As this Mother's Day arrives, I find myself wondering how my own mother managed as well as she did.
After helping to raise three children of my own, I take some time now to think back about the similar family situation when I was a child and I find myself impressed more than ever with how our family made it through those times.
In years when my father got involved with the WPA, the government make-work agency that did so much, my mother, who had been proud of her work as a fancy stitcher in shoe shops, gave that up to run the house.
This was a time we called the Depression, and what amazes me today is that I can never remember not having enough to eat, or not having decent clothes, or being deprived of things that made life interesting, like Boy Scout uniforms.
Where did it all come from? How did the pay of a working man stretch out to feed, clothe and educate three healthy teenagers?
It had to be the work and management of my mother, and she did it well, without seeking credit — and for that matter letting others take credit.
For some reason which escapes me, I try to not go overboard with sentimentality about Mother's Day and other such observances. But there are times when I manage to turn loose and express myself, and I guess this is one of them.
She was a dignified and friendly woman, and as far as I can remember, everyone liked her. For instance, I still hear from people who were taking care of her in the last stages of her life, when she was a patient at the old Glynn Memorial, the city hospital. They all speak well of her, and I appreciate that. She was at the Glynn because she heard from her friends and others that this was a good place to be, with a friendly and caring staff that treated everyone well.
I found that to be true, and I hope I let them know how I felt and how much I appreciated their work.
She lived to be older than 90, and I am now experiencing the feelings and circumstances she talked about when it came to extending one's life. It got lonesome at the end, she said, because she outlived all her high school classmates, all the people with whom she and my father played cards, the people she met at church and even some of the other people from the senior housing neighborhood she met when she was there.
I hope some of her values have been passed on to me and other members of the family. I know, from what I have heard in recent years, she was a great temporary mother when things were rough for relatives and she is still appreciated, which is a lot of comfort to me.
There is a family lot at the very end of St. James Cemetery, overlooking the railroad tracks and Little River, and from that site, when there are no leaves on the trees, you can catch a glimpse of our family house on Willie Street, and I like to think that was a good place to grow up, with good neighbors and a good home atmosphere. Not that things were always serene (they certainly were not), but everything worked out in every crisis, and I look back and credit my mother with being the calming influence, the peacemaker who kept life on an even keel.
That is the way I will think of her today, as the one who kept our family intact and running for so many years, and that is the way I want to keep her memory. I was lucky to have her.
Barney Gallagher has covered Haverhill since 1936 as a reporter, editor and columnist.
