Sunday, May 6, 2018

My Mom—Part I





Friday, May 4, was the 50th anniversary of my mother’s death in 1968, at age fifty-eight. Today I’d like to share her with you so you will understand why I consider her the greatest blessing of my life.

Mom had nine siblings. The older children—Mom included—were born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri; the younger on a farm outside Anderson, Missouri. Mom left school after seventh grade as did most young people at that time. She was 13; the year was 1923.

The Depression weighed heavily on the minds of both my parents; they never wanted to revisit the years of the 1920s and ‘30s. As I grew up, Mom talked little about the past, and I was too young to ask the questions that might have drawn forth a history. Thus, I know only that she held down a job from the time she was 13 to when she married at 18 in 1928.

She met my dad earlier that year when she came into the grocery store where he worked. He was 23 when they married. Mom was beautiful. (Dad said she reminded him of a movie star.) Dad was handsome. (He reminded me of Gary Cooper, another movie star!)

Mom was a devout Roman Catholic; Dad had just joined the Church because his best friend had entered a seminary to become a priest. Dad was so impressed with this that he and his family converted. So there were no impediments to the marriage: both were Catholics.

They settled in an apartment in Kansas City. Both wanted children, but Mom didn’t conceive for several years. Finally, she had some sort of operation and got pregnant with me. I was born in 1936—some seven-and-a-half years after they married. Three years later my brother was born.

One thing Mom did tell me is that during those years before I was born, Dad began to gamble. When Mom had enough of strange men coming to the door demanding payment because of Dad’s gambling IOUs, she gave him an ultimatum: If you don’t stop gambling, I’ve leave you.

That was no small thing for a woman to say back in the early 1930s when divorce was rare. It was also no small thing for a Catholic woman because the Church prohibited divorce. She’d never be able to marry again or receive Holy Communion each Sunday at Mass.

Dad stopped gambling before I was born. When WWII began in 1941, my dad couldn’t serve because he was blind in one eye. It was then he began to drink. He did so for the rest of his life.

His drinking made Mom’s life difficult. He drank away the money he’d once gambled. His behavior when drunk scared me. When I begged Mom to take my brother and me and to walk out of the house and away from the scary scenes, Mom always said, “Dolores, your father doesn’t chase after other women. He doesn’t gamble. And he loves us.”

None of that made sense to me. Why would he chase other women when he had Mom? What did gambling have to do with it? (I found that out only when Mom finally explained.) And did he really love us when he drank away the rent and food money three times a week and acted so strange when he came home?

That’s enough background for this posting. Next week, I want to explain why Mom didn’t leave Dad and why she was such a blessing in my life. Peace.


PS: A fellow blogger, Penny O’Neill, who is a prolific reader and perceptive reviewer of books, posted a review of Prayer Wasn’t Enough on her blog nearly two weeks ago. If you have the time and the inclination, please click here to read what Penny said. Perhaps you’ll also want to look at some of her other postings. She has a gentle touch when she writes. Peace.





38 comments:

  1. "...or receive Holy Communion each Sunday at Mass."

    This seems so harsh. I know it is a rule. But it seems like she would be exactly the kind of person who would need it most, a sinner who divorced, someone who was all alone, etc. It doesn't make sense.

    I look forward to reading more about your mom and why she did not leave your Dad.

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    1. Dear Sandi, as I experienced more of life, I came to believe also that this was harsh. And I think I may be misremembering. Maybe she could receive Communion if she divorced Dad, but if she remarried, she couldn't. I'm going to have to look this up. Thanks for drawing my attention to it. Peace.

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  2. Our mothers had a lot in common---both from large families, both had to work from an early age. Both had a boy and a girl and drinking played a big part in their lives. In my mom's case it was her father and her brother who drank up the family money...not my dad. How strong women had to be back in those days when there were so few resources.

    Your mom was beautiful!

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    1. Dear Jean, yes, I think they were strong. I know Mom was and all her friends. their lives were mostly housework from early morning to supper. Only then could Mom relax and read, which she did every night. It does seem that your family and mine were a lot alike. Peace.

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  3. I love stories of women and their strength. Looking forward to the next post.

    I have not been feeling well lately and still have your book on my Kindle. Hoping to get to it soon. 💕

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    1. Dear Birdie, so sorry to learn that you haven't been feeling well. I wondered when you didn't post for a while. I hope you enjoy the book when you do get to read it. And thanks for looking forward to the next post. I'm looking forward to writing it! Peace.

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  4. That was a beautiful (& well deserved) review/tribute!!

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    1. Dear Fishducky, I'm so pleased that you visited Penny's blog. I thought the review was beautiful also. I hope all is well. Remember to be gracious to yourself. Peace.

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  5. It was my mother who drank. And I still mourn the loss of the inspirational woman who drowned in alcohol.
    Life has been busy here, but I will get to the treat which is your memoir. Soon I hope.

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    1. Dear Sue, the story of our lives is always steeped in so many sorrows as well as joys. To go on with your life and embrace it, despite the loss of your mother to alcohol says so much about you. That out of tragedy, you have shaped a life that gives all your readers and friends such delight.

      I look forward to your reading the memoir. It always amazes me when friends say what that get from it. More than I was ever aware that I wrote. Peace.

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  6. Dee, I so appreciate reading about your mom and look forward to more pieces of her story. Because I'm about to turn 58, this has a special relevance. I haven't had to deal with alcoholism up close. I'm intrigued to read what you will add. It sounds as though your mom recognized the good in her situation, but that there were many hardships to live with. Thank you for sharing.

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    1. Dear Deanna, the year I turned 58, I was quite sure I was going to die. Later, I read that's often the case, that we believe we will die at the age our parent of the same sex died. Now I'm 24 years older than Mom and I still miss her wisdom.

      I think she loved my father despite the drinking. She understood him and was both compassionate and empathic. Peace.

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  7. I'm almost as old as you, Dee, and old enough that the effect of the Depression on my parents affected my childhood. My mother spoke little of her childhood; my dad not at all. My dad's reticence as compounded by the Catholicism he rejected. Being rejected by half his family was an open wound that never healed. And because neither parent spoke of the past, I never understood much of my childhood.

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    1. Dear Joanne, I so understand what you are saying about the Depression and our childhood. I think I can count on the fingers of one hand the snippets of information Mom gave me. One was the gambling; one was how they met; one that I didn't arrive for over seven years. I can think of two others things she told me in those years.

      I came to understand a little of my childhood only when I started blogging about it. I've thought of going to Ancestry to discover background, but somehow, I don't know why, that doesn't appeal. Have you thought about that? Peace.

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  8. So interesting to read about your mother. My mother was the one who drank and my father the one who tried to hush it up. I can't say I ever saw her drunk (heard her singing as Dad ushered her up the stairs after a relative's wedding once.) After I'd already left home, my sister was the one who got the worst of it. I was angry at my mom for years but more recently have come to understand that alcoholism is a disease, not just blatantly irresponsible behavior. She was a very bright woman and life threw her some really difficult curve balls. It's so easy to judge others but if we think a moment about how we'd cope in another's shoes.....well maybe it helps us to have a little more compassion. They were strong women, undervalued by the society of those times. There's so much I wish I'd understood and had a chance to discuss with my mother before she died. Sorry to blather on so much. Your post brought up a lot of memories....

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    1. Dear Molly, after I left the convent, I was angry at my mom for years also. Angry because she didn't leave my father and I thought--then--that if she'd left him, I never would have entered the convent and had such a hard time. A psychiatrist helped give my mother back to me and I rediscovered her love for me.

      As you say, once we begin to understand the lives our parents lived, we can stop judging and start embracing. I'm so grateful that happened for me. The change in viewpoint, brought on by a wise psychiatrist, has made all the difference to my life.

      Like you, I wish Mom had lived longer so I could have asked questions to understand even more. Peace.

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  9. Reading your post reminds me of my Irish Catholic grandma, another Depression-era woman who made do with little in the way of material wealth.

    In the early '30s, she actually did divorce her *gasp* second husband who was a drunkard & a wastrel. Some years later he wound up dead in the San Francisco Bay. -rumor was he was pickled and fell in, but who knows, really.

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    1. Dear Bea, Mom was Irish also--her maiden name was O'Mara!
      Belief in Church doctrines was so firmly implanted in her heart and mind.

      My dad came so close several times to ending up in a bad way. From automobile accidents to falling to being in fights. It's a bad disease. Peace.

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  10. You mum sounds like she was a strong woman, my grandmother left her first husband with three young children in 1944 and later divorced him and in 1950 she meet and married her soulmate.

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    1. Dear Jo-Anne, she was, I think, a strong woman like so many of her generation who'd known WWI and II and the Depression and Prohibition and what all that did to the men in their lives.

      I think Dad was my Mom's soulmate, but he got lost in the thicket of his own depression over his self-worth. Peace.

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  11. I am so glad you are back to blogging and look forward to learning more about your mother. I owe you a review of your book, which I loved, but I am not able to write very well right now. You can see it on my blog, I so want to blog, but can mostly come up with descriptions. And old pictures. Today, may have been an exception. Anyhow, I will do it soon.

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    1. Dear Inger, I'll go to your blog on Monday or Tuesday. I always enjoy learning more about Samson and Faith. And I think that your blogging or not has to be based on what your body and your spirit needs at the time.

      When you can do a review, I know you will. No rush! Be gracious to yourself. Peace.

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  12. Dear Dee, your love and respect for your mother and your gratitude in having her in your life always shows through in your stories. As others have noted, she was a strong woman, indeed. Women of her generation did tend to be strong and, I think, stoic. There were few choices for women, society was judgmental and religions were harsher. We also know so much more about alcoholism now than years ago, with support and help for both the alcoholic and the loved ones. I look forward to your continued stories and remembrances, Dee.

    Thanks for the link back to my blog. That was thoughtful of you and appreciated, and it was kind.

    Peace.

    PS - I am going to recommend your book to my book group. :)

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    1. Dear Penny, thank you for using the word "stoic" to describe this generation of women. I hadn't thought of that, but it is so accurate. I'm going to use that word in my postings about her and her friends.

      As I was growing up, we certainly didn't think of alcoholism as a disease. Most of us thought that it meant someone had no will power. Only as I grew up and come to recognize my own shortcomings did I come to appreciate my father.

      Thank you so much for saying you'll recommend the convent memoir to your book group. If they decide to read it as a group, I hope they'll enjoy it and find what you did! Peace.

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  13. Thank you for sharing the story of your mom and how she dealt with such difficulties. I do agree with you that she was a real blessing to you in your life. I look forward to learning more about her. :-)

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    1. Dear DJan, I hope in my postings to do justice to the woman she was. Peace.

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  14. I think you look like your Mother. It was a shame she couldn't stop your Dad from drinking like she did his gambling. Both difficult addictions to quit. You are so right, in those days divorce even among the Protestants was uncommon. It was difficult and frowned upon for women to support themselves and their families alone.
    Looking forward to the rest of the story.

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    1. Dear Patti, thank you for saying I look like Mom! I hope to write more about how Mom tried to help Dad become independent of his mom who had raised him to be dependent on her. Not sure how much readers will want to know about Mom but I have a lot of say. And then for Father's Day I'd like to write about my Dad. Peace.

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  15. At the end of your post, my first reaction was, "Wait! Don't stop yet!" Looking forward to the next installment.
    Your book is really making it around the blogosphere. It's nice to see all the folks reading it and giving good reviews. I sure did enjoy it.

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    1. Dear Cynthia, thanks for the encouragement to write more about Mom. As to the book, it's doing well. I still haven't done anything with We Love Memoirs. I went to the site but I simply couldn't find the place to click that you told me about. I've asked my niece to help me when she has time. Peace.

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  16. dear Dee i absolutely LOVED this post!

    thank you for this treasured photo my friend
    your mother looks really so elegant and more beautiful and graceful than a moviestar for sure !

    her smile is so honest and innocent and i her gorgeous face is reflecting her strength and dignity !

    i am sorry that you suffered with problem through the behaviour of your father (me too)

    your mom was purely woman of her time and she acted according to her traditions for the sake of the love of her children

    eagerly waiting for next part of the story of your life my friend!

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    1. Dear Baili, thank you so much for really looking at Mom's face and recognizing her dignity and strength. She truly was a valiant woman, as I suspect, you are. I'm sorry to learn that your father also was an alcoholic. I hope to write about my dad for Father's Day. He was so much more than just a man who drank, but it took me a long time to realize that. Peace.

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  17. Beautiful blog, your post makes me want to read more!

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    1. Dear Nawm, thank you for your kind words. I hope to write another post about Mom next Sunday and perhaps the Sunday after that! Lots to say! Peace.

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  18. Loved reading about your Mom, Dee! And I can hardly wait for the next installment. Our mothers, growing up at a challenging time in our history, endured so much and, even years after their passing, can teach us a great deal.

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  19. Dear Kathy, yes, I am still learning from Mom as I mediate on her life and her response to it. Peace.

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  20. Interesting story indeed. I'm presently reading a new book "Prairie Fires" about Laura Engels Wilder. There is something especially endearing about strong women in difficult time and circumstances. My mom was also one of those....

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    1. Dear Troutbirder, I read a review of that book and I'm on the library hold list for it. Our mothers were strong during hard times. The young women today also are living in hard times, I know. They have their own mountains to climb and valleys to go through. I guess we all do. Peace.

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