Mommy’s Day

My mother died in April 2007. She was born in September 1915. You do the math.

She was the only mom I knew. Of the four of us around the dining room table, she was the only girl.

Sorrow to have been such a burden for 9 months, but when I came out blue, the medical crew didn’t want it to be a worthless journey.

Whenever I needed clothing or food or medicine or the school wanted to talk to a parent, it was always mom. Mommy was always there. Wonder where dad was?

She was never a soccer mom but I didn’t play soccer. She wasn’t a den mother or a Sunday school teacher but did do her civil defense duty spotting Russian bombers from atop the train station (but that could have been a secret rendezvous with some handsome soldier?) She did attend my brother’s baseball outings only to get smashed in the face with a ball. Don’t know how good my brother was a catching.

From what I can gather from brief history, she was a cute girl from a backwater town. Whether she graduated from high school is unknown. Did she have any desire to become a secretary or seamstress or a sales girl or nurse (which were about all the options girls had) is unclear, but she was a ‘party girl’.

She liked the beach and the attention of boys and dancing and singing. She had a good voice but whether that was developed in church or not is a mystery. Though the family gatherings entertained each other singing, only one went on into the profession of faith.

She could have become a mother down there and probably been satisfied but my dad called her to join his band and go on the road (of course with her mother’s permission).

She went to more adventures than any small town girl could imagine and enjoyed it. She had many opportunities to model or sing or act, but they never came to fruition, for whatever reason. Those who know are long gone.

In ’39 she married my dad (again for whatever reason) and 3 years later my brother came along.

She continued to lavish in the spotlight of fading fame but with the title of ‘mother’ her stardom was over.

I came along after the war. Don’t know how much she was drinking then but I can blame my bad behavior on her alcohol consumption. I think she cleaned up her act or hide it well until dad died.

Mommy was always the one by my side when I was in pain or needed to be talked to. She was the filter between my dad and I.

Luckily when my brother decided to go to VPI and had to lose weight to be accepted, mom teamed up with him and counted the calories. Drink coffee and smoke cigarettes all day and you lose weight.

She somehow found her way into playing golf and became popular again. She could mingle with the country club crowd and get her picture in the newspaper.

At the same time she would travel to conferences with dad wearing her flashy jewelry, furs, arriving in a convertible and relishing in the recognition.

She also didn’t question my decisions to stay out all night or whom I hung out with. She did try to push me into the ‘proper society elite’ kids but I found it boring. She also tried to persuade girls I brought home to not become emotionally involved with me.

Later in life, our mother/son relation became difficult. Being the only child in town while the other relatives strayed away from her erratic behavior, I became engulfed in the tornado.

Too much for a marriage/work/mother, the marriage ceased. Work became a blur as calls of falling down the steps or being arrested for DUI frequented my life. Trips to the hospital and balancing checkbooks and listening to constant dribble while knowing it was being fueled by alcohol.

But she was my mom. What was I to do?

Even the second wife tried very hard to be liked and cared for mom which was not appreciated, the solution was to find a place that could 24/7 provide food and medical attention.

After several tries, my brother and I found a spot she agreed on. It was still a prison but a very nice prison. This would be her final resting spot.

When my brother called and said, “Mom’s dying” I didn’t know what to do. How should I feel?

When she died I sat outside trying to figure out what my emotions should be. After all this was my mom. My only mom (I think that is how it works) and I should have some emotion.

But I didn’t.

Her name will have the legacy of a dark haired babe singer in the big band era, and not my mom.