Her name was Margaret. She was a child of the Great Depression. She never graduated from high school. She left school in her senior year to help support her family. Her father died before she was ten leaving her mother to raise six children on her own, not an easy task in those rough economic times. She spoke of the kindness of strangers who helped; the train engineer who dumped coal from his speeding engine so children could walk the tracks with a basket and know that they would be warm for a few more days, the church ladies who delivered cast off but cleaned and patched clothes, baskets of food that appeared on special occasions out of nowhere. All the family members contributed what they could to the meager coffer. The older brothers learned how to fish and hunt not for sport but for sustenance. Her mother took in washing and they survived. Margaret left high school to work in a TB sanitarium in Saranac Lake. There she met a young man named Wendell fresh out of the Civilian Conservation Corp. They had a lot in common, he had lost his mother when he was ten and had left school to help his family by sending home his monthly wages form the CCC camp where he was a cook. They married and rented a room in a house near the sanitarium. They moved to south, Wendell got a job in a dye plant and Margaret produced and cared for their first child. Another move to the south and Wendell went to work in the Brooklyn Navy Yard as a boiler maker. A second son arrived during the war years. The war ended and they moved back north to Malone where eventually two more children made an appearance, another son and a daughter. They moved out to the country on an old farm and Wendell went to work in Massena for Alcoa Aluminum. Their children grew and thrived, never knowing hunger and with the security of knowing that their parents were always there.
It’s tough at my age to face the fact that I’m now an orphan. Margaret died recently and hopefully is now reunited with my father who passed several years ago. They were never separated in life and it’s comforting to think that they are now back together. I’m sure that God is glad to have Mom there to help keep Dad in line. He wasn’t exactly an easy person to live with. He liked being in charge and made Archie Bunker look like a screaming liberal when it came to a life philosophy. Mom could always calm him and keep him semi socially acceptable. She was born to be a mother and she did the job well. If it was small and weak, she loved it and fed it. Ours was always the house where the kids hung out and she loved it and them. Her friends were her friends forever and she kept in touch with them. She was in her glory when the grandchildren started arriving and was never happier than when she had some of her flock around. Warm and soft hearted, she was always reminiscing about something one of her little ones had done and usually shedding a tear or two while doing it. She passed softly and sweetly, just as she had lived. Well done Mom, a useful life, well lived and filled with love. Miss you. Happy Mother’s Day. Love you. Thanks.
Thought for the week—Moms are forever.
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