Mother's Day is special, because it not only celebrates mothers in particular, but a very special woman: my mother. Not all women are meant to be mothers yet all women do have that one very special quality that makes them different from men: the ability to hold on to their own. This is the way my mother was.

She lived life without complaint, fully and completely as a mother, even after taking on a job after we had all grown up and left home. It's only fitting that such a mother should have a special day set aside to honor her qualities, her dedication and her maternal love.

 

My mother is named Amalia, and was born in June 1920, the third of four children in Newark, New Jersey. Everyone called her Molly. Her parents were Italian immigrants who lived by the golden rule of the family. She had one older sister and one brother, and one younger sister, who is still living. Along with their parents and one aunt they all lived in the three floor brick apartment building that my grandfather built after he married my grandmother in 1910. Family life was important, and everyone helped to contribute to make that life enjoyable and happy.

At the end of the Second World War she met my father, whose Italian immigrant family lived in Chicago, were close friends with hers. He was born in Chicago in July 1921, and had been in the Air Force travelling back and forth to the East coast as he returned from fighting the war in Europe. They married in Newark in July 1948 and moved to Chicago where I was born the following year in July 1949. My sister followed in December 1950, a brother in November 1953 and a sister in October 1959. After college on the GI bill my father worked for the electric company in the mid-1950's as an electrical engineer; he especially worked with building contractors and construction, and was very busy as Chicago was building very fast after the war years.

 

Living near my father's parents (he was the thirteenth child of thirteen children, two of which died in childhood) was not easy for my mother, who never worked outside our home while we were all young. It wasn't easy because she wasn't used to being around so many people at one time, and the constant comings and goings of family members, the constant visits to my grandmother's house (which was just around the corner from our apartment).

 

Even more, all the birthdays, anniversaries and funerals we had to attend was a permanent merry-go-round life for her. But she never complained. She earned admiration from her sisters-and brothers-in-law, who admitted that she not only put up with everything, she did it without complaint.  Dad was a family person; anything to do with family reunions, whether at Christmas, Easter or in the middle of summer, he insisted the family attend, or arranged them himself.

 

As we grew up, I came to admire my mother for her ability to live a very organized home life. Everything had its place and as Dad was a fabulous handy-man, everything fit into its place without problem. For it was when we finally moved into our own home that my mother felt more relaxed, really herself, for not only was she able to take on life as wife and mother in her own way (without the usual prying eyes of neighbors and even more so, her husband's large family) and this at her own pace; she could take her time. For my mother liked to take time to live, to raise her family.

Time was important to her because she felt it allowed us to communicate and open up to new ideas and new ways of thinking in a Christian way. We all went to Catholic schools from ages 5 to 18, which tuition my father worked hard to pay for. As we grew up, we became a little more open minded, especially because of outside contacts, but were careful not to disturb our parents with any strange ideas; we kept them to ourselves.

 

One by one my mother saw her children grow up and eventually marry, first my sister, then myself then youngest sister, and finally my brother. She was looking forwards to becoming a grandmother. Her first grand child, my eldest daughter, came in 1978. It was a wonderful gift I could offer my mother, to become a "grand" mother.

 

 We are very much alike: she moved away to a distant place, as I did. She had four children as I did, with both us starting motherhood at the same age (29). We both remained at home while our children were small. We both had the same family ideals, although mine were influenced by my Dad as we were both of the family sign (Cancer). Just after Dad retired, he, my mother and youngest sister moved to a smaller house in a distant suburb, and my mother found a job working in the kitchen of a small rehabilitation hospital not far from where they lived.

 She was happy, independent and my Dad was happy to stay home, puttering around in his workshop, gardening and taking long bicycle rides. One by one my sisters and brother gave my mother the gift of a grandchild. She now has ten grandchildren. I live in a far-away country, but come and visit every year, bringing with me my four children, who adore their maternal grandmother, and never fail to send her a card or note while away on vacation or a long trip. Although she never caught on to Internet, we do call her several times each month.  

 

When Dad passed away suddenly in June 1990 my mother thought she was alone, but that was without thinking of her children and grandchildren, who showered their love on her with constant visits and phone calls. Now when I think on it, she was the stronger of the two. Her ability to take on situations, to live each day as it came and to trust in God and especially in herself made her a steadfast example for all of us.

 

My mother is still with us today. The trust she had in everyday life, in her Christian beliefs, and in the fact that life does indeed go on is keeping her alive today. As I honor my mother on Mother's Day, I remember my childhood, my growing up and becoming a woman. I remember her wholesome happiness, the joy of a hug and small gift of a smile. Coming from a family in which motherhood, not just having children, but being a mother and all it stood for, is sacred and cherished, I would like to say that I will never forget my mother. I thank God each day for her presence in my life.

 

 

©Joanne Pons, revised May 7, 2008