Moms

You ever just stare at the computer screen looking at the empty post box hoping beyond hope that something will magically appear? Something witty, but not clownish; poignant but never sappy; revelatory but not in a therapy, lying on the couch kind of way? I'm trying to get that to happen right now - I'm trying to Obi-Wan my way through my Mother's Day post and it ain't happenin'. My mom just cringed when I wrote ain't - I just know she did.

How do I accurately convey the level of admiration and respect and gratitude I have for the two mothers in my life? For, without both, there would be no Mr. Big Dubya - literally and figuratively. Mrs. Big Dubya who, eleven months ago today, brought Little Dub into this world (a little earlier than expected, but who am I to complain?) and, who, in a rather roundabout way, is responsible for the nickname of this blog. I've written about her at length so I think it's fairly apparent how I feel about my wife and my best friend.

Then there's my mother, without whom there would be no Mr. Big Dubya in a very real way. She and my Dad welcomed me into this world on Saturday, May 6, 1967 - 39 years ago to the very day. Can somebody please tell me how you go about thanking someone for that? I feel like I'm thisclose to belting out three quatrains and a couplet in iambic pentameter, so let me change gears before I get all misty-eyed.

My mother's parents had been separated for, well, a long time - I never knew anything different. I've also never really gotten into it with my mother about why they were separated (never divorced - Catholics and all that). I get the impression that my grandfather was a bit of a prick, but my mother never...NEVER...allowed that to be known - to us, he was just Pepere, our grandfather. It did, however, effect my mother's brother and his family - his children didn't meet their grandfather until they were in their teens. My mother was very different and wanted some kind of bond to be established regardless of how she felt about her father - and, at times, it would come back to bite her, but being the trouper she is, she was able to get past it...often. My mother grew up north of Boston - in a city known for some trials about women made of wood weighing the same as ducks (gimme a break - had to bring some funny to this, didn't I?). From the pictures I've seen she was quite cute (why do these kinds of traits skip a generation?) and grew into a very beautiful woman (um, Mr. Big Dubya - let's get away from the Oedipal thing, ok? Okay.). She met my father on a blind date when she was a nursing student in 1964 and a year later they were married. They moved into a two-family across the street from where I would eventually be baptized and also the hospital where she would eventually work. We lived there until 1969 (they would have my brother in 1968) when we moved to that city with the trials to an aptly named street: Gallows Hill Road, because it is where, well...yeah...you're smart people...you already know.

We moved a final time in 1971 to the other shore, south of Boston. It is around this time that I start to have full memories - many of the others are just bits and pieces - more or less snapshots rather than full-feature films. My parents were already working opposite shifts - my dad during the day in the schools; my mom, evenings and nights at the hospital so it was with her that we would spend our days. I was four, my brother three - we didn't do much but watch Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers, nap and eat. We would take rides back up to Salem for the day to see Nana or GG and Pa (my great-grandparents). She would take us to The Willows for popcorn and skee-ball and maybe a ride on the merry-go-round or the tilt-a-whirl. I miss those days (and The Willows has the best popcorn in New England - bar none.).

My mother worked opposite my father until around 1981 when (with my dad's help) she landed a job with the Boston Schools as a school nurse. This, as it turns out, is about as ideal a situation as you can find - same vacations, everyone gets home at more or less the same time of day, summers off. And it was because of this fixed schedule that she decided to go back to school to get her Bachelor's degree (back in the day when you went to nursing school, you were a registered nurse, but did not receive a degree - go figure). She received a BS in Psychology in 1986 - the same year my brother graduated from high school. I was pretty proud of her, but I was away and unable to attend graduation (no, I was not in jail). This was only the beginning. In 1989 (a few months after I got my act together), my mother decided that she wanted to fulfill a lifelong dream of military service and was commissioned an officer in the Army Nurses Corps (yes, my mother wore combat boots - very funny). Actually, I believe she did this in part because her actual lifelong dream was to be a perennial student since she entered a cohort program that allowed her to get her Bachelor of Science in Nursing courtesy of the Army Reserves. Add to that a Master's she received a few years later when she was in her 50s. Oh yeah, did I add that she finished all of her degrees with nearly a 4.0 GPA? (again, why do these traits skip a generation?) Now she nears retirement from the school system after 25+ years and several schools.

I've written about it before, but I put my parents, especially my mother, through hell - but she was always there for me regardless of how angry, hurt or disappointed she was with what I was doing with my life at times. But it is really because of her...them...that I am where I am today.

How do you thank someone for bringing you into this world, raising you and showing you that kind of unconditional support and love?

All I can think of is: Thanks, Mom.

Tags: mr. big dubya, mother's day post, bloggect