Treasured Memories of My Mother by Mary Axsom Johnson

My first love was my mother. I was her first born and her name sake. She was Mary "Pauline". I am Mary Jean.

When recent January temperatures plummeted below zero with dangerous wind chills, schools and senior center's activities were canceled. Persons were warned of hypothermia and advised to dress in layers. This took me back to when I was 6 years old and in the first grade at a one room country school a mile from home.

The weather had turned brutally cold during the day. Mom came to the school to escort me safely home. Before we ventured out, she wrapped a scarf around my head, covering my nose and mouth. Only my eyes were exposed as we battled the unrelenting wind. I knew even then that the essence of a mother's love is sacrifice.

Mom and her 4 siblings had all graduated from this grade school. She had a life long love of spelling, "Wheel of Fortune" was her favorite game show and "Scrabble" was her favorite board game. She regretted not having the privilege of attending high school. Her dad died when she was barely 15. This, of course, caused hardships. Later in life, after mom's children were grown, she strived to get her GED.

One of my favorite memories, as a little girl, was seeing the movie, "Little Women" with mom. Like me, she loved to read and Louisa May Alcott was one of her favorite authors.

Mom liked to whistle while she worked. She was artistic, loved pretty colors, flowers, journaling, genealogy and embroidery. Her lime pickles were wonderful. She, like I, had learned to cook on a wood stove. She gave me permission to cook and bake with the understanding that I had to clean up my messes. At age 15, I won a blue ribbon for my yeast dinner rolls at the Grundy County Fair. Dad would preferred pie could expect a homemade pie baked by mom on his birthdays.

To encourage her children to try new things and not give too quckly, Mom would tell us, "Can't never did anything!" Her encouragement that I could do better than a first attempt for a 4-H competition, prompted me to start anew. As a result, I won 3 blue ribbons locally and again in interstate competition.

When Moberly Park in Trenton offered swimming lessons, mom was enthusiastic about joining her 2 teenage daughters.

During my sophomore year of high school, mom worked at the Bulldog Inn directly across the street (west) from the high school and junior college building. I enjoyed the camaraderie we shared those times I got a study hall pass to go help her prepare for the lunch crowd.

When a girlfriend Phyllis and I planned to come to Kansas City to seek work, dad wanted mom to accompany us. We were 2 naïve, country girls, so I was glad that mom helped us to get settled in an apartment.

In my story, "MY DAD, MY HERO" I wrote of the challenges and triumphs that mom and dad experienced including moving to California in 1964 and losing their youngest son Roger in 1987.

In March 1992, mom was diagnosed with malignant lymphoma. My brother Bernard, sister Freeda, and I were all with her during her 5th chemo treatment on August 7th.

Once mom began taking chemo, she lost her hair. It was difficult to keep a wig from shifting around on her bald head. She joked, "I guess I'll have to use a thumbtack to keep it in place!" I marveled at her extraordinary wit and sense of humor.

On September 22, a cat scan showed no signs of cancer. Our happiness was short lived. On October 20, she found a lump in her neck. A doctor thought more chemo would be in vain.

On October 27, mom wrote in her daily log: I'll just put myself in God's hands and accept his will, as best I can.

Many were the times mom cared for me when I was not well. She was a comfort during my heartbreak when widowed. So, without a moment's hesitation,I responded, "Yes! I'll come, help dad care for you!" She and dad had lovingly cared for Roger during his terminal illness and I knew they would have done the same for me.

When I arrived in San Jose on December 1 to help Freeda care for mom, she was concerned about our rest and dad eating right. Her love for her family knew no bounds.

A week or two prior, mom had gone with dad to Oak Hill Mortuary to plan and pay for their funerals. She did not want to leave dad burdened with this difficult task.

Mom died at home on December 6, 1992. She never made the headlines or received public acclaim, but she was a special breed to her family.

In a letter of condolences to the family, mom's doctor wrote that she had made the bravest decision to opt for quality of life rather to prolong it with more chemo.

If I was to choose one word to best describe my mother, I think it would be resilient.

THE END

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aunt mary late made some changes...will note them here.

When I re-read my story about mom, I see a boo boo on page 2. It should read Dad who (not Dad would.) I was copying it over seated at a table at the senior ctr. in order to get photocopy.) with others talking at the table. And on page 3 I goofed and should not have changed the sentence about camaraderie. Either way would be ok. I believe though when re-reading it that I like we shared better than she and I.

I can't recall what mom's swimsuit looked like. It may have had a shirt. I think she always wrapped a towel around her hips until she reached the pools edge. She thought that learning to swim might one day be lifesaving knowledge. I think the paragraph needs something more, but I'm blank.

On page 2, I've added card games after genealogy. Mom loved to play Skipbo. I have many fond memories of card games at your parent's, your grandparents and my parent's tables. At the end of the first paragraph page 2 I've added: She had many passions and interests but none greater than her family.

a lady reading my story pointed out that I left out the word up (not give up.)

page 4 to (crossed out) than prolonging.

after daughters, page 2: enthusiastic about her taking lessons with her. She thought it would be a valuable skill. Shopping for swimsuits was fun. And the lessons proved to be also.

P.S. after ending: After mom's death, Larry Axsom, editor of the national newsletter, wrote me: your mother had a sense of thoroughness and accuracy that few people I've worked with possess.

of course, any typos are mine. deb