Mom is gone …
Who again will ever sing “I love you, a bushel and a peck” while rinsing our heads with warm water in the bath? Who will make a paste of baking soda and gently apply it after a bee sting? Who will pack us a picnic lunch that we can carry up to the roof in Glasgow Village on a breezy, warm spring day?
Mom is gone …
Who will bake the date bread for the easter feast or the cinnamon jumbles at Christmas? Who will make the delicious pasta con broccoli for our birthday meal?
Mom is gone …
And no one will ever utter expressions like “Well I’ll be a son of a sea-cook” or “soft as goopher feathers” or “gowno” (Polish for all things vile as I understand the translation), ever again? Or if so, not with the same emphasis.
These and a thousand other things that made mom uniquely herself are lost to us now. Mom, Ma, Mary; may be gone from us but we take comfort in knowing she is only gone from our embrace temporarily. She lives eternally in Heaven from now on with Jesus, Dad, her parents, and siblings and every other loved one who has gone before her. She is reveling in joy and waiting for the day when we join her. She probably has a big pot of something wonderful simmering on the stove waiting for us upon arrival.
Mom was an excellent cook and baker and when she made you a meal you never had to go back for seconds because she had already piled the seconds on the plate along with the firsts and served them up piping hot. No one heaped a plate quite like mom. Often, you’d be in mid-bite of one of her delectable creations when she’d take a taste from her own modest plate and find fault or declare what you had found exceedingly tasty, as tasteless. She held herself to a pretty high standard.
It was a standard that carried over into every aspect of her being. Growing up we were always neatly dressed and groomed. Impeccably so in some photos. We remained that way until we were old enough to rebel and dress ourselves like slobs. I’m speaking only for myself. We were never rich, but we never felt poor. She managed both the household and the household budget with careful efficiency. Linda recalls the Halloween costumes she would fashion for us from items she found around the house. Specifically, a Spanish senorita costume that turned out fantastic and an ambitious Twiggy outfit that looked great but suffered a few wardrobe malfunctions. Linda loved the fashionable Barbie doll dresses mom sewed, some of which still exist. Speaking of fashion and high standards, Mom was always quite fashionable herself. To browse the old snapshots, you might think you were looking at photographs of a model or movie star. But that was just Mom, beautiful from birth to age 90. As she grew older, she loved telling people her age because their reaction was often one of genuine disbelief. Still, it is her inner beauty, kindness and compassion that will be remembered most.
As was the case with many households of the era, the arrangements were pretty old school. Dad brought home the paycheck and did little else as far as the parenting was concerned. Mom was left to be the accountant, the cook, the cabbie, and the disciplinarian in charge of five kids. She excelled at every task. I remember one time, Brian and I were punching on each other (well, in truth it was mostly me being punched), but Mom got so fed up, that she took belts and strapped us each to bedposts at opposite ends of the bed, simply to separate us. It was so absurd, that by the time we were secured I think all three of us were laughing. It certainly defused the situation.
Being assigned so many duties, made her tough and willful. She had strong opinions and didn’t hold back, but you always knew exactly where you stood with her. She did not suffer fools gladly, even when the fool was one of her own. One of my favorite mom stories comes from the early 1980’s when I was dating my sweet wife, Jenny. During those earliest days when high school passions were running high, we would break up on occasion. Almost always because I was at fault and behaving like a jerk. Every time it happened, no-nonsense Jenny would go off and date other boys while I sat around the house moping and pining for her. I guess mom picked up on my demeanor and realized that I was lovesick and forlorn. At this time, Mom was working at Dillard’s at Northwest Plaza and Jenny was working at Waldenbooks. Mom took her break, exited the back doors of Dillard’s and marched a few shops down the plaza to the bookstore. Upon finding Jenny at work, she went up and asked one question, “Well, what did my idiot son do this time?” That was Mom, the only side she ever chose was the right one.
Mom loved to travel. After travelling by ship to Korea for the war, Dad liked to say that he had seen enough of the world and would only occasionally travel with Mom. So, her de facto travelling partner became her sister Connie. They travelled to San Antonio to visit their nephew Father John, or Johnny as he was known to the family, at his parish. They went north to Mackinac Island. They travelled from one coast to the other, visiting San Francisco and New York City, where they famously complained about the wastefulness of the over-the-top servings of pastrami at the Carnegie Deli. She also loved to travel with her family; the girls only trip to Gulf Shores, Vegas with Dad, Elaine and Dan and the various beach destinations with the entire family.
In later life, Mom’s attention was squarely affixed on her grandchildren whom she adored. She would brag about them to any stranger in any bank line, grocery store check-out lane or restaurant, who would stand long enough to hear it. She babysat them, doted on them, advised them and made each of them feel special and loved. She picked up the moniker, “Ma” from her firstborn grandson Kyle, and it grew on her and stuck. After all these years, I can’t imagine her being referred to as anything but.
Mom loved the holidays and made each one a special event for her grandchildren. She hosted parties for them filled with treats and goodies. Christmas was a particular favorite time of year, and she always made it special for her own kids and grandkids, alike. As I mentioned, we were not wealthy, but she would shop throughout the year, squirreling away the gifts so that on Christmas morning, they were bountiful. Laura recalls how mom would read the night before Christmas to her and Elaine and how the warmth and love in her voice would make it a lasting memory. After her brood had grown sizeable, she ran Christmas like a German engineer, evenly distributing gifts of equal value to her grandchildren, that were likely calculated down to the very last penny. She was loving but equitable.
She may have exhibited German efficiency, but she was 100% Polish and deeply proud of the fact. Growing up in the Archie Bunker era of the 1970s, a time when Polish jokes were still pervasive, I used to downplay my Polish heritage. But over the years, her fierce pride got through to me. Speaking of Archie Bunker, Dad who had a great and ‘dry as the martinis he loved’ wit, did not help foster pride in my Polishness. He’d be the first to make a crack or a comment at the expense of the Poles. I tell you if you never grew up in a household with a pure Irish father and a pure Polish mother, it is a dynamic unto itself.
Mom deeply loved music, a passion of hers for which I am particularly grateful to have inherited. I can trace the five thousand albums in my record collection in a straight line back to Mom’s original forty-five of Chuck Berry’s “Rock N Roll Music,” that we would gather round a tiny record player and spin over and over again. Her record collection, songs like; Daddy Cool, Stupid Cupid and Jailbird will be forever ingrained in me. All of her children share this passion, and it all grew from her excellent taste and appreciation for music.
Mom’s pride and passions, extended to a great many things. Yes, certainly her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, but really, she had a passion for all things beautiful. Opera, flowers, ice-skating, to name just a few.
At the apex of her pride and passions though, was her devout Catholicism. She loved being Catholic and she loved her church and her faith. She never missed the Sunday Mass unless under the most impossible circumstances. Unfortunately, in the end, her declining health became one of those circumstances. Still, through the grace of her church body, she received communion right up until the end. Appropriately, mom passed away on a Sunday morning with the Mass playing on the television, she was in attendance till the very end. She was active in three parishes over the course of her adult life and ended her service as a regular volunteer for the care service at Saints Joachim and Ann. She juggled limited finances to make sure each of her children attended Catholic grade school, with Elaine and Laura going on to graduate from Saint Thomas Aquinas. She made pilgrimages to Chicago to see Pope John Paul II and was in attendance as much as possible when he came to St. Louis. She was as faithful as any Child of God has ever been and I know that she is now with the Lord.
Mom is gone …
Who will pray the Rosary for us in times of need? … Well, Mom is not really gone. She is alive and well in Heaven above looking down and praying that our faith is as strong as hers. If we want to honor her memory, we can do so by following her example and being the strongest Catholics, the strongest Christians, the strongest people, we can be.
Mom is gone …
But only from her earthly realm. She is eagerly awaiting our reunion and if there is one thing you do not want to do, it is to disappoint Ma.