Once a Mother Always a Mother?
Sure, we have that biological bond with our offspring (err… our dear children) and vow to always love them. We can also appreciate them, like them and at times tolerate them as we gently, firmly nudge them out of the crowded nest.
Could you imagine birthing, raising eleven children, keeping track of their chore lists, their whereabouts, and at times of frustration, their names?
On this #MothersDay I think about my dear late Mother, the years of poverty, commitment to her Catholic faith, her #family her 11 children!
— Theresa Jamone (@tjamone) May 11, 2014
Imagine the time management skills in getting them ready for church on Sunday, splitting up tasks between your husband and the older children to groom, dress and coordinate batches for the 9:00 a.m. and 10:30 a.m. masses at your local church. Try doing all that without the convenience of a family car – plus preparing Sunday brunch in-between.
Father once recollected that her mantra was “God looks after the Mothers.” Thanks, Mom. Thanks for your commitment to family, your faith and getting through tough times.
In my sentimental stage of life, I am compelled to learn more of our Mother’s early years in Quebec City, surviving the Great Depression, going to school with the Nuns and the courtship by mail with that blue-eyed, blond soldier whom she had met during World War II.
Was it fate? Was it merely coincidence due to the excitement and romance of the time?
Researching, #iamwriting an account of blond, blue-eyed Orange Ontarian soldier boy James meeting Quebec Catholic girl Simonne during WWII. — Theresa Jamone (@tjamone) May 11, 2014
I don’t think any of us have those letters. Were they written in broken English, French or a bit of both? I recall snippets of conversations, Mom and Dad’s recollections while they were still alive. I rely now on the memories of older siblings, an aging aunt and my menopause mind.
I look forward to visiting my Mother’s home town this summer, 45 years since my first train trip with her. I still have foggy memories of meeting relatives, her old school friends, and of drawing, colouring in books she bought for me – likely to keep me busy while she reconnected with her French Canadian folk.
This is going to be an interesting journey. Cela va être un voyage intéressant.
With love and great respect. Je t’aime, Maman. Merci. Merci.
Theresa A. Jamone
Je suis une fractale rajeuni de mon arbre généalogique.
Shewrite63 
A beautiful, touching blog. I can’t wait to hear more about the blue-eyed blonde soldier from Orange Ontario. What was his name — my father had 60 first cousins in that part of the country so I could check them out! Good luck with your research! I’m so glad I finally found your blog in my hidden spam folder. (One of gmail’s tricks I’ve just caught on to.)
Thank you, Margaret. I have sent you a private message with more information.
When I refer to Orange Ontarian, I mean the Protestant, Orange Order that had a hold on some young Anglophone men at the time. Dad recollected once that he had received a letter from them circa 1941 to come before the council and explain himself for converting, for marrying a Catholic – let alone a French Canadian. Wow. Times have changed, eh?
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