Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandmoms and special women in a child’s life.
I want to pay tribute to my mother, and send her some virtual roses.
Ours was not a storybook relationship for many years, and it’s only been in the maturity of my own adulthood that I’ve learned to appreciate all she did for me.
The product of an unsettled and emotionally unhealthy childhood, my mother came to marriage and parenthood totally unprepared. Being abandoned as a child and growing up in an orphanage hardly qualifies as a firm foundation for loving and giving. And that’s what motherhood is all about. Loving so fiercely it-carries you through all the bad times, and knowing when and how to give your children back their lives.
My mother did all of that and more.
Not in the traditional sense, because she didn’t know how, but in her determination and courage. When her marriage fell apart and she was faced with raising two kids by herself, it was almost like history repeating itself, except she didn’t make the same choice her mother did.
My mother and her sister were put in an orphanage as young girls and didn’t see their mother again for many years. My mother kept us together as a family the best way she could, teaching us something about loyalty I overlooked for too many years.
During my childhood our home life was erratic and unpredictable at best, the makings of a best-selling novel at worst, but we survived. And through it all, she was there, trying and failing and trying again.
Now, looking back, I realize that even in her failings there was success. My sister and I are both reasonably mature, healthy adults and we didn’t get there by ourselves. Sure we carry around a little excess emotional baggage from our past, but doesn’t everybody?
Nobody is ever completely put together emotionally, and considering the odds against her so many years ago, I figure my mother did an outstanding job.
So I’d like to take this opportunity to say thank you, Mom. Thank you for the years, good and bad, which have made me who I am, and thank you for showing me there’s more to loving than saying the words we still too often find so hard to express.
This column was written in 2015 and since then Evelyn Evolving, the story of her life has been published by Next Chapter Publishing. Check it out if you’d like to read the “rest of her story” as Paul Harvey used to say.
I’d like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to my mother, and send her some virtual roses.
Ours was not a storybook relationship for many years, and it’s only been in the maturity of my own adulthood that I’ve learned to appreciate all she did for me.
The product of an unsettled and emotionally unhealthy childhood, my mother came to marriage and parenthood totally unprepared. Being abandoned as a child and growing up in an orphanage hardly qualifies as a firm foundation for loving and giving. And that’s what motherhood is all about. Loving so fiercely it-carries you through all the bad times, and knowing when and how to give your children back their lives.
My mother did all of that and more.
Not in the traditional sense, because she didn’t know how, but in her determination and courage. When her marriage fell apart and she was faced with raising two kids by herself, it was almost like history repeating itself, except she didn’t make the same choice her mother did.
My mother and her sister were put in an orphanage as young girls and didn’t see their mother again for many years. My mother kept us together as a family the best way she could, teaching us something about loyalty I overlooked for too many years.
During my childhood our home life was erratic and unpredictable at best, the makings of a best-selling novel at worst, but we survived. And through it all, she was there, trying and failing and trying again.
Now, looking back, I realize that even in her failings there was success. My sister and I are both reasonably mature, healthy adults and we didn’t get there by ourselves. Sure we carry around a little excess emotional baggage from our past, but doesn’t everybody?
Nobody is ever completely put together emotionally, and considering the odds against her so many years ago, I figure my mother did an outstanding job.
So I’d like to take this opportunity to say thank you, Mom. Thank you for the years, good and bad, which have made me who I am, and thank you for showing me there’s more to loving than saying the words we still too often find so hard to express.
This column was first written in 2010 and since then Evelyn Evolving, the story of my mother’s life has been published by Next Chapter Publishing. Check it out if you’d like to read the “rest of her story” as Paul Harvey used to say.
Enjoy and excerpt from the book and meet Evelyn as a small child.
CHAPTER ONE – EVELYN – June 1923
Evelyn Gundrum sat in the shade of the leaves adorning the branches of the sweeping elm, digging in the sandy dirt with a tarnished silver spoon Miz Beatrice had given her to play with. She also had a blue plastic bowl. It was cracked, but still held dirt if she balanced it carefully. When she was allowed to go outside, Evelyn liked to play in the sand near the front porch, methodically filling the bowl, dumping it out, then filling it again. Her sister, two years older, thought that was silly. Viola preferred to stay on the porch with her dolls, closer to Miz Beatrice, who sat on the porch swing, slowly pushing it back and forth with one toe on the faded wood planking.
Only five years old, Evelyn didn’t remember why they were living with Miz Beatrice, or why they didn’t call her mother. Evelyn couldn’t remember for sure how long they had been here, either. She had vague recollections of living somewhere else before, but she got confused easily, and Viola had to explain why they were supposed to call this lady Miz Beatrice. Wasn’t she their mother? “No,” Viola had said. “Our mother brought us here months ago. Beatrice is a friend.”
“Why did Mother give us to Miz Beatrice?”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
Viola sighed. “Okay. But this is the last time. Promise you won’t ask again.”
“What if I forget?”
“Then you forget. I’m tired of telling you. After Daddy left, Mother went to Detroit with a man named, John.”
“Why did Daddy leave?”
“I don’t know. Now hush so I can tell you the rest. Mother said she was going to come and take us to Detroit, too, but something happened and she couldn’t. So, she took us here and wants us to live with Miz Beatrice.”
Evelyn wasn’t even sure where “here” was, but she did remember that Viola told her before that Detroit was far, far away. Now and then, her mind worried over the reason that their mother had not taken them to that place called Detroit. Mothers didn’t leave babies. That’s what Miz Beatrice had said when showing them the kittens under the porch last summer. That day, Miz Beatrice had been putting some food under there for the mama cat.
They weren’t supposed to feed that cat, even though Evelyn would sneak her a piece of bacon when Miz Beatrice wasn’t looking, but the cat was supposed to catch the mice that often got into the bags of flour in the pantry. If that was so, Evelyn wondered aloud why Miz Beatrice was feeding the cat. Miz Beatrice said, “She needs food here so she’ll stay close until the kittens are older.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re too little to take care of themselves,” Miz Beatrice said. “This mama cat will stay here for several weeks to feed and protect the kittens.”
“But she didn’t,” Viola said. “She pushed that one away yesterday. It died.”
“It was the runt.” Miz Beatrice sighed and rose slowly to her feet. “It wasn’t going to live.”
The kittens were gone now. And so was the mother cat. Miz Beatrice had no good explanation about why they were gone. Maybe the mama cat had taken them off to the woods behind the house. They’d get another cat to take care of the mice.
Evelyn still didn’t understand about that kitten that had died. Why the mama cat pushed it away. She didn’t know what Miz Beatrice meant about the kitten being a runt. Only that there was something wrong with it. Was there something wrong with her, too? And Viola? Is that why their mother had left them here?
Evelyn tried not to think about that, and Viola had been firm about no more questions. So, Evelyn thought about nice things. Lots of time to play. Smiles from Miz Beatice. A comfortable bed at night. And good food to eat.
Today was going to be a special day. That’s what Miz Beatrice had said at breakfast this morning. A surprise guest was coming, and now Evelyn’s tummy was full of eggs and toast, and she was wearing her favorite sundress, yellow sprinkled with white daisies. When they came outside, Miz Beatrice told her to be careful not to get the dress dirty, so Evelyn pushed the skirt between her knees as she squatted to dig in the dirt. The sun streamed through the branches of the tree, making light and dark dance on the sand with every wisp of a breeze. Birds sat on high branches, adding their song to the dance, and every now and then a bit of conversation between Miz Beatrice and Viola floated her way.
“Please tell me who’s coming?”
“No, child. You must be surprised like your sister.”
The questions Viola asked stirred more excitement, and Evelyn’s stomach fluttered with anticipation. Then the voices faded, and Evelyn heard only the song of the birds as she played.
Moments later, a cloud passed over the sun and Evelyn shivered in the sudden chill. Miz Beatrice had been right about it being too early in the summer for a sundress. Maybe she should go change.
Evelyn stood and started toward the house, noticing that Miz Beatrice was slumped on the porch swing asleep. Lately she’d taken to sleeping frequently during the day, which Evelyn thought was very odd. Only babies took naps. Right?
Miz Beatrice didn’t eat much at dinner or supper anymore either, and Viola had said the other day that maybe they were running out of food. For some reason, Viola always worried that they would run out of food. But Evelyn had a feeling something wasn’t right inside Miz Beatrice. Once, she had walked past the open bathroom door and saw Miss Beatrice hunched over the sink. She was coughing hard, holding a rumpled handkerchief over her mouth, and Evelyn had seen bold splatters of red on the white fabric before Miz Beatrice noticed her and pushed the door closed with her hip. While Evelyn knew that the splatters were probably from blood – she’d cut herself often enough to recognize the spots – she didn’t know what the blood might mean. Yet she did know that it was probably not right that it was on the handkerchief. The fact that it was, had shot a bolt of fear so deep that Evelyn couldn’t say a word about it, not even to her sister.
But if Miz Beatrice was sick, Viola should know, so she could help figure what to do if the lady died and left them all alone.
Evelyn glanced at her sister, who was next to Miz Beatrice on the swing. Maybe she could tell her now. It looked like Miz Beatrice was good and asleep. She started to walk toward the porch steps but turned when she heard the sound of a motor. A big gray car rumbled to a stop in front of the house, and a tall woman wearing a navy-blue dress with white ruffles at the top, white gloves and a hat with a wide, curved brim got out. When the woman walked toward the house, the dress flared around her legs, lifted at the hem by a slight breeze. It was not any of the ladies who visited Miz Beatrice before, and curiosity distracted Evelyn from her worries.
Suddenly, Viola jumped up, raced down the four steps to the front walk and launched herself at the woman. “Mother!”
The lady disengaged herself from Viola’s wild embrace and just stood for a moment, looking first at Viola, then up the walk toward Evelyn.
Mother?
Another chill washed over Evelyn. This lady was their mother? She didn’t know if she should run to hug her, too, but then Miz Beatrice roused and called out. “Regina. It’s good that you could come so quickly.”
Miz Beatrice slowly rose from the swing and walked to meet the lady at the steps to the porch. The two women hugged, and Viola ran over and tugged at Evelyn. “Come on. Say hello to Mother.”
Evelyn planted her feet in the sand, and Viola tugged again. “Come on!”
Cautiously, Evelyn took a few steps closer. “Hello.” The word was barely a whisper.
The woman who was Mother leaned down and touched Evelyn lightly on the cheek. “You’re a pretty little thing.”
“Both of your girls are quite lovely,” Miz Beatrice said. “Please come inside. We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
The two women entered the house, leaving the girls in the yard.
Once more, Viola tugged at Evelyn. “Let’s go listen.”
More willing to eavesdrop than talk to a stranger, Evelyn crept quietly into the house, following Viola to the doorway to the kitchen, careful to stay out of sight. After a few moments, Evelyn dared to peek around the doorjamb and saw Miz Beatrice pouring glasses of lemonade. Miz Beatrice made the best lemonade, and Evelyn wished she could have a glass. She started to step into the kitchen to ask for one, but Viola held her back.
“I’m thirsty,” Evelyn said.
“Shhhh.” Viola held her fingers to her lips.
“Girls? What are you doing out there?” Not much escaped Miz Beatrice’s sharp hearing or watchful eyes.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Viola said in a quiet whisper. Then she called out. “Nothing Miz Beatrice.”
“Then go do nothing somewhere else.”
Evelyn followed Viola back out to the porch and scrambled up on the swing. “Push me.”
If Viola sat on the edge of the swing and stretched her leg as far as she could, she could toe the swing into action like Miz Beatrice. So that’s what she did. “Maybe mother came to take us home,” Viola said after a moment, raising her foot and letting the swing slowly sway back and forth.
“I don’t understand.”
Viola put her foot down and gave the swing another push. “You were too little to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Anything. You keep forgetting everything. I have to keep telling you things over and over again.”
Evelyn thought about Miz Beatrice maybe being sick. Was that what brought their mother here? Was everything going to change? “Are we going to have to move?”
“I don’t know.” Viola jumped off the swing. “Stop asking so many questions.”
Evelyn fought back tears. She always made her sister mad. She didn’t mean to, but she always did. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but Viola was already off the porch and running around the side of the house to the backyard.
Evelyn kept waiting for something to make sense, but nothing that was happening did. That night at supper silence was served up with the ham and potatoes. Miz Beatrice always said that suppertime should be pleasant, and she often had stories to tell as they ate a meal. Sometimes she even told jokes, but tonight she was more reserved. Because of the company?
Appetites were not as usual either. Evelyn’s stomach was so tight with nerves, she had to force each morsel of food down her throat. The visitor took the smallest portions of mashed potatoes and green beans, and hardly took more than a nibble of each. She just pushed her beans into her potatoes and stirred them around. Evelyn couldn’t quite believe this woman was really their mother, no matter what Viola said. So maybe Evelyn should just call her Regina like Miz Beatrice did.
No, she should say Miz Regina. That was the polite way to address an adult.
Knowing she didn’t dare leave food on her plate, Evelyn forced down her few remaining bites of potatoes, and then looked over to Miz Beatrice. “Finished. Excuse please?”
“Not yet. Your mother has something to say.”
“No, no. You tell them,” Miz Regina said. “They’re more comfortable with you.”
Miz Beatrice sighed and held her breath so long Evelyn wondered if she was ever going to speak. Then she stuttered over her words. “Well, uh… I—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. There is no need for such dramatics.” Miz Regina looked intently at each girl for a moment. “This is what you need to know. You can no longer stay here. Beatrice has The Cancer, so she can’t keep you anymore. I can’t take you back with me, so I’ve made arrangements for you to go to another home here.”
The words spun around in Evelyn’s head, and all she caught was “Cancer” and “I can’t take you back.”
If Miz Regina was their mother, why couldn’t she?
Viola voiced the other question, “What kind of home?”
~*~
The next day, Viola helped Evelyn pack her few panties and two other dresses in the small suitcase they shared. At breakfast that morning Miz Regina had made it clear what they could bring with them, some clothes and one small toy, but that was all. She told them that the institution where they were going had firm rules. Evelyn didn’t understand about an institution. She had never heard that word before, but the cold sweat of apprehension had kept her from asking what it meant.
Now, Evelyn was overcome with uncertainty. She stood for several minutes, looking at the small shelf that held her toys; a rag doll that Miz Beatrice had made, an empty wooden spool, three wooden blocks with numbers and letters, and a small metal horse. What should she take? It was so hard to decide. She loved them all and each was so special.
“Hurry up,” Viola said. “We have to leave soon. Here, take the doll.”
“No.” Evelyn whirled away from the shelf and ran outside where she grabbed the silver spoon from the sand pile. When she came back in, Viola said, “That’s what you’re taking?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Why?”
Evelyn shrugged and started to put the spoon in the suitcase. Viola reached over and snatched it away. “Don’t. It’s dirty. Go wash it.”
A few minutes later, Miz Regina came and told the girls to hurry. She hustled them out the door and into the back seat of the car, barely giving them time to hug Miz Beatrice. Evelyn tried not to cry when she said goodbye, but a few warm tears escaped and trickled down her cheeks. She clambered into the car next to Viola and waited until Miz Regina said her goodbyes and got behind the wheel. Evelyn had never been in a car before, at least not that she could remember, and when the engine started, the noise it made drowned out the music of the birds and Evelyn could barely hear Miz Beatrice calling out one last farewell.
A short time later, the girls sat in an office at St. Aemilian’s Orphan Asylum while their mother talked to a lady dressed all in black. The woman in black wore a funny white thing on her head that hid her hair and was so tight on her face there were ridges where it met her cheeks. A black veil was draped over the white thing. Evelyn knew it was not polite to stare. Miz Beatrice had told her that once at the market when they had seen a woman with a large wart on her chin, so Evelyn glanced down at the suitcase that stood on the floor between the chairs.
Words that were exchanged between the two women drifted in and out of Evelyn’s awareness, and she rested one hand on the suitcase, trying to stay connected to the things that belonged to the time with Miz Beatrice; to the time when they were all happy. Listening to her mother and the other woman talk, Evelyn had a sense that this might be the end of happy.
Apparently, this is where she going to stay; Viola, too. Miz Regina told the lady that she had no room for her girls in Detroit. She also had no money. That seemed odd, as she certainly wore a nice dress and she drove a car. Miz Beatrice had old, faded dresses and no car. She walked to the market. But she had been able to keep Evelyn and Viola.
Evelyn glanced at her sister, who had formed her face into an expressionless mask. Questions bubbled up inside Evelyn that she wanted to ask her sister. Primarily, why did their mother keep calling them “her girls” instead of using their names? But the hard set of her sister’s jaw made her force the questions down.
Maybe later she could free the questions. When Viola might be smiling again.
Miz Regina twisted the handkerchief she was holding as she listened to the woman in black. When papers were pushed across the desk for Miz Regina to sign, she put the handkerchief in her lap before picking up the offered pen. Evelyn looked at the handkerchief, lying there in a crumpled mass, then reached over and pulled it quickly to her. Then she stuffed it into the pocket of her dress. She wasn’t sure why. She just did it.
Once the papers were in order, Miz Regina stood and grabbed up her purse, not saying a word. She turned and quickly hugged each of the girls, barely a touch, and then walked out of the room.
When they had first driven up to this place, Evelyn thought the tall, gray building, shaded by large trees, was pretty. Some of the trees were covered in white blossoms, and they looked just like the tree in Miz Beatrice’s backyard. Late in the summer it gave them pears. Children played on an expanse of lawn, and Evelyn had wondered if this was some kind of school. Wouldn’t it be nice to stay at a school and learn things?
Now she didn’t think it was going to be so nice.
Tears burned in her eyes.
Evelyn leaned close to Viola and whispered. “Where are we?”
“It’s an orphanage,” Viola hissed back.
“A what?”
“A place for orphans.”
“What are orphans?”
Viola sighed and whispered, “Children who have no parents.”
“But—”
The lady in black cut off the question, taking each girl by the arm and leading them out of the office and down a long hall that opened into a large room. “This is the girl’s ward,” the woman said. “This is where you will sleep.”
The room was lined with bunk beds along all four walls, and the woman stopped at one set. “There is a wooden bin under the bed,” she said, pointing. “Put your things there. Stay here until the bell rings for lunch. You may call me Sister Honora. Do you understand?”
Evelyn glanced at Viola, who nodded, so Evelyn did, too.
“Is she our sister?” Evelyn asked after the woman left.
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I don’t know.”
Evelyn looked around, trying to count all the empty beds. She kept losing track of the numbers, but there were a lot. Definitely more than twenty. A chill made her shudder and she pulled her sweater tight. “I’m scared.”
Viola squatted down and hauled the bin from under the bed. She took things out of her suitcase and put them inside the bin, dividing the space with her rolled up sweater. “This is your half,” she said, pointing to the side that was empty.
“Is our mother going to come back and get us?”
Viola didn’t answer. Her lips became a tight, straight line.
“Will we see Miz Beatrice again?”
Viola stood so quickly, Evelyn had to take a step back.
“Stop! Stop! Stop your stupid questions!”
Sobs burst out of Evelyn. She tried to stop them, but they defied her. Viola opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then closed it. After a long moment, her expression softened, and she drew Evelyn to her chest, whispering, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
That scared Evelyn even more. Viola always knew everything. If she stopped knowing, who could Evelyn rely on?
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And Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandmoms and special women in a child’s life.
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