Death Changes Things

         

I’m sure that my life would have been a lot different had my mother not died when I was 12 years old. She loved her gardening and had been planting pansies the previous afternoon when she complained of pain in her chest and shortness of breath. Dad drove her to the hospital and stayed with her for a long time. We went to bed that night, not knowing of her condition, but not really worrying that there was a serious problem. I remember waking up to the sound of the telephone before the sun had risen that spring morning.  Dad dressed and left in a hurry but said nothing to us. 

          There were seven kids in our family now, ages 14 on down to about 2. Some of us got up and got ready for school. The youngest kids were cared for by a neighbor. Three of us went to Our Lady of Fatima because Mother wanted us to be Catholic. As a Foreman for a Ford Motor Company assembly plant outside of St. Louis Dad didn't really make enough money for all of us to go to private school but Mother had gone to private school so she insisted that we should as well. Not sure how Dad afforded it, though I suspect we had some financial help from Mothers’ family in New Orleans.   

          Around mid-morning Sister Francine, the principal at Fatima, came into the classroom and whispered to my teacher. Then the two summoned me to the front of class. I had been doing my class clown thing, cutting up that morning. George Carlin called it "the old artificial fart under the arm...” I thought I was in trouble. She put her hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the room, down the hall to her office. There in the office I waited with my older sister Liz. Neither of us knew what was happening. My little sister Sue was brought in. Sister Francine knelt down and told us that my mother had passed away. We cried. I think Sue cried because Liz and I cried. She was only 9 or 10 and I don't think she really understood. I know I didn't understand, really. One of my first thoughts was that God had punished me for cutting up in class that day. 

          Dad was crushed. At 38 years old he was left to struggle with a motherless family of seven very young children.  For about a week we stayed with a neighbor, Shirley Robinson and her family of 9 kids… 7 of us and 9 of them.  It was a strange time for all of us crammed into a little ranch style home. 

          The relatives were talking about breaking us up because they were sure it would be too much for Dad to handle.  He couldn't let that happen so we stayed together and he tried as best he could to hold it together. 

          Mother had been raised in the Catholic Church but did not seem to practice the faith. I never was sure why but accepted that she was raised that way so that’s just the way it was. Maybe it was just too much trouble to get all those kids ready for church every Sunday. She wasn't a "morning person".  

          Dad used to get upset with her because she never was much of a housekeeper. Dad was much more organized, growing up in a home where chores were a part of the daily life.  Mother’s home in New Orleans was always neat and tidy but that was due to the daily attention of their domestic help, Masie, who cleaned and cared for the young‘uns during all of their childhood.   

          Our house was always a mess.  There were too many kids to pick up after and I don’t remember her asking for much help from us except when we were having guests over, which wasn’t often.  When Dad raised hell about the condition of the living room and Liz and I were forced to help out our way of tidying up was to throw everything behind this orange half bookcase in the corner.  As short as we were it looked clean to us but adults could just look right over the bookcase and see all of the clutter.  I don’t remember us ever being told to make our beds or clean our rooms.  Mother and Dad went out to our neighbors’ houses a lot more than others came to visit.   

          Mother never was much of a cook though she tried to make Dad’s favorites. Monday night was Red Beans and Rice with ham hocks.  After that big dinner Dad would take the left over rice and put it in a large glass with milk and sugar for dessert.  We all thought that was a very strange dessert.  Friday was always fish because we were Catholic and didn’t eat meat on Friday.  Dad was not Catholic, however, but he went along with Mother’s plan for us.  Frozen fish sticks were my favorite but sometimes it was frozen scallops or just tuna salad sandwiches.  Our vegetables were almost always either frozen or canned.  Frozen broccoli or spinach were my favorites and I hated carrots, Lima beans and peas, unless the peas were canned, then they were just fine.  Canned green beans worked but never frozen.  Have you ever had canned asparagus? Don’t make me eat that, ever again.  The only fresh vegetables were from a summer garden Mother planted in the back yard each year.  She just loved fresh tomatoes and corn on the cob.  I remember her planting green beans and watermelon one year.  Saturday night was Hamburgers, usually fried in an iron skillet.  I can still remember how the house smelled… a combination of burgers with beer and stale cigarettes.   

But everybody loved my Mother. She had a big heart and an easy smile.