Remembering My Mother, "The Writer"

 

My mother, Rita Mary O’Donnell Fries, loved to write.  She wanted to be a writer and I guess you could say she was a writer because when she died she left behind a massive amount of loose-leaf binders and copybooks and stray pieces of paper filled with her words and little stories from her life.

Twenty-two years ago today, November 19, 1998, my mother’s spirit left her physical body.   I watched her leave that day and I knew for certain she no longer resided there.  Have you ever had that experience?  You can tell the person you know and love has left the premises.

What better way to remember my mother than share a random entry from one of her many journals.  This was dated
“Friday, January 5, 1979

It’s almost midnight. I was extremely tired and Charlie offered to finish cleaning the kitchen.  We had a marvelous evening with Donna, Marty Jr. and Shannon.  Marty, Sr. went out with the boys after work. He starts a new job on Monday and will be working out of Water Street.  He said this was not a party. The party is next week.   Joe Fries called tonight and said he was Santa Claus.  Little Shannon got on the phone and said:  “Hello Santa Claus, thank you for my presents and my doll.”

Donna brought in some beef soup which was delicious.  We had roast chicken, macaroni, grated carrots and zucchini. Marty grabbed a bite when he got home.  Donna and the children made cookies with me.  They gave me a beautiful cookie cutter set “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.  There are recipes for making Christmas tree ornaments using them. Marty and Shannon are a joy to have around.  Charlie fixed the electrical shooting game that George sent to Marty.

We saw Charlie, Jr. for a moment.  He was on his way home to Valley Stream with Helen and the children.  I gave him the dungarees Donna exchanged for me.  A Christmas present for Charlie the third.

I finished “Are You There, God? It’s me, Margaret” by Judy Blume.

A strange thing happened today.  A black dog that resembled “Blackie” followed the mailman from around the corner to our house.  Charlie asked if we could keep him.  I couldn’t refuse under the circumstances.  It was like Blackie reincarnated.  But, he didn’t stay.