Today is my mother's birthday and today is the day we buried her 3 years ago. She was rather sensitive that her birthday was Pearl Harbor day, so one year I called her up and asked her what did it feel like to share her birthday with Larry Bird - she replied - who is Larry Bird? Just a little back drop - my mother lived in Boston and at the time I asked her - the Boston Celtics were very, very hot and one of the reasons was because of Larry Bird. But my mother always true to form was just a little different from the rest of us and did not know who Larry Bird was.
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I have been thinking about what to say in the diary for quite a while - and the past few days I keep coming back to that I need to talk about my mother, her life and the gifts that she gave me. I could talk about the grief and anguish, and the family drama - being Irish I could make it bleak and it was bleak - but somehow I just want to talk a little about her and some of the gifts she gave me.
My mother was a beautiful woman - but never felt so, and was always conscious of her appearance. She would cut herself out of family photos if she thought she did not look good (thus not too many photos to work with). Funny, sometimes I am tempted to cut myself out - and then I stop. She would sigh in frustration with me - because I tend to be less careful with my appearance - she would sigh and comment that I was more like her mother. But honestly, I truly believe that she did break through to me - just enough to learn how to put myself together - if I choose.
My mother was an artist - she painted oils when I very young. She would pack me up and take me to Rockport and Gloucester and paint the ocean, the jetties and the many colored wooden fishing boats. To this day whenever I think of Gloucester - I think of Winslow Homer's paintings of men at the sea. Many of her early years painting are lost but here are a few.
She used to drag me to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts often – to just sit with the paintings – my favorite room was filled with impressionist paintings (and bench to sit on). On many Sunday afternoon's she would take me to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum - to view the art and listen to music. Being young - I imagine that I would have rather been playing outside - but today I realize that I love baroque and impressionist art, architecture, and classical music, chamber music. I took all of that for granted - but I am very grateful today for the joy I get from listening to music and viewing art.
When I was a teenager, my mother went back to work - her last painting before she went back to work was a picture of a hand rising out of flames. Once it was complete - she realized that it was my father's hand (his hand was very distinctive) - and knew she needed to get out of the home for her identity.
She was a physical therapist and she had let her license just expire - so she needed to re-test to be licensed. She again took me off to a long weekend so that she could study. She had me quiz her. My problem was I could not even pronounce the latin names of the anatomy - less understand the medical terms of the function. Again, today I have knowledge of medicine which just seems natural because of my mother.
My mother later years she returned to painting - as much as I liked her early paintings - her most recent make me wonder more about her. In the final years of her life she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s - which she denied until her last breath - but also she was diagnosed with Macular degeneration. I recall when she told me about her vision failing - she had just hit her stride with her paintings – just as her mind and her vision were failing.
This painting is from a picture she took in China - I think this is one of her best works - which we still have.
Here the picture of the bird - a few years later - I wonder if this is a self portrait - seeing her in pieces - incomplete memories and vision.
This one is a whimsical one - she started with a picture of a field of red poppies.... The chartreuse green on in the center is my mother - laughing at the outrageousness of that color poppy.
Finally, when my mother returned to painting, she painted with my sister-in-law. She really loved this woman, who just happened to be my sister-in-law, but to my mother she was much more. I gave my sister-in-law her paint brushes and canvasses, and among the canvasses - was a partially complete painting here.
My sister-in-law finished the painting.... here....
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Happy birthday Mom.