Mother's Day

This Sunday, of course, marks our annual celebration of Mother's Day. It is the one day a year when everyone honors the woman who brought them into the world and cared for them.

I am among the lucky ones, as I have had four remarkable women who, in some way, have fulfilled the role of Mother to me.

The first one is, of course, my mom - the wonderful woman who gave birth to me. Her name was Evelyn Kathryn (Anderson) Hughes. She was born August 17, 1911, and died August 19, 2000. Though small in stature (only a little over 5 foot tall), she was always a giant of a woman in the eyes of my two older brothers and I - as well as our father, her husband of nearly 50 years, who proceeded her in death by some 20 years.

She was gentle and understanding at all times. Never gruff nor a disciplinarian, leaving that to my dad. She was eternally proud of her three sons and praised them to others for even the slightest of accomplishments. She was quick to lavish us with these kind words too. Strong without being tough, she lived through many hardships, beginning with an absent father who abandoned his children when my mom, the oldest of three, was just a girl herself, and had to help her own mother with the mothering duties for her younger brothers.

She and my dad met, and married, during the Great Depression. My eldest brother was born shortly after FDR took office, and our other brother came 4 years later. During this time, as millions were unemployed, my dad was no exception - nor was my Mom's mother, who moved in with my parents to help with the children, as both of my parents sought work as they could get it.

As the U.S. entered WWII, my dad, caught up, like so many American men in fervent Patriotism, enlisted in the Marines, and my mom was left to care for two growing boys. He returned in 1945, shell-shocked and a mess. I was born in 1946. Through it all, my mom kept the family intact, and kept them all from falling into despair.

After the death of his mother in early 1954, my dad accepted a job in California, and, in the middle of the night, left a note telling my mom he would send for us after he had saved enough money. How she kept her sanity though this is a mystery to me.

True to his word, just a few months later, my dad sent money for train tickets for us, including my grandmother, to move to California. As a 7 year-old boy, I still remember boarding that train - The El Capitan - with my Gram and Mom in Chicago, and arriving some three days later in Pasadena.

My mom was someone who I could talk to - more so than my dad. She was often perceptive, knowing when something was bothering me. The last time I saw her alive was on Mother's Day in 2000. She was in a convalescent home. Stripped of most of her dignity, dying of cancer. She was incredibly frail, and, having had one leg amputated, was down to about 78 pounds. When she died some three months later, I didn't cry. I was happy that she was through suffering. She didn't deserve what cancer had done to her, and I had been praying for God to bring her home. I still miss her, and still think of her almost every day - especially when something is troubling me. I fear I didn't tell her often enough how much I loved her.

The next woman who provided "Mothering" to me was my mom's mother - "Gram". Her name was Kathryn Cecilia (Molter) Anderson. She was born August 20, 1890 and passed January 20, 1980. In her later years - in California, where she moved with us in 1954 - nobody she met knew she had a name other than Gram. Everyone called her that. The friends my brothers and I brought home, our wives, our children, EVERYBODY.

My dad always joked that Gram "came for a short visit to help with the baby (me) and hasn't left yet. She'd just laugh, as she always did. This woman, even smaller than my mom, was an incredibly good-natured woman. Laughing, full of life, a tremendous sense of humor - who could laugh at herself, and trade ribald jokes with the best of them. Once you met Gram,you were a friend for life.

I loved her so much and was proud to bring friends home for them to meet her. She would, religiously get up with me every morning, feed me breakfast before I went to school, and she - when I was a youngster, would make me lunch as I came home from playing in the summer. She did most of the laundry and cooking in the house as my mom worked. She was a treat.

Gram suffered a stroke right in front of my bride and I when we were visiting one year.
In fact, my wife caught her as she was going down. Unfortunately we had to leave a day or two later. That stroke was to signal Gram's downfall.

The last time I saw Gram was also at a "Convalescent" home. Again, my wife and I were visiting California and accompanied my mom to visit Gram. As we approached Gram lying in her bed, her face lit up momentarily. Then, it went mostly blank, clouded over by a lack of recognition for who I was. In her room I tried to talk to her for awhile, looking over at my mom and my wife anxiously before excusing myself to go to the bathroom.

I didn't need to use the restroom. Truth be told, I just had to leave because I couldn't fight back the tears anymore. I went out to my car and cried. Long and hard. Gram, who came to help my mom care for me when I was born and never left, didn't know who I was. Seeing her lost like this broke my heart. My wife had to drive us back to my parent's house. I will never forget the many laughs Gram and I shared together. It is how I want to remember her. Not the vacant stare I got when I tried to talk to the woman who helped raise me.

The third woman in my life who helped raise me is my sister in law, Joanne. She is only 10 years older than me - but, in many ways that 10 years was among the most formative. My brother John, my hero, married Joanne Liberty when they were both at the tender age of 21. That means, of course, that I was only 11.

As I indicated, John is my hero. As a little boy, John used to take me and buy me comic books and ice cream cones. As I grew older, he took me to baseball and football games, including my first major league and NFL games. So many older brothers - especially ones 10 years older - just ignore, or ditch the kid brother. He didn't. So, when he married Joanne, I was a bit skeptical of how she might affect our relationship.

Instead, I gained a sister. A friend. Another Mother. Joanne always encouraged John to spend time with me - AND even invited me over. I remember, at around 12 or so, going over to their very first house and helping her with weeding in the yard. I was rewarded with lunch, lemonade, and 50 cents. Doesn't sound like much but it was then. And it cemented my relationship with her.

Through the years, Joanne would always welcome me to their home, even when she had a houseful of their own children. She'd take care of my needs just as she would her own 4 kids - my nephews. She even approved of naming me Godfather to their second born child. I was 12 at the time. I still feel honored. There were times during my teens and early twenties when I needed a place to crash. It was always at John and Joanne's.

When I visit California, as I do once or twice a year, I stay with them. Usually, I have laundry to do. When I get ready to do it - something I do here at my home in Tulsa, for me and my bride - She won't let me do it, she does. She cooks full meals for me, and has all of her children, their families, and other family members over for Big Sunday dinners to Greet Uncle Mike. All because she loves me like another son. The feeling is mutual.

The last "Mother" in my life is my bride. Most men won't admit it, but they need mothering from the time they are born until the day they die. We are babies in need of moms throughout our lives. Fortunately, women know this inherently and for the most part, just do it.

For 38 years now, my bride has not only been a mom to our children - and a damn good one - but she has nurtured me too. She has babied me when I demanded it; stroked me ego when I needed it; stood behind me even when I was wrong; stood by me, both in sickness and in health - with a big emphasis on the sickness; and loved me, warts and all.

I've missed countless dinners, been out of town too often, worked too late and on Saturdays and Sundays, and left her to do the hard work of raising the kids to become the fine adults they are now.

Now, since I am unable to work, that task has fallen on her too. It's just another thing that Mom's do as they continue to raise their children. She is just as remarkable - probably even more so - than the other three mentioned here, because she has had to deal with me as an adult. I was much easier to live with when I was a child, or even a teen or young adult.

Yet, she is still completing the Mother task on me. I know she, like the other three, have all provided their significant mothering skills to me, for some inexplicable reason, because they love me.

While I have serious flaws, I know that whatever good I have in me has been as a result of the influence of these four remarkable women.

Happy Mother's Day!


Old Fart Mike