My mother’s 100th birthday is today, March 25th
2017. I have been thinking a lot about
her lately.
On February 16th,
1987, my mother alerted me to the fact that it was her mother’s 100th
birthday that particular day. Even
though my Grandma Margaret O’Donnell died on May 29, 1956, my mother was
remembering her in a special way on the 100th anniversary of her
birth.
I have been doing the
same thing –thinking of my mother and remembering her life. I have
a theory that when you actually live inside another human being, right there
under her heart, like I did for a full nine months, that person stays close to
you even after her body dissolves.
I was wondering what can I say, what can I post to honor my
dear Mother on this special day? Then
she mysteriously gave me her own words to share with you.
My daughter, Diane, found the following entry in my mother’s
Marriage Encounter Dialogue notebook
dated 1971. It is a simple black and
white Penmate Composition Book that we
unearthed in my father’s house after his death. At some point, in my parents’
“non-move”, it had been transported up from 62 Interboro Parkway, Brooklyn, NY. This 1971 copybook was found among many such
notebooks that were stacked in several cardboard boxes. After attending a Marriage Encounter weekend, the idea was that a couple would
continue the dialogue they had begun on the Encounter Weekend. Thus my father and mother were taught this
technique: Spend 10 minutes dwelling on
a feeling(s) about a certain
topic, write
these feelings down in their notebooks and then spend ten minutes sharing these
feelings with each other. The fact of
the matter is that there are many more composition books in my mother’s lovely
hand-writing and a whole lot less in my Dad’s distinctive script. Strange that out of stacks and stacks of composition
books, Diane, picked up this one and opened to this particular page. On the
front of the copybook my mother wrote two things – her name Rita Fries and this message in
quotations, “The only true gift is a portion of thyself”.
The question that my parents were pondering this particular
day was this: “What are my feelings
about my childhood?”
These are my mother’s own words, written in her own beautiful
hand.
“I feel fortunate and grateful for my childhood. My earliest recollections are of Halsey Street
and the ground floor apartment we had there.
I use to sleep with my sisters in a folding bed in the living room or
front room. I can remember laying in the
bed and listening to the neighbors talking outside our window. I can’t remember
the conversations but I know it use to intrigue me. The trolley cars passed in front of our house
and once I was sick with scarlet fever and they kept me awake. My father promised to have them take a
different route or stop running at night. His assurance contented me so I was
able to sleep.
Christmas was a time of year I especially remember. Each of us had his or her chair with gifts
laid out on Christmas morning. We awoke
before dawn to see what Santa had brought and quickly ran in to show my mother
and dad the new doll, which was always there.
We always got a few other toys – coloring books, story books or games,
but always it seemed more than we had asked Santa to bring. These wonderful Christmases went on for me
till I was nine or ten. Then one year Maureen discovered the same books in our
pile from Santa as she had seen a week or two before Christmas in our
storeroom. That was the last year Santa
came for us. My mother invited us to
help prepare for Anne, Dot and Joe’s Christmas gifts from Santa but the thrill
was never quite the same. I’ll have to
continue or elaborate on this question another night. “
( Like I often do, I don’t
think my mother ever got back to this subject).
This following section was at the top of the page that pertained to
the Coleman Family ( which I posted on March 23rd, 2017)
The first born of Thomas
Joseph O'Donnell and Margaret Mary Coleman O'Donnell was born on the 25th of
March 1917. Although I didn't realize it at the time, it happened to be me -
Rita Mary O'Donnell. I was born at home at 50 Howard Avenue between Jefferson
and Putnam Avenues across the street from Bushwick Hospital in Brooklyn. At
that time, the section was called Bushwick. Today the area is considered a part
of Bedford Stuyvesant.
As was customary in those
days, I was born at home. My mother engaged Mrs. Willet, a nurse, to be with
her during her confinement. When my mother felt certain that my birth was
imminent, she begged Mrs. Willet to call Dr. Stevens, the doctor she had
engaged for the delivery. This officious lady refused her request. The result -
I was born before the doctor's arrival. Needless to say, my mother did not hire
nurse Willet for the birth of her other children.
Thank you, Mom, for giving me a portion of yourself, the
only true gift.
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