Mom

Parents rarely let go of their children so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that use to define them- a mother’s approval, a father’s nod- are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories of their mother’s and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.  Mitch Ablom

Our parents did the best they knew how. We moved from Natick when I was five years old. I have vivid memories of being 3,4,5, years old. I had friends, Shiela and Fay. We had a great yard and neighborhood to play in. A marshy wooded area at the end of our sloping wide-open yard, we called King Kong Island. Across the street, on Sheila and Fay’s side, was Tarzan Land, because vines hung from the trees. I went looking for Shiela a few years ago and found her living in the same house, along with her lovely Mom of 92 years. They still had the framed portraits of Sheila and her two sisters, that were made in pastel by my Mother, right there, on their living room walls!

We moved to Watertown. My new life, lots of kids in the neighborhood. We would run about the nearby streets, often finding ourselves exploring the grounds of The Perkins School for the Blind or ride our bikes down the long, skinny, hilly, tarred path along the murky Charles River, that we called the Roller Coaster. We called ourselves the “River Rats.”

I went about my life in Watertown, floundering along, but always in the back of my mind, I wondered if I would have been happier had I stayed in Natick. The resentment grew stronger, especially by the time I reached High School, where full-blown insecurities of feeling inade-quate in body and mind, compared to everyone else around me. Teen-hood.

Mom passed away in her mid 70’s.  After her internment at Mount Auburn Cemetery, where I played Over the Rainbow by IZ on my tape recorder, my brother, my sister, and I decide to revisit Brighton, where she grew up. We got her 3 different addresses from our Aunt. We found the first house. I pictured her on the porch with her father, spending a few moments with him on her 4^th birthday, before he was told to leave by his wife, never to return, until she was married with children of her own.

Onto the next house, yes this is it, right here on top of this hill. The hill she and her friends would sled down in winter, nearly killing themselves as they crossed the intersection at the bottom. Legend has it, one of the daring boys slid right under and clear through to the other side of a moving truck.

Then, the third and most important house, where she was a teenager. A house full of a mixture of family, living together, mom’s grandmother on her mother’s side, and lots of aunts and cousins. Prudy’s Grammy Ella was pretty much the main person that brought her up. Her mom, Lora, was out of the house every day working as a secretary and bookkeeper for a trucking company, providing the only consistent income for the household. This is the house where Prudy came of age, met my father an Art School, had their wedding reception, and lived with her new husband. It’s where my brother was born. A charming looking house, with sturdy architectural details, I was able to match in my mind, all the old photos I have peered over my whole life. No one home, we peaked into the windows and the photographs came alive. And it was a treat to see that there was a marvelous, public park across the street. We went to the church where they married which has since become a congregation mostly of African Americans. We were welcomed in and joined the joyful service in session.

After eating at Legal Seafood, her favorite restaurant, we went to explore our own childhood home back in Watertown. Stood on the front steps, walked the streets, checked out the Charles River Park, drove to Phillips Church where we spent our adolescence attending Sunday School, and Youth Group dances. Doors open, empty, we wandered all around inside, upstairs and downstairs, the same large lime green ladies’ room with a wall-to-wall mirror and counter, and the BB court lined with tall dark amber wood panels. I walked onto the stage and solemnly looked out upon the cozy auditorium, where I performed in a few plays as the young ingenue.

Cathartic to say the very least, I no longer held onto my resentments. All my disappointments, one by one, fell softly away. I realized, what a truly wonderful community and life I had been gifted with.