The Strength of Mothers

May 11, 2003

"Sometimes one just needs a positive, supportive word along the road of life, and no one does this as consistently as my Mom."

--FRS member Mary Miles, writing of her mother, Lena Miles

I want to thank those of you who took a moment to share with me your experiences of your mothers' strength.

I have to admit that this is not a difficult topic for me, though it is an emotional one. All my life I have been surrounded by strong women. My maternal grandmother, Gertrude Leach, worked into her eighties as a cook and housecleaner, although she was a graduate of Eastern State Normal School in Castine, ME and had taught school briefly before her marriage. Her first child, Miriam, died of pneumonia in her arms at the age of four. She once told my mother how she had returned home from the funeral of her child to find that well-meaning relatives had removed every trace of the little girl from their home, and of how terrible and mistaken that had been. But she was a survivor. She would have four more children, of whom my mother is the oldest. Two of those children would arrive when she was in her forties. Though the family never had much, Gertrude was a great cook and there was always food on the table.

In later life, we used to joke about Gertrude's fear of thunderstorms, and of how in a storm she would get up, get dressed, and sit on the stairs in her ramshackle old farm house clutching her mysterious strongbox in her arms. Speculation was rife in our family about what the strongbox might contain--old love letters? precious mementos? money or jewelry? After her death we discovered what it held: the retired mortgage notes from her run-down old house. She had worked so hard to purchase the house that those were her most cherished possessions--or, perhaps, she was just worried that they still might take it away from her! Gertrude died in 1983, at the age of 89. She was able to stay in her beloved old house up until a couple of years before her death.

Now I have to embarrass my mom. Not only was she a wonderful teacher for over 25 years--I should know: she was mine for two ungodly years!--but she was also the breadwinner in my family. After age forty, my dad didn't work. She paid my way through Boston University and the University of Maine on a teaching salary that I don't believe ever exceeded $13,000. Though she worked outside the home at a time when many women stayed at home, she always managed to do all the motherly stuff, too. I don't know how. Thanks, mom. You have always been my inspiration!

Obviously, I couldn't stay away from teachers. . . . Sabrina, you are one of the strongest, most loving, and dedicated mothers I know. And on top of it all, you have had to put up with me. Thank you.

One of our members who wished to remain anonymous wrote,

Your question about mothers' strength immediately made me think of a story about my own mother 25 or 30 years ago, revealed to me in my adulthood. She told me about how during the time when my brother and I were happily and obliviously engaged in our young lives, she would make our lunches every day to go to school. A common task indeed, but one that my mother made herself perform every other day under the crushing weight of a debilitating clinical depression, which has periodically black- ened her life. For those who have experienced such a state, or known or loved someone caught up in it, they will know how it can act to thwart every single act of will or initiative. To me, the idea of my mother summoning up the strength every day, in that darkest of times, to pull out the mundane peanut butter and jelly and craft our sandwiches is one of the purest expressions of strength. Unfortunately, she is not alone, as I know other mothers who face similar challenges.

My Mother, Teresa Montecalvo, has been and continues to be a role model of strength and courage. From the time she was a young mother of two small children alone while my Father defended his new family and his country in World War II up to now at age 85, main- taining her own home, driving her own car, and even attempting to learn her way around a computer, she has amazed me with her steadfast faith and fortitude. She recently faced the loss of my Father, her beloved husband of over 60 years with grace and dignity and today she again amazes me with her courageous attendance here today. With deep rooted faith in her own religion, she has allowed me without judgement to explore my own spiritual Path. I cannot imagine a greater Mother's Day Gift. Thank you Mom, and Happy Mother's Day.

. . . mention Teresa Restrepo as a woman of strength. Teresa has faced so many challenges in her life and always found a way to overcome them. She has always been there for us when we needed her and her love has given us strength. She has always been willing to fight for the disadvantaged no matter what the personal cost to herself. She will always be our hero.

My own mother, Helene Stock, is an incredible role model of life-long strength. In the 1930's in Alaska, my maternal grandmother died of tuberculosis when my mother was an infant. Mom was raised in an orphanage and later in foster homes. Thriving was her first sign of strength and knowing how to be a nurturing mother without one of her own was her next. There were so many times throughout the years that she has been "our rock."

One example that demonstrates the power of maternal devotion occurred when I was four years old and Mom had just given birth to my youngest brother. She had tuberculosis but was mis-diagnosed. After her temperature would not budge from 106 degrees, my father was told she might not make it through the night. Like other people who have had near-death experiences, my mother saw in the distance a benevolent figure in white open his arms to welcome her. She felt comforted and drawn to go, but then stopped and called to him, "I can't--my babies. Who will take care of my babies?" The next thing she remembered is waking up, being able to breathe without pain, and having enough energy to get out of bed, to where she was quickly shooed back by the astonished nurses. And nothing has been able to keep her down since.

Rochelle Perry-Platine wrote, "I would like to pay homage to my mother, Elizabeth Platine, for the courage she has shown in her constant struggle to understand and accept complicated, challenging, and changing relationships with her children and for her continuing desire to be loving and supportive."

These testimonials speak to us of what a powerful emotional tie motherhood can be. To speak of the strength of mothers is to recall the terrible physical, emotional, and economic circumstances under which motherhood has often had to be lived out. It is with that truth that I would like to conclude this morning.

In his Pulitzer Prize winning autobiography Growing Up, journalist Russell Baker has written of how his recently widowed and nearly destitute mother was forced to "give up" his baby sister Audrey to an uncle and aunt:

A lonely winter was coming, and she looked toward the future from a deepening melancholy. There were too many big decisions to be made. Moving numbly through the ruins of her life, she found it harder and harder to sort out anymore what was worth saving and how best to save it. Goldie helped her reach the decision, saying, "Benny sat in my kitchen just last summer and told us if anything ever happened to him he wanted Tom and me to take care of Audrey." If God granted them the chance to raise Audrey, she promised, Audrey would always know who her real mother was, and that I was her brother and Doris her sister, and all of us would always be welcome as such in Uncle Tom's house.

A few days later Uncle Tom and Aunt Goldie arrived in Morrisonville again. My mother helped them carry out the crib and the boxes packed with baby clothes. When the car was loaded, my mother bundled Audrey into blankets, carried her outside, handed her to Aunt Goldie, and kissed her good-bye.

When the car was out of sight I went back into the house. My mother was sitting in the straight-backed oak rocker, the fanciest piece of furniture we owned, staring at the stove.

"When's Audrey coming back, Mama?"

She didn't answer. Just sat staring at the stove and rocking for the longest while. I went back out into the road, but she came out right behind me and touched my shoulder.

"Do you want me to fix you a piece of jelly bread,?" she asked.