“Nothing great is ever achieved without enduring much.” St. Catherine of Siena
If the struggles my mother endured are any indication of her achievements in life, then what she achieved here on earth can be considered great, indeed.
My mother (Betti) was born in 1934 and died in 2007, but her influence in my life and in the lives of my children, nieces, nephews, and siblings has continued.
On the one hand, she was generous to a fault, often going into debt when we were young so that my siblings and I could have plentiful presents under the Christmas tree. She loved coming up to Canada and especially enjoyed surprising my boys with unexpected trips (and she never missed a Baptism or a First Communion or musical performance until she became terminally ill). She had a unique, wry sense of humor and was laugh-out-loud funny sometimes. Even today, she still makes me laugh when I think of one of her funny sayings.
On the other hand, she chain-smoked most of her life (she quit when she was 61), could swear like a sailor, and wasn’t always faithful with church attendance.
But as a young mother with three small children and nine months pregnant with another, my mother watched her husband (my father) spiral into a full-blown psychotic breakdown and watch as he was committed to a psychiatric hospital. That same day, she went into labor with my youngest brother. With the help of extended family, she endured, and Dad finally came home.
Mom survived a critical illness when she was 33 years old and was not expected to live. I was only seven at the time, but I remember how thin she was. She weighed eighty pounds and at five feet, six inches tall, she was a walking skeleton. She beat the odds, though, and lived a fairly healthy life until her sixties when chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) caught up with her.
She became a widow at age 44 when my father died suddenly.
Mom later married remarried, got pregnant at the age of 47 and was thrilled. When her doctor suggested she have an abortion (because it was too risky and the baby might be deformed), she refused. When he demanded she have an abortion, Mom swore at him. Then he then told her to find another doctor because he wouldn’t be delivering the baby. I’m thankful that she and my stepfather were open to life. Again, Mom beat the odds, had an uneventful pregnancy, and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl (my youngest sister, now 38).
A lifetime of smoking caught up with her in early 2004, when she contracted a particular virulent strain of pneumonia, was on a ventilator and in a coma (and supposedly “brain dead.”) Once more, she beat the odds and eventually woke up and endured eight months in rehab and lived an additional three years (which she never took for granted).
I had never known Mom to be anything but determined and tenacious. And she always tried to find the humor in everything. Just before she died, she called me up to tell me that she had just watched a TV program on the Little People of America. “Did you know you could join them, if you wanted?”
“Yes, the maximum height is four feet, ten inches. You’re four-nine.”
“Why would I want to join them?”
“So you could go to conventions and feel like the tallest person in the room!” Then she burst out laughing.
People were always surprised when they met Mom because she was tall (five feet, six inches) and I’m so short (four feet, nine inches). If we were doing dishes together, she would look down at me and say, “El, are you standing in a hole?”
In the months before she died, we had many wonderful conversations. We talked about her life, her memories, her faith. We talked about Jesus and heaven and how exciting it would be to meet Jesus.
When she was within hours of death, my youngest sister called me, and I made the trip to New Jersey from Canada. After a two-hour wait at the border, we arrived in Cortland, New York, so I called to let her know I was halfway there. My sister answered the phone and told Mom that I was in Cortland. I could hear her say, “She’s only in Cortland? Tell her I love her and to be careful.”
Shortly after that, she went into a coma. I arrived that evening. She was still alive but unconscious. She had asked my sister and I to recite the Litany of the Saints and the Divine Mercy Chaplet when her time was close, so we did that and then I went to bed. The next morning when I checked on her, her breathing had slowed and she was cool, but she still had a weak pulse. I whispered in her ear, “It’s okay if you need to go, Mom. We’ll be all right. I love you.”
An hour or so later, my other siblings had assembled around her bedside. I was sitting next to my brother and all of a sudden, I felt as if Mom were on the ceiling looking down at us. I was about to nudge my brother on the shoulder and tell him when he said, “Hey, El, I feel like Mom is on the ceiling looking down at us.”
Mom entered into eternal life on the Feast of St. Dominic, August 8, 2007 and was buried on the Feast of St. Maximilian Kolbe, August 14th. It’s been thirteen years since she died, and her influence and humor is still being felt by our family. If Mom’s endurance and tenacity are any indication, great things were definitely achieved with her life.
I just finished writing a book about Mom, entitled, Remembering Mom. It’s available on Kindle and in print.
Copyright 2020 Ellen Gable Hrkach