by Gary Maclean

Created on: September 18, 2009   Last Updated: June 10, 2011

Mom was a sad, tired woman. There were so very few occasions I saw her stern, gray face give way to a few fleeting moments of relief or laughter. She worked more hours than the day allowed. I can only remember her in either her white nurse's uniform or her nightclothes.

She worked constantly. Mom was always doing one of three things; getting ready for work, working, or trying to recover from her day at work. She so seldom had any time off or any extra time for anything but work; and still, we had nothing. No money, no food, just plenty of nothing.

The earliest I can remember Mom was when she was about 45 years old and I was about five. I cherished Mom from the first minute I saw her. I fell in love immediately. I clung to her; I could not be without her. I kept hoping she could or would respond to at least some of my clinging dependency. I wanted her recognition so much that I began mentally creating it. I would magnify even the slightest nod or glance from Mom until I had it as full-fledged recognition and acknowledgement. Even though she had so very little time for me, or for anything but work, there was something that drew me to her. I rapidly became the classic Mama's Boy.

When she stood straight, Mom stood about 5 feet 8 inches in her stocking feet. In her mid-sixties something happened to her back and she began to bend over. She couldn't stop it, she couldn't control it; she just continued to bend more and more every day. Whatever it was it was simply taking over her physical stature. It was a slow and gradual metamorphosis from straight backed, in your face Mom, to a little old lady who could barely walk without falling over.

Mom's 5 feet 8 inches carried about 145 pounds on a regular basis. Not fat but not skinny either. Mom had just enough softness in the right places to be able to cuddle a sad little boy when he really needed it; on occasion I really needed it. If Mom was there and I was there and I was sad, Mom filled the role of Mom very well. Many a time I recollect falling asleep with my head on her lap while riding on a very long trip, or while listening to a particularly long church sermon or during an episode of pain. Whenever I had an upset stomach, a toothache, or a headache, they were all remedied by me laying my head on Mom's shoulder or, preferably, on her lap and absorbing Mom's soothing softness and indifference.

It seems Mom always had gray hair. When I first met her it was probably darker but from the time I can remember, it was grayish

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