My Mother vs the Odds

I introduce you to my mother, before my sister and I were born.

What do you write about a woman that has not only given you life but that has gone above and beyond her maternal responsibilities? What can you possibly say about a woman that has fought systemic injustices for those that did not have a voice? What do you say about a woman that has over-delivered on every promise she has ever made? Nothing I could possibly write could convey the miracle that is my mother simply because pictures ARE worth a thousand words and I have pictures in my mind of sacrifice, love, compassion, humility, strength, vitality, tenderness, wisdom, commitment, and so many other qualities so rare these days. She is an incredible woman and a testament to human compassion and love. She has been my support network since the day I was born and the biggest contributor to the essence of who I am. To truly understand the beauty and depth that is my mother, one has to have seen what she has been through, how she chose to live through it and what she has become because of those choices. I will never do her justice in written form, there are some things in life that can only be experienced no matter how well versed a writer may be. Regardless of my inability to truly capture my mother in written form in order to get to the bottom of all that I am one must come to know my biggest inspiration. I’ve always said if I could be half of what my mother is I would easily be an exceptional human being.

If there is one thing my mother knows how to do well it’s love.

In a world lacking inspirational leaders with uncompromising character we strive to find human decency and true connections with those that surround us. We look up to people like Ghandi, Mandela, and Martin Luther King, individuals that pushed our civilization in the right direction, they broke down barriers that had no right to be there in the first place and above all else they practiced what they preached. I didn’t have to look far for such character, inspiration or devotion, it was all a glance away in my household. My mother was never one to talk about herself and I’m not sure why for she has lived, she has sacrificed and given, she has fought and loved and she inspired others as well as demanded change, her life is chock full of interesting stories that many would yearn to hear. She’s always kept to herself asking very little of those that were lucky enough to be in her circle yet she gave all she had to better the lives of those she loved. She always says that she never raised me given that she spent much of my childhood fighting for my sister and another part of it taking care of her sick and dying husband, but a child learns just as much from their parents actions as they do from their lectures and I had one of the best teachers in the world when it came to grace, compassion, humility and empathy. I owe much of the beauty deep within my soul to the smooth flowing forces that emanated from my mother through much of my young life.

My mother was finely tuned to recognize a tender soul when she saw one. Of course her own child was destined to be much like her.

As a child my mother recognized the capacity for empathy within me, she had witnessed my propensity to exhibit emotions that were often discouraged in young boys. I grew up thinking that crying was a sign of weakness, that opening yourself and exposing all that you are to the world was a surefire way to let the world wreak havoc on your fragile being. My mother noticed this inner battle on several occasions but three of them come to mind that I remember quite clearly. The first would have to be the second time my mother was with child, before my sister. She had the misfortune of a miscarriage and subsequently was overwrought with grief. Her young son not quite understanding why his mother would be so overwhelmed with sadness innocently approached her fighting back the tears with all his might. He sheepishly asked his mother what was wrong all the while pretending to be someone he was not, she caressed me tightly and informed me of our family’s loss and I immediately let go of social constraints in order to share in her pain and grieving. There are very few things I can imagine in the world that are more unbearable than the loss of a loved one, the loss of a child must increase the grief by an order of magnitude I do not wish to experience.

A proud mother and her baby.

The second time was when my favourite uncle, my mother’s brother Louis, passed away at the very young age of 25. As a child after school I would go to my grandparents until my parents finished work, Louis was often there to keep me company and entertain me. He was a kind and gentle soul that made it quite easy for a child to love and adore him. He would play games with me, walk with me and sometimes buy me candy at the nearest convenience store. One night while out with his friends he died of an aneurism. While gallivanting around the neighborhood the next day I came home for a quick bathroom break to find my parents quite distraught. My mother didn’t dance around the subject and informed me of his death and I immediately began to cry. Still operating under the old school code I yelled out that I wasn’t crying because he was dead but rather because of some other lame ass reason that certainly made no sense given the circumstances, but my mother respecting my attempt to protect my “manhood” said nothing and let me be, she knew what was really going on.

My dad got me this awesome poster of Samantha Fox, he eventually put it on the ceiling above my bed, he had quite the sense of humour.

Finally the last and most important moment came during the year of 1982, one year after my sister’s birth and the year that E.T. came out. My mother told me it was about aliens and that’s all I needed to know, I had to see this movie. If you haven’t seen it you owe it to yourself to watch it soon. It’s a simple tale about the natural fear and resistance that we feel when encountering something new or different. Children having little experience in all that is normal and standard accept and welcome differences with open arms which is in stark contrast to society. A bond is made between a boy and an alien and that bond is tested throughout the exhilarating story. I was six years old and up until that movie I spent most of those years fighting my innate ability to feel others pain as though it was I living through the experience. During a very difficult and touching moment within the movie, of which there are many, my mother looked down at her young grimacing child, she leaned over and gently whispered in my ear “You know, It’s ok to cry.” It was as if she had just given me permission to finally be myself, I cried through that whole movie and almost every other movie since. I am by far the most emotional person I know and I get that part of me completely from my mother. In theatres you will always find me sniffling and wiping tears off my face. From the moment that my mother destroyed my false preconceptions of manly behaviour and my willingness to conform to such un-humane restraint I have never looked back in regret of this defining moment. All that time I feared that others would ridicule me and tease me for being such a “cry baby” was for naught for I have formed some of the deepest bonds simply because those that took the time to befriend me found someone capable of empathizing every emotion any of them felt. This ability naturally doesn’t make me the most level headed person when emotions are involved but time has taught me to control and tame my emotions when required. So if you ever wondered what type of person it took to cry at commercials look no further, they target those cheesy ads directly at my brethren.

I spent much of my childhood watching my mother fight for my sister and oddly enough I never resented the lack of attention, it was as if I knew she was fighting for a greater cause. I believe it was for this reason that my father started a yearly tradition with me where father and son would get a boys vacation. Each year he gave me the option to choose what we would do from a list of enticing activities such as spending a shit load of quarters at arcades around town, going on a camping trip or going to the movies. The first year I chose to play games of course, didn’t take long to burn through all those quarters but it was a blast and one of my most cherished memories with my father. Every year since we would take part in various adventures, camping in the Algonquin parks, go-karting, Ghostbusters, the types of things you’d expect a son and father to do.

My mother and I at our new home in Orleans during better times.

Throughout all of my childhood I was witness to a devotion that is unlike anything I have ever seen anywhere else. I saw a motherly love so strong withstand the test of time and all the pressures and obstacles that life threw in its way. There was no doubt in my mind that I was lucky to have this woman in my life, she shaped and molded my little Cedric heart through her actions and fearlessness, she refused to bend to the will of conformity and the status quo. In my short life she had demonstrated what true love was without ever compromising. She protected and cherished those within her circle and this would not change despite what life would throw her way. Having finally moved to a new neighborhood things were starting to look up. My parents would have to travel a little farther each day to get to and from work but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make in order to secure a better life for themselves and their kids. I made my transition from child to teenager in this new home, and as previously described my transformation was not all that kind towards my parents. This is of course the case for most teenagers, I was however in a different situation than most other kids my age and feel I should have held myself to better standards for my family’s sake but this was not to be the case. In fact I was so nasty that I pushed my mother to do something that I believe most parents would find incredibly difficult to do.

Who knew so much strength could fit into such a small person?

When my father fell ill my mother now found herself in a situation where she now had to care for her two children on her own, one of which needed extra special attention due to her condition, as well as take care of her sickly husband. I could say that the most difficult time would have to have been while he was in the hospital for she had to take care of her daughter in the morning, I nominally helped in this regard… yay me; get to work which she would do through public transportation because downtown parking fees were exorbitant even back then; bus back home and make a meal for her ungrateful son; take her daughter somewhere to be cared for, couldn’t leave her with me since I was a useless shit; and finally head to the hospital where she would care for and keep her husband company. This she would do day in and day out, she would often get back late and get up early the next morning in order to do it all over again. It wasn’t enough for her to have to do all of this on her own, sometimes when she’d get to the hospital she’d find her husband in inhumane situations, such as stuck in urine soaked sheets, which she would have to remedy herself. There is really nothing this woman didn’t do for her family, she has lived the best and the worst that families have to offer and every time she was an inspiration to all who witnessed her. I didn’t do much during this time to make her life easier despite the many pleas she sent my way. I’ve already described how ashamed I am of this past behaviour in a previous post however I did receive some very kind comments because of it which has shed some light on the situation which I would like to share with you. I particularly really liked the way a friend of mine expressed herself after she had read my entry about my father. To paraphrase she said that we are all assholes as teenagers only difference is most of us have the rest of our adulthood to make it up to our parents, unfortunately for me however my father died before I could make it up to him but for my mother it isn’t too late. I hope to make it up to her somehow or someway.

After my father passed away things didn’t get any easier between us, I was dealing with the loss in self defeating ways, only gauging how the loss affected me and not how it affected the rest of my family. My mother had just lost her lover, the father of her children and her life partner but life had to continue and despite the tears streaming down her face she picked herself up and continued forward, for herself and her family. Worst in all of this is that my father couldn’t get proper life insurance due to his poor health so when he passed away none of the debts were cleared. My mother carried on, I don’t believe she knows what it means to give up, she didn’t love her job like some might but she hardly ever missed a day. She never came home complaining about her luck or the events that transpired in her life. She never accepted or sought pity, what she wanted was to be the best that she could be for her family and that’s exactly what she was.

The troubles my sister had with bathing suits.

Despite our differences during those difficult times she came to my rescue on a few occassions. I remember one time my sister was being teased at the park and some of the kids convinced her to remove her bathing suit, she had difficulty putting these things on so naturally when she came back my mother knew something was up. I could hear in her voice how upset she was, she immediately walked out the front door and straight to the park to confront my sister’s bullies, I followed right behind her. When we got to the park it was obvious that such a situation should have never occurred as there were parents around the park and in the surrounding backyards. My mother started to lecture the kids in the park of their disgraceful actions, she then proceeded to extend the lecture to the parents, crying she left the park exclaiming that in order to keep her daughter safe from the world she’d have to lock her up in a cage. I stayed behind with a mountain of emotions bubbling up within me at the sight of seeing my mother cry. When she was gone I erupted, regardless of the kids ages they were thoroughly warned that should they ever tease, touch or look at my sister in any uncertain way that I would find and hurt them… I may have even used the word kill. My words were fueled by rage and I believe these kids sensed that because most of them started crying right away. I returned home in order to console my mother but shortly after arriving there were concerned parents at our door. They were quite upset with my outburst and the words that were used, I answered the door but moments later my mother came and took over. It all ended with her final words, “You control your kids and that will control mine.” My sister never did have another such incident at the park and I never did have to warn any other kid to leave her alone.

My first job at Loblaws, the same store my father worked at.

In rare circumstances our little family did come together, but most of the time we were at each others throats. I took on taking care of my sister before and after school and these little episodes were very much like our little interludes at the park. My mother spent most of her time asking me to help her clean, do groceries, run errands or do other household chores seeing as she didn’t have much time to do everything since she was the only breadwinner in the family. I sometimes but rarely yielded, it seems that being selfish and arrogant comes naturally during our teenage years and my then widowed mother got the brunt of my razor sharp wit and sarcasm. I pushed her emotionally to the very edge, we fought constantly because she wanted me to help and do something with my life and I wanted to retreat and fulfill my life with hedonism since I deemed that I had it too rough up until that point. Imagine the gall to take pity of oneself when someone who’s had it rougher than yourself is under the same roof. She wanted me to better myself through education, to prepare me as an adult so that once faced with the real world I’d be ready to not only confront it but overcome it, she wanted to make me into a man. Alas none of these things were to take place under that roof, I retreated to the basement listening to NIN, playing video games and focusing on martial arts. I would go out with friends and not come back till the early morning or not at all, I did everything I wanted without regard to the consequences. I lost the only job I ever had, I got kicked out of one school only to pass at another by barely trying. After high school I chose to go to college in dramatic and performing arts not because I was a big fan of the arts, however I did love movies, but rather because it seemed like fun. I did well when it came to playing pretend in front of people but the diploma I received led to a full time job at Future Shop where my first wake up call was to be received.

The good old days, before I was a prick.

It only took a few months of working there for me to realize that I was not going to be able to live my whole life working in the sales industry as I I was a shitty salesman. This was when I decided to return to school in what my mother always said I should go into, computers. She saw a trend emerging and could see her son excelling in this area if he would just commit. When I finally decided to listen to her she was at her wits end, I was no longer a teenager, not contributing to the household and still fighting with her on a daily basis. I was going nowhere fast and there was nothing my mother could do to steer me away from a pitiful existence, nothing except the one thing that she did do. It took everything for me to push her to the one thing she wanted to avoid but I managed to do it.

John had been an instrumental friend in my true transition from child to adult.

I pushed my mother to kick her only son out of the house. She didn’t care where I went or how I got there, she just wanted me out right away. I packed my bags and left that night, I stayed at a friends the first six months and never spoke to my mother for any of it. All of a sudden I was paying room and board and realizing what was required to live and contribute to the world. I had gone back to school with this friend in a one year intensive program in computer programming. We not only graduated together but we moved out into our very own apartment with three rooms, we got ourselves good paying jobs and I even helped him start his own business teaching kickboxing in various areas of the city. Life was finally starting to look up for me and none of this would have come to fruition if it hadn’t been for the difficult decision to kick me out of the house, once again I owed everything I had to my mother for she lit a fire under my ass, a fire hot enough to kick start me and wake me up from the daydreaming I had been doing for most of my young adult life.

My mother and her grown up son.

My mother and I slowly started to reconcile our differences over the phone, I started to visit her every once in a while until our relationship transformed from one of confrontation to one of mutual love. Funny how distance and perspective can change a young sarcastic know it all into a loving, thankful child. I don’t know if she knew what the outcome of her decision would be, I imagine it was a hail mary in a last ditch effort to steer her son in the right direction, it sure did work. Not many kids would thank their mother for kicking them out but I sure did, I have what I have today because of that decision. I would have crumbled under her wing, I needed life to smack me in the face and wake me up and that couldn’t be done under her protection.

I learned many things from the outstanding woman I call my mother. I learned that true connections are only made by first opening yourself up, you must be willing to put it all on the line in order to truly benefit from true friendships and love. I learned that love isn’t all about the happiness and the ever afters, sometimes it’s about pushing through and being there when all that surrounds you is darkness and misery because within the black hole is your little circle and only you can lift them high enough to get them out of the event horizon’s reach. She taught me what true sacrifice is and when to make such sacrifices. She opened me up to a world full of emotions in amplified states, where the joys of life run straight through your veins and rip through your heart showing you what makes life worth living. Within the shadows of such grand moments are the tragic events that shred such tender beings until there is nothing left but a shell of the former self, yes we are more susceptible to the tragedies of life but it does not mean that we can not overcome. Without darkness there is no light, without sadness there can be no happiness, life provides these balances so that we can truly appreciate what we have. We are stubborn little creatures that easily take for granted what must never be taken for granted and our emotional range is configured as such so that we are reminded what is truly special, but more important what is to be cherished. My mother taught me so many things, so many beautiful lessons without ever knowing she was doing so, I have but a lifetime to thank her but I fear this will not be enough. I fear I will always look up to the stars and be amazed when it comes to my mother, she is without equal yet she knows not of her profound impact on our lives. To her she’s just been doing her job as a wife and mother, but to us she has given us every reason to live and inspiration to last us more than a lifetime. This is the mother I have come to know and love, a person deserving of all that the world has to offer yet given so little of it. How lucky can one man be to have such a presence in his life?

Cedric Jean-Marie