Writing The Book About Mom
Read an excerpt from The Book About Mom
A little time capsule ...
Mom passed away in November 2010. Dad and I sorted through most of her belongings and papers during the course of 2011 but little gems do keep emerging from here and there and one such delight was a letter Dad found amongst some business and legal papers that had always been kept in the Famous Green Box, a little metal lock-box which has been in the family forever.
It was a letter Mom had written to her dear friend Marge in Seattle, the day after my brother Scott was born in January 1967. Mom was 40 when she gave birth to him - and that was pretty extraordinary in those days. Mom and Marge had met many years before, when we lived in Seattle, before we emigrated to New Zealand. I was 'just a little mutt' as Marge likes to describe me, and my sister was at kindergarten when the two women met and became life-long friends. When we settled in New Zealand, Marge and Mom exchanged regular letters and cards, and Marge continued to send lovely cards throughout those last difficult years as Mom's health began to fail.
Marge kept the letter and must have brought it with her on one of the trips she and her husband made to New Zealand, returning it to Mom as a 'keepsake' of a very special moment - the birth of my brother.
I do remember when Scott was born. I was probably ten or so and Mom was away from home for quite some time ... indeed it was about ten days in the maternity hospital, unheard of now but common back then. Those were the days! As Mom writes in this lovely note: 'I shall probably stay here for ten days - on the sixth day we watch the Nurse bath the baby and each day thereafter we do it ourselves.'
When Scott was born, I always remember Mom saying how alert he was compared to my sister and me. We were a bit bleary-eyed, something Mom put down to the anaesthesia she was given in the US hospitals. Here in New Zealand, she was given a '... mask with some trilene (sic) gas' to inhale so Scott emerged bright and bushy-tailed and ready to go. 'As soon as he was born and I regained my composure, I asked what it was and when told it was a boy I just kept saying, 'How about that!' After the birth, the three of us (Dad, Mom and Scott) were left alone after being asked if we would like a cup of tea! I couldn't help but think, 'How terribly British!''
This letter serves to remind me of a few things: the enduring strength of friendships, particularly the one Mom had with Marge and also with her girlhood friends in Florida, and the sharing of wonderful 'life' moments with those friends; the amazing fact that Mom was 40 when she had my brother - she would be considered very 'trendy' these days; the letter is a little snapshot of a time long past when there were few things more important here in NZ than the care of mothers and their babies within our free health system; the letter was sent 'registered mail' and cost two shillings and sixpence (about 25 cents in today's money; would cost me at least $1.50 to send the same letter now); the stamp on the envelope showed 'butter making' which was an integral part of NZ's economy then, as it still is today; most of all, it's a letter that reveals Mom's underlying love of family and home - there was nothing more important to her than the wellbeing and health of her children. She loved us all very much.
An excerpt from The Book About Mom
I'm working on my Book About my Mom, Betty Jane and here's an excerpt from the draft. Mom loved the beach and she adored swimming. Despite her advancing Parkinson's disease, she'd go down for a swim at our beach whenever she could. As time went by, she could no longer venture into the sea by herself so I'd go with her, hold her up so she could kick her legs and have a great time. We experimented with water wings and life rings and even a life jacket but my holding her up worked best in the end.
On this particular day, she'd had some difficulties at home and was upset. It was a beautiful summer day and I'd gone down to visit, seen her distress and said, 'Shall we go for a swim or have a gin?' She thought about this for a moment and then replied, 'Let's go for a swim and then have a gin.'
Mom and I set out with kick board, towels, walking stick. It can be a slow walk to the beach with Mom but it gives us time to look around, check out the gardens and flowers and the neighbours say hello as we pass by. Most everyone knows Mom in the neighbourhood and I think they are happy to see her out and around.
At first, the water felt too cold for her so we stood there a while and she ran her fingers through it, waded in to her waist (we call this ‘the point of no return’) and had a think about it all. We stood there together.
Action was happening all around us – a boat passed by on its way to the ramp, kids played nearby, splashing and laughing, a gannet dove in offshore, a white rocket plunging into the water, clouds swept by overhead, the sun bright and hot.
Then Mom said, ‘Here I go!’ and she was in.
She never gives me much warning. She just goes in when the impulse strikes her. So I grasped under her arms and she held the kick board out in front of her and we talked about whether one of our life jackets might work better for her. We decided to try that next time.
Within a minute her mood lightened. She was joyous, buoyant, kicking her legs, letting me support her as she lay back. Her voice became louder and stronger, there was a lightness to her, for she was in her element there, in the water, enjoying the feel of it, floating, the pleasure of sun on her face and salt on her lips.