My Mom Lillian Ruth

This Mother's Day I would like to pay tribute to my mother Lillian Ruth. The lady in this picture is not the one I think of when I think of Mom. I think of the Mom from my youth. The one who came into the hospital and washed my face when I had my tonsils out. I think of the Mom who hoed the garden long into the evening and the one who walked home from work after a long day at the drugstore where she clerked. I think of the Mom who baked bread on Wednesday afternoons on her day off and the one who bought a second hand pair of figure skates, polished and put new laces in them and then gave them to me for Christmas when I was in Grade Seven.

I think of the Mom who shovelled grain like a man and drove the truck while my dad combined. She was terrified to drive a car on the road and yet it didn't seem to bother her a bit to drive that huge truck full of grain right beside the combine with it running. I think of the Mom who has knit a gazillion pairs of slippers for those she loves. I think of a Mom who can add numbers in her head faster than anyone I know.

My mom lives by the credo to bloom where you are potted. She makes things neater, cleaner and better because she was there. Sometimes this was inconvenient as she would water the flowers at the vicarage or weed the garden. She has the ability to see space and organise it. She can have those groceries put away, the bags folded and the dishwasher emptied with such efficiency. She never goes to bed with her house untidy and when she visits, she ensures that every thing is in its place before she goes to bed. She has the talent to find the most efficient method to do something. She has herculean strength and stamina and even now at her age she walks over a mile a day. She still turns her mattress around each month to ensure it is evenly used and regulary moves her furniture without any help. She is thrifty but not stingy. She saves little bits of wool and paper and wrapping and makes use of them later on. She is generous with her offerings to the poor and needy and to the humanitarian projects she holds dear. She used to make the most delicious yet simple meals from scratch. She doesn't buy green grapes if they cost more than $1.49/pound. She grimaces and shakes her head as we throw out scaps of food or half used outdated sour cream containers. She would have found a way to use them up on time. She is resourceful. When Mom goes to get her mail, she reads it, deals with it by either filing it or paying it or rejecting it. She recyles. She picks up wrappers and debris along her way as she walks. If she spots lost pennies and dimes, she will pick them up.

I often wonder what she would have made of her life had she had the opportunity to go to University. Her mind is so quick and sharp. She went to work in a factory so that her family could have the income. She has worked all her life and doesn't know how to just sit and relax. Even when she watches TV, she must have her hands busy. She remembers dates, and names, and details of things that happened decades ago. She always wanted to play the piano. Whenever she is near a piano, she'll play the one song she learned as a child in the Salvation Army. When I remind her that she can take lessons now, she dismisses this as frivilous. From her own Itunes databank of her memory, she can sing songs from her childhood. I remember waking each morning to her humming. She seldom goes a day without listening to music.

My mother is often frustrating. She leaves unpleasant messages on my voicemail that are neither reflective of her goodness nor of her love for me. She does not like being alone. Her feelings are hurt easily. She can not keep confidences. She manipulates. She plays favorites. She does not like to lose. She has grown timid and afraid. She's rash and impulsive.

What she doesn't seem to understand is that despite these aspects of her personality, she is all in all a remarkable human being. One who is loved and respected. An imperfect yet loving and devoted mother.