There are as many stories about the incredible things moms do for their children as there are moms themselves. Every one of those stories is unique, and every one is special. This year, I want to share a little about my mom.
My father was rarely around when I was a kid. He was the head chef at a hotel near JFK Airport and worked odd hours. I hardly remember him being home for dinner, or even for holidays. As I got a little older, I knew something was wrong between my parents. When I was 10, they got divorced. For a while, I saw my father more because he would spend Sundays with me. But over time, those visits became less frequent. I was 12 when he stopped visiting altogether.
What I soon came to understand was that my father had also stopped paying support, leaving my mother and grandmother to raise me and somehow manage the bills. My mom worked in a factory and never made much money. My grandmother was the stay-at-home mom in our family.
My mom, Margie, had dreamed of becoming an accountant. That dream ended when my grandfather died very young. My grandmother was so overwhelmed by the loss that she was nearly catatonic for months, so my mother quit school, went to work, and became the head of the family. From that point on, my mother and grandmother lived together.
Mom’s first marriage, shortly after World War II, ended quickly. Her husband had what today would probably be called PTSD. He drank heavily and one day simply didn’t come home. Later, she met my dad. But through it all, she always worked, which turned out to be a blessing when she found herself carrying a house payment, caring for her mother, and raising a 12-year-old boy, all on an hourly factory salary.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand how exhausting life must have been for my mother and grandmother. We didn’t have a washing machine, so every week meant a trip to the coin laundry. We received food stamps, but even then, my mother and grandmother would shop at three different grocery stores every week to stretch every dollar and find the best deals with coupons.
There were things I wanted to do but couldn’t. Band instruments cost money to rent. Cub Scouts cost money. Sports require uniforms, and those cost money too. One year, my much older sister paid for me to play Little League.
Despite all of that, those two women found a way to make life feel normal. They somehow managed everything without ever making me feel poor.
I know my mom panicked the year she got audited by the IRS. She was probably earning about $14,000 a year, and she had to go to the IRS office in New York City. It was summer, and I tagged along. Mom kept all of her finances in a loose-leaf notebook with carefully drawn pencil lines, like a ledger she had made herself. She brought that notebook to the meeting and showed it to the IRS agent. I can still remember him saying how amazing it was that she was making ends meet. I could see the relief on her face as we walked out of that office.
Margie even figured out how to take me on vacation each year. We didn’t go far, just about five hours by car, but it was a vacation, nonetheless. When I came home from college, my mother and grandmother always sent me back with snacks, even though I was working and could buy my own. I was fortunate to have a full scholarship, including room and board, for my first two years of college, because there is no way they could have afforded even one textbook, let alone the rest of the expenses.
My mom died in 2003, but she lived long enough to see her son graduate from college with honors, to see both her son and daughter build successful careers, and to spend time with three grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
Today, when I look at grocery prices and pay $4.95 for a single loaf of bread, I appreciate more than ever what it took for my mom to keep our family going. It also helps me understand why she was so often exhausted, mentally as well as physically.
Every mom is unique. And every mom is special. I hope you’ll take a moment to reflect on what your mother has meant to you, and if you can, take a moment to thank her.
Thanks, Margie.
