This month's topic for blogging is 'remembering our mothers'.
I have two--my birth mother and my step-mother.
I have to think really hard to remember my birth mother because she passed away when I was 9 after a battle with breast cancer.
Many of the incidents I remember with her were disciplinary ones. LOL! I remember how she would make me stomp up and down the stairs when I was angry until I grew tired. I remember wooden spoons broken across my rear end. (That was considered the norm back then.)
I remember a time when I was sick (I don't remember with what or for how long), and she brought me a doll to keep me company. I remember her dedication to Brownies (Girl Guides). She was a brown owl when we lived in Toronto and would often take me with her. I remember coming home from those Brownie nights to hot chocolate and cinnamon toast--that is toast with melted butter and cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top (if you haven't tried I strongly recommend it).
I remember how she cried when we received word that my grandmother had been killed in a car accident. I remember how she let me lick out the mixing bowl when she was baking.
My last memory of her was as we were visiting her in the hospital. I was kind of afraid to see her, but I snuck down the hallway--away from the puzzles I had been keeping myself occupied with in the sunroom (I think it was of hot air balloons)--and peeked around the doorway. The room was filled with monitors and cords, and my mother's bed was surrounded by people. The one emotion I remember feeling was fear--fear because I was in a scary place to me (a hospital), but fear as well that the woman on the bed was my mother, and yet she didn't look like my mother.
My mother died in November of that year (1982). In June of that year we were transferred to London, Ontario. There, my dad met the woman who would become my step-mother. It was not an easy transition. She was getting used to me. I was getting used to her. I was strong willed and stubborn. So was she.
But, despite all this, she looked after me when I had the chicken pox and I think that was the point I realized I needed a mother, still.
There have always been battles between us, particularly with my teenage hormones coming into play. There were many times I was frustrated with her for the things she would say and do. But, now I understand she did the things she did because I have children of my own.
There are still things that annoy me about my mother now that we're adults: she's usually the pessimist, I'm usually the optimist. So, naturally we clash. But, there is a love there that has been 25 years in the making.
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