I do believe that life is a journey which we all take. Recently my sister sent me this picture which a relative had sent to her of my Mother and I. It stirred up emotions and feelings I was surprised to discover at this late stage in my journey. This picture is more than 70 years old and our Mother has been gone for many years now and yet I miss her more now than I did in the first years after her passing.

As I gazed at the picture of that young woman and the baby she held I realized just how young my Mother was at the time of my birth. She was still a child herself. She turned nineteen only one month before my arrival and given the life she had led up to that point I am certain, as I think of it, was ill prepared for the responsibility which now rested upon her shoulders. My Mother came from an environment where she was over protected, loved, and expected to enjoy a single life for quite some time to come. She was the baby of the family and my Grandfather's very special little girl. He expected so much from, and for her, and being the strict and very devout man he was she had disappointed him greatly I am certain. My Father was not the man he would have chosen to see this most precious daughter choose as her life's partner. He was anything but a father's dream of a son-in-law. Of course, he was only twenty and still sewing wild oats with abandon and had already acquired quite a reputation as a lady's man. Hardly a model of virtue to this very religious man who had been a born again Christian since the age of fourteen. Knowing my Grandfather as I did, I am certain she broke his heart, or at the very least severely cracked it.

I don't think my Father and Grandfather ever did understand one another. But my Mother was loved by both of them even though at times my Father did tend to forget that through the early years of their marriage. And so they made the effort for my Mother's sake and maintained a civil relationship always. But I know my Mother must have been quite a peace keeper for the family harmony to remain on an even keel. My Father never did make that an easy chore I know all too well. His upbringing was decidedly different from that of my Mother and he never did conform to the patterns of acceptable behaviour as embraced in my Grandparent's world.

My Mother must have felt like she was walking a tightrope at times in this new world of which she had become a part. She loved my Father so much and his actions at times I suspect must have caused her to yearn for a return to the life she had known but she now had me and two years later my brother so her fate was cast. And this amazing lady never faltered. She had made her life's choices and she would live with them. And never ever be anything other than loving wife and mother she was. I know now those first years, hard as they were, must have seemed like a perpetual honeymoon in comparison to the years after 1945 when my father returned home from all those years overseas during the war. He had left a young man, rebellious, interested in partying and yes, even other women all too often, but still a loving and relatively good family man. And he was a Daddy I adored. He returned a stranger and never again was the same.

Our baby sister arrived nearly nine months after he had shipped overseas and my Mother spent all those years from 1941 to 1945 raising us alone and missing my Father more than any child could imagine. I still remember as if it were yesterday the daily ritual each and every day he was gone. Every single day of all those years my Mother wrote a letter to my Father and frequently had me do the same. She never missed a day. And she never loved us more than she did during those years. They were probably the very happiest years of my childhood. That sounds terrible writing it but it was true. Our home was filled with love and laughter and a complete absence of unrest or rancour. Her loneliness and worry never was allowed to invade the world of her children. Certainly she had her old friends and her family who rallied around but she missed her husband. I remember waking up one New Year's Eve and finding my Mother standing in the kitchen, looking out the window as the clock struck midnight with tears streaming down her face and looking as sad and lonely as any human being can be. When she realized I had entered the room she turned, said "Happy New Year Sweetheart" and wrapped me in her arms with a smile. My extraordinary Mother was truly a courageous lady even then.

That time of peace in our home came to an abrupt end with the much anticipated return of my Father from the battlefield. War did to him what it does to so many and he never was able to recapture the joy in life he had known before the war. My father returned an alcoholic and a very angry and bitter man. And my Mother and my brother and I were all too often the recipients of that anger for many years. Thank goodness our baby sister was not as likely to be a target. Our Father adored her always. She was his baby. In later years with my brother and I gone I know things were harder for her but always she was special to him. And through all those years of trouble and stress our Mother coped. And loved. All of us, and always her husband first and foremost. No matter what. Through all the troubles, disappointments, and illness. Lord knows how she must have suffered at times but she never wavered for an instant.

I was the fortunate one. I had my Grandfather to turn to and before too long I was living in my Grandparent's home safe and protected and free from the upset and angst so much a part of my parent's lives. I loved my Mother's Father more than words can express and he returned the favour in kind. So much so that the strict disciplinarian of my Mother's growing up years was completely a stranger to me. I knew only the loving, non judgmental man who was my mentor and best friend. And if truth were known .. he actually set aside his standards on more than one occasion simply because he loved me and no longer saw any harm in dancing or other frivolous activities when I reached the age where I was interested in such things. He had been much more rigid with my Mother when she was a girl. The love he still held in his heart for my Mother was freely shared with me always.

In the intervening years my Mother and I became almost strangers. And the fault for that lies with me. Never her. I admit I found it impossible to reconcile her love for my Father so often taking precedence over her love for her children ... as I saw it. And I couldn't forgive her for being so willing to compromise, excuse, and forgive his actions. I felt betrayed by the one I loved most. In my self absorption I was lacking the most important ingredient .. understanding. Something she never lost, and which I didn't acquire until I became a wife and mother myself. Today, I know how much I hurt her by my actions and words and regret so much that I added to her burdens during that time.

Her life can only be described as difficult always. Through all the years my Mother worked alongside my Father never complaining, wearing herself out just to keep things afloat. If she was angry or wanted to quit she kept that to herself. It took a great many years before my Father came to truly appreciate the amazing woman who was his wife. Only after decades when the alcoholism had finally lost its grip did he come to recognize how blessed he was. She endured. And continued to love all of us. Pretty good stock, my Mother. Infinitely better than I. In later years when my Father was incapacitated she cared for him without hesitation or complaint , and always with love, as she continued to face each new day knowing she had another difficult day ahead of her and even if she was tired or not well herself she had to face it, and did.

I miss her even now all these years later as my own journey is entering its final phase. I look at the face of the girl in the image above who was my Mother and wish I had made things easier for her when I had the chance. I wonder if she ever understood why it took so long for me to accept and forgive ? When we are young we are so very judgmental. Only with time does maturity allow us to see clearly.

All who knew her loved her. Always. And most of all .. her family. Including her eldest daughter. I only hope she came to know that in her heart before it was too late. Because of all those years of misunderstanding, communication wasn't easy at times between us and I worry even now that I didn't heal the pain I caused her. I wonder if she ever really knew how much I loved her. I now can only hope she did. I know in my case for a certainty that I shall always be extremely grateful that I had the honour and the privilege to be her daughter.