Tuesday, 13 May 2014
HAPPY MEMORIES OF MOM
If I try real hard, I can remember happy times with my mom. For instance, I remember those occasions when she read fairy tales to me and my sister Diane. She sometimes used to teach us nursery rhymes when we were very young. During my early childhood, the drudgery of looking after us hadn't worn her down to the point of apathy yet.
I remember when she used to bathe us when I was very young. When she pulled the towel between my legs to dry them, I pretended I was riding a wild horse. For a brief moment, both of us were happy.
Mom rarely laughed about things which were genuinely funny. One of those incidents was when she took the lid off of the ringer washer one afternoon. I came running down the basement stairs to find out what the joke was. Mom pointed to the ceiling where a perfect circle of suds had risen. I grew excited as I asked her to make another circle rise again so I could see it. When she said it wouldn't work a second time, I felt disappointed. Even so, the incident stayed with me.
If I flog my memory, I can recall Mom tucking me into bed with my sister. She also comforted me when I had nightmares on a few occasions.
Having an alcoholic husband and two handicapped boys was hard on Mom. My family was the one which the town folk often gossiped about. The fights and interventions by the RCMP fueled their gloating over our problems. My foul language and my brother's tantrums didn't help either.
Anybody could understand why affection was often lacking in our house, especially during my teenage years. Even so, I remember one day in May of 1974 when Mom actually hugged me for doing something right. A few weeks before, she foolishly used a wet wash rag to clean the top of a radio I had bought from a second hand shop. Something shorted out inside the cabinet and the receiver no longer worked. I took it to my electronics class and got it working again. I believe that was the last time Mom hugged me.
Mom now lives in a nursing home in a city about an hour's drive from Radway. If I can get a ride to the home this summer, I might be able to see her one last time. I hope nothing goes wrong during the visit and no bad feelings from the past arise.
I mentioned my mother in all three of my paperbacks. The first two are featured on the Bruce Atchison's Books page. How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity is available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.