My mother wasn’t the warmest, cuddliest woman. There were no milk and cookies when I came home from school...I had my own key from a very early age. Cooking wasn’t her strongest suit either. She had a limited cookbook and definitely no baking. She worked hard every day while I was growing up. She worked side by side with my dad in the factory and later on in the shop. She kept the books and did the ordering. She balanced the books every night sitting in her bed and I used to "help" her count the cash. I watched her add the columns without a calculator. I usually fell asleep in her bed and then my dad would carry me to my own bed later on. She kept inventory and dressed the window. She stretched the dollars and paid the bills. She saved the coins so we could have the little extras even with the bankruptcy. She sent us to camp so we wouldn’t be bored over the summer in the city. No, she was no storybook mom but she was there when it counted. Yes, she had her faults, but who doesn’t.
She took me to my first movie; just the two of us. We even played jacks, once, on the floor of our apartment. I really don't remember her actually playing with me. She made my 16th birthday the best she could even though we just moved to another state and I hardly knew a soul. She listened to me when I was entering college and I was scared; she gave me the best advice she could...and it worked. She did the best she could considering her physical limitations in later years.
No, she was not perfect...far from it. We had many disagreements. Many arguments. But I do miss her; more than I thought I did. Especially today, Mother’s Day.
