Writing Zazen

Thursday, 7 December 2006

Memorial – My Mother

Filed under: Daily Practice,I Remember — Silent Warrior @ 6:59 am

7Dec06 Thursday 6:07am

Well it’s today. My mother passed away 10 years ago today. I’ve lit some candles in her honour.

My mother would be 64 years old. Still very young. Still younger than most of my friends parents. My mother would love the Internet and digital cameras and itunes.

My mother had a grade 6 education having been kicked out of school for hitting a kid in the head with an ink bottle after he’d called her a nigger. When she got home and told her father he’d beat her for being a trouble maker and only after he’d beat her got the whole story and went back to the school to tell off the teacher who’d sided with the boy. My mother who won all the singing contests and wanted to be a Country singer. Her first contest , she’d lost, because she was too shy and kept looking down at the stage. Her father beat that shyness out of her. His answer to everything was a beating. My mother who didn’t have a belly button because she was born sickly and all the operations she’d had as a baby left without one. She was a sickly baby and cried a lot and her mother couldn’t take it so she gave my mother to her father who was married to someone else. Yeah my mother had stories for sure. It’s any wonder that I like to write.

My mother was a charismatic person and made friends with every one including my step father’s ex wife. She could go to a store twice and end up having the salespeople loving her so much that they’d give her merchandise for free. I don’t have those qualities or patience. She honestly believed that there was good in every one and if you gave someone enough chances he’d become that good person that she could picture in her mind’s eye. She would let anyone in her house, people that weren’t particularly nice to her, women that were after her man. I had no patience for it. “It’s your house mom, you don’t have to be nice to people like that in your own house,” I’d say.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” she’d tell me. That has yet to happen.

My mother was a runner, living most of her adult life incognito, after we ran from my father who was a violent alcoholic. She endured violence and pain and humiliation and she still managed to wake up each morning with a smile on her face. Some of our best laughs were the first thing in the morning. She was superstitious, believing such things like, “If you laugh all day, you’ll cry all night” and “everything comes in threes.”

She was zany and would change the words to sweet songs into sex songs. One of my favorite past times. Our big thing was to come up with a song that matched the words that one of us just spoke and if we couldn’t we’d make up a song.

With my mother, I went to night clubs at 13 years old. I hung out with adults. We smoked joints and played frisbee on the Mountain.
We had drink nights at home, just the two of us, where we listened to music and tried all kinds of wines and even did tequila shots. We were the envy of all mothers. She was the first person that knew when I was ready to have my first sexual experience with my boyfriend of 4 years. She was the first person that I told what I was thinking.

My mother made so many mistakes in life and endured so many failures and believed and loved and loved some more. She picked the runt of the litter every single time. She rescued strays (animals and humans). She was allergic to everything in her house (cats, dogs, birds, carpeting) and refused to give them up or get the shots. She survived with bottles of Otrivin strategically placed around the house. She was a music lover and we always had the latest music and a state of the art music system despite my step father’s complaints that spending money on music was frivolous. She’d sneak the new records in the house when he wasn’t looking. She was a plant fanatic and had exotic plants from all over the world. Plants that she’d have to soak in water for 24 hours and all sorts of craziness. She couldn’t walk past a plant store without staying in there for at least an hour. That’s me with book stores.

She had a grade 6 education and was the smartest person I knew. My step father mocked her for her lack of University degree and she had self esteem issues and yet when ever he needed to understand something, it was my mother he asked for the explanation. I knew because of my mother that you can educate yourself without school. She absorbed everything and when she decided she wanted to know how to do something she’d immerse herself in the books and she’d learn how to do it. a Grade 6 education! I have yet to meet anyone that I feel was as smart as my mother.

She knew people from all walks of life, from drug dealers, pimps, bank robbers, doctors, club owners and right on up and she never judged anyone for who they decided to be and what they decided to do.

Yeah she was my mommy, my sister, my best friend. She was the person I fought with the most and the person I turned to to cry and the person I told everything and the person I’d give my youth to if it were possible. She was the person that I’d kill for and the person I protected, much to my Step dad’s fear. There will never be another person whose death will be harder on me than losing my mother.

Ten years is a long time for so many things like being at a job or studying and yet such a short time for mourning the death of my mother. Alice Patricia Norville… Pisces Horse.

EY

Advertisements

Leave a Comment »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: