Remembering My Mother

My Mom was no ordinary mom. She was a super mom. Her care for me me was extraordinary. When I was about 5 years old (in 1942), I had an inflamed appendix that ruptured. I was rushed to the hospital and remained there for several weeks as peritonitis had set in. The hospital was in the village of Bath in northwestern New Brunswick and treated mostly adults. Our home was about a hour drive from Bath. I so missed my mother that she moved to Bath. I am sure this was not an easy time for her as few children survived this ordeal. The memory of this experience fills me with much appreciation and deep gratitude.Mrs. Gertrude Baker

A couple of years passed and it became my turn to care for Mom as she had a stroke that left her bedridden. My older brothers and sisters had left home and Dad was either ferrying on the Saint John River (see igNation, June 28, 2015) or working in a very extensive vegetable garden. So Mom was often alone and I became, in some measure, her caregiver and errand boy. During this time, I remember picking wildflowers and giving them to her to enjoy. Along the gravel road there were wild roses and in the fields there were white daisies, buttercups, Indian paintbrushes and flowering clover. Mom did recover from the stroke and was able to walk with the help of crutches.

In her last visit to our family doctor in Bath, Mom had a heart attack in the doctor’s office. Once again she was  bedridden this time in the home of my older sister. It became clear that Mom was dying so they brought me from home to visit her. She was not eating and my sister thought she might eat if I offered her some food. That did not happen. Mom would often call me her “little lamb ado”. I think I got that right… I am only going from my memory of the sound. At this meeting she fully realized that would be our last. Once again she called me her “little lamb ado” and recalled how I once brought her wildflowers and that I could now bring them to her grave. What a most beautiful thought! I still could do something for Mom.

Paul and his mother, Gertrude.A couple of days after this visit I was tobogganing with my cousins in a field on my uncle’s farm. It was not far from my home. We heard the bell of St. Joseph’s Church ring.This bell would always toll when a parishioner died. It was then that I new that mom had died. It was December 6, 1946. Mother would have been 52 on March 15, 1947. We stopped tobogganing and went back to my uncle’s house. My aunt told me that I should go home. It was late afternoon. I went home and my mother’s sister confirmed that Mom had died.

The wake/visitation for Mom was in the living room of our home. On the door leading into the living room hung a funeral wreath. This would tell our neighbours that there was a death in our family. The wake lasted for two days and there was a steady stream of relatives and friends who would drop in. It was open house, there were no visiting hours. There was the custom that as long as the coffin was in the house someone had to be up to keep vigil. During this time I slept over at my aunt’s house.

Though my mother was dead, it was comforting to have her coffin in our living room. It was the first time I saw carnations among the floral tributes. Today when I see carnations I think of those days. Mom was the first sibling in her family to die. To acknowledge this, one of the floral wreaths would not be complete. It was the Broken Circle Wreath. Sometime in the evening those present would pray the rosary.

The morning of the funeral the rosary was prayed again. After this, those present who were not of the immediate family left. The family said their goodbyes. I remember someone picked me up and I kissed my mother. The coffin was closed and taken to the hearse. This was the first time in our village a hearse had been used; before that it was a team of horses and a wagon or sled.St. Joseph's Church, Tilley, NB.

The family had a friend who had a taxi. We drove in his car to the funeral. We arrived at St. Joseph’s Church with its bell tolling. A longtime friend of the family, Fr. Gregory, was at the front entrance of the church to bless the coffin and receive the family. Fr. Gregory celebrated the Eucharist and gave the homily. A small choir sang the hymns. One of the members of this choir was Jimmy Morash. I told his story in a previous igNation posting (March 11, 2015). As we were leaving the church for the burial, Jimmy sang a hymn to our Lady, “Mother Dear O Pray for Me”. At the time, I did not know it and thought that the Mother was my mother. Imagine walking behind your mother’s coffin hearing those words! Once again the bell tolled as we walked to the cemetery located behind the church.

After the burial we returned home and had breakfast. It was then I realized ever so clearly that mother was no longer in our house. Someone was absent at our family table. That person was my MOM. It is now 70 years since her passing but her absence is still keenly felt. I often wonder what my adult life would have been like with my Mom still living. I can ask the question but it is one that has no answer.

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Photos courtesy of Paul Baker, SJ

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Paul Baker, SJ, is a Jesuit Brother in the ministry of prayer at Rene Goupil House in Pickering, Ontario.

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