Happy Mother's Day Mom

It’s funny how growing up with a Greek immigrant mother, the ideology in the house was that she procreated me - which pretty much meant she owned me - and because of this I was indebted to her for life.

Every time I misbehaved, my mother would blackmail me emotionally with a fake weak heart as she would mutter out of her breath, “you are going to give me a heart attack”. She would dramatically grasp her chest where she believed her heart would be (though never scientifically correct), wheezing for breath.

The guilt trip she would give me because I refused to sing at the church choir with all the other so called “Good Greek Girls” at church. If my Mom only knew what took place on those church choir co-ed out-of-town weekend getaways. Good Greek Girls My Ass!

I would never find myself a good rich Greek man if I continuously wore the unflattering clothes I insisted on wearing. She would always give me that glare if I went for that second piece of cake nodding her head with disapproval, as she would say “fat isn’t pretty.”

As my mother, who had me at the age of 43, started getting older, I began to gradually notice that she was also getting surprisingly hipper and wiser with her ways. I am sure my older sister’s divorce with three kids made her realize that maybe her outlook on things was a bit dated and she had to become more accepting in order to be emotionally supportive for her three girls.

When I graduated from high school, my mother pulled me into her room and taking on a gangster manner, she opened up a suitcase full of money (that she had saved in a secret place because you just can’t trust the banks). Knowing my heart was into acting and not going to University, she took out all her money from the safe so I could live in New York City for a year and audition myself into what she believed was a natural talent that would have been spotted in due time. I declined the offer as soon as I admitted my fear of living alone in the Big Apple.

My mother had so much faith in me she continuously went the extra distance.

My mother would bring me breakfast in bed when I was getting too many late slips at school so as to help me get ready quicker.

When the Principal called my house to notify her that I wasn't at school (because I skipped class for the first and last time), she covered up for me and told him that I was sick in bed that afternoon.

My mother would lie to my Dad every time I went to play soccer because according to him, soccer was a male sport and that was final.

When she saw me at my violin recital and I stunk, she got up and gave me a standing ovation, this pretty much confused everybody in the audience and forced an applause out of everybody whether they thought I deserved it or not.

On my 18th birthday, I arrived home drunk for the first (and last) time, she carried me into my bedroom, changed me into my pajamas and gave me a glass of water every two hours so I wouldn’t wake up the next morning sick. The next day all she told me was, “drunk women look very unattractive” and left it at that.

When my husband, who was my boyfriend of four years at the time, got excepted to a Masters program out of town and I had finished my schooling, it was my mother who pulled me aside and convinced me to go live with him. My GREEK MOTHER!! THAT’S HUGE!!! I didn’t know it at the time but she had also pulled my husband aside in secrecy and told him that she is giving her blessing for me to live with him BUT, if he didn’t propose to me in the next three months that he didn’t deserve me and would tell me to come back home and not look back.

My mother has been staying with me for the past week and the ritual is I massage her feet with lotion before she falls asleep. When I do this I come to terms of her age and her frailness. This was an issue for me when the twins arrived; I resented her because she wasn't a help and more a burden when she was around me.

Now that my twins are older and I am stronger, I am making more of an effort to bond with my eighty-year-old mother. I have made it a personal goal to establish a stronger relationship with her, and not neglect her like I have for so long. Yes the Greek Drama still creeps up now and then where she starts the "I’m killing her" routine, but I don't get angry anymore I simply tell her in a calm voice to knock it off and I end it with a big hug and kiss, where she then instantly changes into a soft tender grandma.

The question this year isn’t what I am doing for myself for Mother’s Day. Instead it is, “What should I do for my Mom?”

This year I am going to frame an old picture of just me and her, hug her and thank her for doing the best she could, and simply whisper in her ear, “Happy Mother’s Day Mom, and thank you for doing the best you could.”

Patsy S.