me.. But I never did..  
I did learn later though that my older sister Cheryl kicked the cheese out of 
her  the next day at school.. -- thx sis..  {another women who's always been
there when I need her}..)

Today, we talk as often as possible, she always reminds me she loves me
when ever we talk, or see each other, The trick is to remind her that I love
her first.  I can speak to her quite freely, she's very interested in
all the things I and my family do.  She's interested in my music 
and  photography.. I have to admit, she was the driving force behind my 
entering a photo contest last year where I won first second and third place..
A million "I told ya so"s was a fitting punishment, and I suffered through
it...

So she's still there, trying to get us to be 'all that we can be',,,

She's the type of mom that cries when she reads the cards you sent her,
cries when a sone tells tales of being sucessfull, but is stong as an ox
when she has to be.

A wise-powerful woman.  That qaulity I never saw till I had moved out.
Again, like with my dad, you don't realize these things, sometimes till
it's too late.  I feel very fortunate to know both of them as both
parents and freinds

I love my mom, and I wish her all the happiness in the world.  God knows
she's earned it.  Now in her 'autum years' her best gift is seeing her
grandchildren and great grandchildren.  She still holds onto those
two primary things that kept her alive through the worst of times.

love and faith...

    My Mom died in 1988, at age 75, after having had a career
    as a registered nurse, followed by a 41 year marriage, and
    three children. I was the youngest and only boy, and cliches
    notwithstanding, I always felt closer to her, as we shared
    some of the same interests (books, music, gardening, cooking,
    travel, love of animals, love of the ocean).
    
    Sometimes I've wondered how she and my father got together,
    they seemed so different in personality. But I never had
    the nerve to ask her, and I suppose it doesn't really matter.
    Still, I wonder if some of her emotional problems were due
    to frustration or unhappiness with her life.  She
    was hospitalized a few times for depression, periods
    that I have only dim memories of (I think at age 5 I
    lived with an aunt and uncle for a time, and when I was
    10 I remember Mom was in the hospital, and I had a bout
    with chronic nightmares).
    
    On the whole, she made the best of her life. As I said,
    she'd had a career, and worked as a nurse in NYC and Boston.
    I have a great picture of her taken at the top of the
    Empire State Building in 1935 (she resembled Bette Davis
    when she was younger; Dad resembled a young Gary Cooper,
    so what happened to me? ;-).  In later years, I tried
    to get her to talk about her younger days, but she
    was less willing to talk about the past than my Dad is.
    
    She was a devout Catholic, and though I lost my faith
    by my teens, I believed strongly in *her* faith. More
    often than not, her prayers for me were answered.
    
    She cultivated and kept many friends over the years,
    writing letters and making telephone calls.  When I
    was in college, she wrote to me at least once a week
    (even though I was only 20 miles from home), and that's
    something I learned from her, the importance of
    friendship, and making efforts, and keeping in touch.
    I still write letters, remember people at birthdays
    and Christmas, and write thank you notes.  She
    was generous, and her letters usually contained
    a little spending money, from both her and Dad.
    
    Although schooled in nursing, she used a lot of
    home remedies, most likely learned from *her* mother,
    some of which I still use (except her medicine of
    last resort, Holy Water!).  A lot of the home remedies
    and maxims were from her mother, so I felt a link to
    the 19th century through my mother's memories
    of her own mother.
    
    Althoug she wasn't a great risk-taker, she encouraged me
    to take risks.  She approved of my moving from NH to
    Boston, of my going back to school for a master's, and
    of every trip I ever took, whatever the cost.
    
    She had her faults too.  She used guilt as a weapon,
    and I'm still trying to remove guilt from my life.
    She held grudges, something else I see in myself, and
    try to avoid.  She was very judgemental, which is also something
    I try to avoid.
    
    She saw a lot of changes in her life.  She lived through
    the Vatican reformations of the 60's; she learned to
    accept one of her daughter's divorce, and then that
    same daughter lived with a man without getting married.  She
    became more liberal in her politics as she got older, and
    even voted for Jimmy Carter!  She saw her two grandchildren
    born, and a third adopted.  When my Dad was incapacitated
    by his stroke, she refused to put him in a nursing home, and
    spent the last 8 years of her life as a 24-hour private nurse.
    It took its toll on her and my Dad, there were some ugly
    moments, but she stayed with him out of love
    as much as duty, I'm convinced of it.  
    
    I visited with her on the day she died, of that I'm glad.  I don't 
    begrudge her death, she was tired and not very happy. It may sound 
    strange, but I'm glad she died quickly of a heart attack, she wouldn't 
    have liked lingering in a hospital bed.  I don't feel as though we 
    had unfinished business.  On that final visit, as I was leaving, she told 
    me to go home and relax and wrap myself in an afghan she'd given me (it 
    was November and cold) I still have the afghan, and every time I cover 
    myself with it, I think of her.  
    
    Richard