Memories of Gussie

I fondly refer to my mother as the queen of cliché.  She passed away when I was five months pregnant with my first daughter.  She was an amazing woman.  She grew up with her three sisters in Brooklyn, New York in very difficult times.  Her mother was not able at times, to take care of these four beautiful girls and they were sent to a convent, where strict nuns did unspeakable things in the name of discipline.  Times are different now, and we know from scientific research that children grow and thrive better in loving, nurturing circumstances.  For this, I am grateful.

My mother did not graduate from high school.  I believe she completed the eighth grade.  despite her limited education, she was a very wise woman.  She had people sense, heart sense.  She was street wise.  She was passionate.  She knew how to love, really love, completely, unconditionally.  She not only raised my sister and me, she helped neighborhood families raise their kids when mothers left their children with fathers who were not equipped to deal with the huge task of raising their motherless children.  She helped moms take care of their children when dad had to travel and be away much of the time, because he drove a truck far and wide to support his family.  The neighborhood children and their parents have not forgotten.  They connect with me, my sister and my father, even now because of their adoration and gratitude for what my mother did.  My mother lives on in their memories of her, baking pizza and chocolate chip cookies.  Her first question to someone who showed up on her doorstep for a visit was “Have you eaten yet?”  And of course if the answer was “No”, she would feed you, first, because no one should ever go hungry.  Nothing like a full belly to say ” Can you feel the love?’

She often would sit a boy down at our dining room table for a “talk” to my dismay and horror.  “You really like my daughter, don’t you.  I have to warn you, she is very fickle and I don’t want to see you get hurt.  If you like her too much, she will drop you like a hot potato.”  But what can I say?  She was right.  I was fickle.  That was my mother…brutally honest and authentic, looking out for people she did not really know, loving everyone who crossed her path.

Some of my mother’s favorite clichés: “With friends like that, who needs enemies.”  “Who died and made you boss?”  “Give her an inch and she takes a mile.”  And, my personal favorite: “God helps those who help themselves.”