Mom

I feel so lucky to have had my mom for nearly 55 years.   

Not many people can say that, although my older brother can boast over 65 years.  I'm jealous of that, even though I know that sounds very greedy.

Had my mom passed when I was younger, when my kids were little for example, I wouldn't have paid attention to her as I had in recent years.  I'm sure I would've been too consumed with my own life to step back and look at hers.  It wasn't that I didn't know she was seen as a strong and progressive woman - I did - and this is what the newspaper articles, Facebook posts and her funeral had and will continue to highlight:  her accomplishments as a community and anti-war activist; a feminist; a union organizer and much more, all of which paved the way for change and to make society a better place, one step at a time.  

    

But since I was the youngest of four and inherently different from everyone else in my family - so much so that I often thought I was adopted - I viewed my mom not as a pioneer or a rebel but as a tender, loving woman, who I simply adored.  When she'd be hosting Ogontz Area Neighbors Association meetings in our living room, night after night, I'd be upstairs writing notes to her, attaching them to string, and lowering them to land in front of her face, asking when everyone was going home.  This may seem pathetic and very selfish, but the bottom line was that I didn't want to share her with everyone all the time.  I just wanted to cuddle up next to her and to lay my head on her lap.

The years continued to go by with our very different personalities and lifestyles but, as she aged, I found there was a place for me next to her, after all.  It turned out that I could be helpful when it came to assisting her with a few daily chores that had become overwhelming at times - some six to eight years ago - such as her enormous influx of mail.  An average load that clogged up her mailbox consisted of bills (10%), magazines and newspapers (20%), catalogs (10%), invitations to various political events (10%) and what seemed like a disproportionate number of donation requests (50%), which I initially saw as junk mail.  

Initially, in the interest of time and lack of patience on my part, I tossed the "junk mail" before opening it.  However, I began to feel it shameful to discard half of her pile when I was supposed to be helping her, not censoring her. So, I opened up the envelopes and realized these requests were not simply cold calls but were reflecting an already-established relationship.  All the material echoed the same message:  Thanks for your help, and Can we count on you to provide more?   

I was floored by the wide array of world causes that were of concern to my mom and which she addressed with her generosity, often to multiple groups with the same focus, such as local and worldwide efforts to combat hunger; matters impacting African Americans, Native Americans, Jews and other minorities; women's rights; the plight of the impoverished and homeless and healthcare crises including cleft palate in underprivileged countries. Doctors Without Borders, Special Olympics and lots of pet, nature and wildlife organizations were always tended to by mom as well.  

It was during this time, when I went from relying on mom to encouraging her to rely on me, that I realized I had never really thought about who she was and what she was about.  All along I just wanted a mommy; not something more or bigger.

Nonetheless, in that glimpse of what she did to help others, day after day, year after year, with no one watching as she wrote out check after check, I became truly appreciative of the whole Florence, a remarkable woman with an enormous heart, who will forever be my sweet, beautiful and loving mom.