Mom
Today, June 30, 2001, my Mom would have been 73 years old. Would have been. See, Mom crossed over to the land where there is no sorrow on July 28,1992.
Her name was Lucille, born 9th of 10 children, 12 years after her older sister Frances.She spent much time, during our childhood, telling us tales of her own childhood, embroidered and embellished, in typical Irish fashion. Her father, she told us, was a laughing, funloving man, while her mother was quiet and shy. Mom, being somewhat larger than life, took after her father I'd say.
She loved life. She loved being noticed and admired. Well, who doesn't? She may not always have shown it, but she was proud of her kids and their accomplishments. She always worried about me because I always put so much pressure on myself to succeed, and had such a fear of failure. When I was in high school, I did well, except in math and science. Could have cared less about those. Notes came in the mail that I was in danger of failing those classes. Instead of getting angry and punishing me, she threw her arms around me, hugged me and said, "Thank GOD!!!! At last I know you're normal!" That memory always makes me smile.
The "perfect" mother, she was not. No June Cleaver or Harriet Nelson. She had a fierce temper. And she sure could cuss. She was no great cook, but she could do wonders with leftovers. My cousin used to say that you could tell how religious my mother was by her cooking. Everything was either a burnt offering or a bloody sacrifice. She wouldn't have ever won a Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, either. If given the choice of finishing up the housework or going out, she'd say, "Well, it's not like someone is going to break in and clean or wash the dishes. It'll still be here when I get back." She seemed to know, even then, that life was too short not to be out living it.
Mom loved history, and along with that, she loved cemetaries. The older the better. We were poor and so weren't off to summer camp or anything like that. Mom would take my little sister and I, pack a lunch bag, and we'd walk the mile and a half into town. We'd sit on the bank of the "duck pond" behind city hall, under a weeping willow and eat lunch. Her one extravagance was a huge Hershey bar, Fruit and Nut, that you could break into little squares. That was dessert. I don't think they even make those anymore.
After lunch, it was off to the town cemetary. I think I learned to read so young because she'd have Jill and I off searching for the oldest graves we could find. I found a dead mole lying on a grave one time, so we all bowed our heads and said a little prayer for it's tiny departed soul. We'd get to the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and Mom would relate again the story of the British soldiers who had smallpox and were left on the beach, by their own comrades, to die. One brave Milford native took them in and tried to nurse them back to health. Unfortunately, none of them made it, including the man who'd tried to save them. And they were all buried in this tomb. Whether the story is exactly true or not, I don't know. But I remember the story and think of it every time I pass an old graveyard anywhere.
My mother was not the "perfect" Catholic either. She believed in ghosts, fairies and reincarnation. And birth control. But she was truly devoted to the Blessed Mother. She attended Novenas and said the Rosary faithfully. She lit candles and prayed, secure in the belief that, one way or another, her prayers would be heard and answered.
No, she wasn't the "perfect" Mom. But she was MY Mom. I miss her. I still talk to her. And she speaks to me in dreams.
She loved life. She loved Clark Gable. She loved her kids and her grandkids. She loved her husband. She loved her dogs and cats.
She loved yellow roses, and autumn. She loved God and Mother Mary.
She loved me.
Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.
For more memories of my Mom, please visit
my sister Judi's page.
Sites My Mom would have loved:
The Immaculate Heart of Mary
The Fatima Site
My sister Judi's website
My Nephew Brian's Site
My son Robbie's Pages
I got my rose background and the Crying Rose at the top of the page from
MarChar Connections