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 Memories of Mom
By Martha Jette
I may be 56 year ‘s old, but I still think back more than 35 years to a woman whovanished from my life so long ago? It’s because she was one of a kind – a soul that loved,lost, hurt, suffered and loved again.I first laid eyes on Vera when I was 7 years old. I had been taken from the foster home tothe children’s aid to get a new outfit. I have to tell you; that was just unheard of so I knewsomething really big was about to happen to me.Before I knew it, a man drove up in a big, blue Oldsmobile. I was told to hop in the passenger seat and my small cotton-lined box, which contained my meager belongings,was placed on the seat behind me. I didn’t know this man and as he drove, he didn’t sayanything. I was scared, so I clutched my arms across my chest and just prayed that I’d besafe.When we finally arrived at a lovely ranch-style house with a stunning rock garden infront, I stepped out of the car. As I strode up the long driveway with my Raggedy Anndoll clutched tightly under one arm, there she was! She looked stunning in her breezysummer dress - hair shining silver in the sunlight. I will never forget how warmly shewelcomed me and how very excited she was.“Oh, darn it! I have to use the sandbox again!” she squealed with delight. “I have been soanxious to meet you, I just keep having to go again and again!”As this woman scurried about, I watched her and soon felt more at ease. Within no time,we were all piled into that Olds and traveling north to Algonquin Park. It was fall and aswe walked the winding forest path, pine needles blanketed the ground – cracklingunderfoot. After about an hour of strolling and chatting, they asked me to step aside and Icould hear them whispering softly to each other, but not loud enough to be able to makeout just what they were saying. Then Vera returned to me, threw her arms about me andsaid:“Remember this place, Sherry. This is where we’ve made up our mind that we want youto be our little girl!”I was overjoyed, but didn’t quite know how to respond. Nothing truly wonderful hadever, ever happened to me before, so I just smiled shyly.It would be another month before I would see this couple again - Ray, a portly figure of aman, with red hair - Vera, petite and feminine. I later learned that she had been throughfar too much pain for her 42 years. Her suffering began as an infant, when she was bornas the fourth girl in her family. Dismayed and angry, Vera’s father threw her to the groundand cursed her. She worked most of her life in offices and eventually met her husband,who was a manager for Metropolitan Life Insurance.I never did find out which one of them was incapable of having children. My father wasone of a dozen kids in a poor family. After his mother died, he, as the oldest, was forcedto take care of the entire brood. In actual fact, he had no use for children, but he knewhow much Vera longed for at least one, so much in fact, that she suffered a breakdown inher late ‘30s.“I promised God that if I pulled through, I would adopted a child,” she told me one day.
 
And so, Ray and Vera became my parents in November 1957. I had just turned 8 and itwas decided that I would be given a new name. It was changed from Charlene DeloresWhite to Martha Christine Hannon. “Your name sounds too much like a gypsy,” she said.She told me Martha meant “little helper” and Christine meant “a gift from God.” ThoughI was happy about it at the time, it was very strange for a while printing the new name onmy work in Grade 2.I was also given my very first birthday party. I could not believe the beautiful dolls, newclothes and other gifts that I received. I truly believed I’d died and gone to heaven!My mother was very watchful over me. She made sure she always knew where I wasgoing and when I’d be back. I knew she loved me dearly and she showed it in so manyways. This was all new to me and I soaked up every single hug and kiss as if it would bemy last. Each summer was spent together up at their cottage on Lake Simcoe – a place Iquickly learned to love, because I had her all to myself, while my father stayed in the cityto work. We spent many a night laughing and joking together. She had such a wonderfullaugh – so free and happy.When I turned 11, she sat me down and explained that she was ill. Cancer had insidiouslyworked its way into her chest and she would have to have an operation to remove one of her breasts. I was devastated. “No! No! God, you cannot, I repeat, cannot take her awayfrom me!” I wailed.Mom had her operation and was soon back home, smiling and happy as before. Onewould never have known she felt any pain at all. When I expressed my fear of losing her,she replied: “I will never leave you. I love you too much!”She was having some trouble with the prosthetic they’d given her. It was winter and the plastic, which became very hard and dug deep into her skin. Her solution was to make her own using a nylon stocking and some birdseed. We laughed so much about the fact thatshe left a trail of seeds around the house wherever she went.I then learned she would have to go for chemotherapy treatments on a regular basis. Asyoung as I was, I had no idea what that entailed, but I accompanied her on many trips tothe hospital. Through it all – the weakness, the throwing up and the pain – she continuedto smile and joke about her circumstances.That year, we drove by car to Florida, along with my best friend Sharron. It was my firsttime traveling so far, so it was nice to have a friend along. Two days into our vacation,my mother lost all her hair. It just came out in huge clumps and for the first time, I sawher show concern. My father went right out and bought her a big, floppy hat, whichseemed to do the trick, because in no time, she was smiling again as if nothing hadhappened.This, of course, relieved my mind somewhat, but it was only months later that we learnedthe cancer had spread throughout her body. Always an active woman, she soon hadtrouble walking and fell frequently. I always tried to be home quickly after school tomake sure she was all right. Over the course of the next two years, she became progressively worse and by the time I was 14, she suffered more and more every day. Iwent to bed every night and prayed that God would relieve her pain. Yet, whenever relatives or neighbors stopped by, she was as bright and cheery as usual – always readywith a joke and that wonderful smile.By this time, I was well in the habit of cooking the meals, cleaning the house, doing thelaundry and completing my homework without supervision. I had a couple of friends that
 
I would visit or that would drop by, but I spent most of my time making sure mom hadeverything she needed. Her favorite drink was Coke with a squirt of lemon and shealways kept a cold glass beside her. It seemed to settle her stomach and quench her thirstat the same time.By the time I was 15 mom was bedridden. I had to help her use the toilet and brought her all her meals. At night, I would hear her moaning in pain and by this time, I prayed thatGod would take her. My father often went on business trips, sometimes out of thecountry. It was during one such trip that the unexpected happened. I awoke that Saturdaymorning, got dressed and prepared mom’s breakfast. Then I took it in to her, but sheappeared to still be asleep. As I tried gently to rouse her, she moaned in pain, but did notcome around. After listening to several heartbreaking moans, they turned into desperatescreams, yet she still was not awake! Not knowing what to do, I ran to one of our favorite neighbors. Eventually, an ambulancewas called and it was explained to me that mom was in a coma. I was scared – very, veryscared – that I would loose her this time. My father arrived home quickly and went to her side. When he got back home, he told me the doctors did not expect her to make it.Again, I was crushed. What would I do without her? I loved her so very, very much.God must have smiled down from heaven that day, because she did survive. When shereturned home, she made a point again of telling me that she would never leave me. Never. I was overjoyed, but that joy would be short lived. She began treatments on her head. I knew, because she’d come home with little black markings on her forehead. Shefinally told me that she was undergoing cobalt balm treatments because the cancer hadspread to her brain.While my father was away in New York City my mother seemed to deteriorate mentally.Many times, she would spill her coffee and/or drop her cigarette on the floor. I had to basically watch her every second that I was home. I was 16 by then and while at school, Iworried about whether she was all right and hurried home to make sure.Then on Saturday she said: “Pack up all your dad’s stuff. I don’t want to look at it.”Taken off guard, I didn’t know how to respond, but I helped her put some things into theupper shelf in their bedroom closet.“Now,” she said, “I want to go up to the cottage.”It was February, so I knew this was definitely not a good idea. At that time of year, therewas no water, as the pipe was not out in the lake and the lake was frozen solid. I tried toreason with her, but to no avail. She wanted to go and would not take no for an answer.She also wanted to take our big, color TV and her mink stole, which I placed carefullyinto our newer Oldsmobile. At the same time, I was thinking how truly odd her behavior had become and wondered what I should do about it. My boyfriend at the time drove usnorth toward Lake Simcoe. During the trip, she muttered a number of things that madeabsolutely no sense.“Brian,” I said, “let’s stop off in Orillia at my aunt’s place. I want to talk to them first.”It turned out to be a very wise decision, because after speaking with mom for a bit, bothmy aunt and uncle realized that she had lost touch with reality. They immediately calledmy father in New York and he flew home right away. That very first day, my father hadtaken her to our local psychiatric hospital, but they refused to take her. She was too far gone. The next three days were horrible, as I watched her fall apart before my eyes. I didnot go to school during this time, because her behavior was so erratic. She got on the
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antispy

Thanks for all your efforts to posts documents. I read them regularly. Keep it up

reply06 / 23 / 2009
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