Memory of My Mother

My mother was born 93 years ago today.  She died of Alzheimers four years ago.  It seems fitting to write about her today and allow myself to fall in love with my memory of her.

As baby boomers, my siblings and I grew up with many friends whose fathers had served in World War II.  That was not uncommon.  But for us, not only did we have our father’s Army service of which to be proud…we also had our mother’s Coast Guard service to brag about.  After graduating as salutatorian of her high school class of 1939 and then working as a secretary, Mom was inspired to serve her country and was the first woman to enlist in any branch of the service in this county at the start of World War II.  Initially trained as a WAVE in the US Navy, she transferred to the SPARS of the US Coast Guard in 1943.  She attained the rank of Chief Yeoman in March 1945, having her picture taken for a press release with eight other chiefs, including heart-throb Cesar Romaro.  

 The following month, she marched with a company of SPARS directly in front of the caisson bearing the flag-draped coffin of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.  One of Mom’s favorite memories of her time in Washington, D.C. was when she and a friend, while out walking, met and spoke with Admiral Chester Nimitz of Pearl Harbor fame.

My pride in my mother's service is obvious.  However, having a military mom might be the reason that I tend to be a perfectionist.  Making a bed, for instance . . . hospital corners are mandatory.  The dollar bills in my wallet better be facing the same direction, or I won't be able to sleep at night.  And my organizational skills are A1.

My mother had an amazing work ethic.  In a time when many women were stay-at-home moms, she was able to manage a home, raise three children, be an active member of several organizations, such as the Fire Department Ladies Auxiliary and the Rosary Society, and work outside the home.  A medical secretary, she donned her white uniform and shoes and walked to and from the doctor's office twice a day.  In elementary school, we would walk home to lunch on the table while Mom got ready for work, rebrushed our ponytails, and ran into the living room to catch what she could of Love of Life and Search for Tomorrow.  She’d send us out the door with a reminder, “Don’t run!” and then be off to work.  She’d return home long enough to cook dinner, clean up, and go back, many nights attending an auxiliary meeting after work.  She never complained about her full plate.

 

This was also a woman who could make end-of-the-year corsages for our teachers, fix anything that needed fixing, and wallpaper a room better than a professional.

A year after my first child was born, when my mother was the same age that I am now, she completed a hand-written booklet of her recollections of her childhood.  In honor of her birthday today, I reread it and could not help but imagine her reunited with her beloved parents and relatives.  At the end of the booklet, she reflected on how much things have changed, a habit that my generation has come to practice these days.

 And so I remember her, today and every day.  I fell in love with her the moment I saw her face.  It was the first face that I loved, and that love is the reason that I can continue to fall in love.  Today and every day.