There is a woman who embodies everything I have ever wanted
to be. The positive energy emanating from this person just swirls around her
and fills the room. Her laugh cracks through the air and she is very quick to
give you a big, warm smile, even if you have yet to be formally introduced. She
isn’t happy because life is easy and good. She is happy because she is content
with what she has. She is grateful, and blessed. I want to learn that trick.
Maureen Kathleen Theresa Cullen Leeson is my mother, and we are celebrating her
70th birthday this week.
Mom was born and raised in Ottawa . She spent a fair amount of time in a
house on Donald Street
in the east end. Her mother, my grandma Vicky, raised five kids – four boys and
one little girl – on her own. She took in boarders to make ends meet. Mom says
they were poor growing up. She remembers going to the home of a more well-to-do
friend one day after school, and being amazed by the bowl of fruit in the
centre of the kitchen table. She told herself, when I’m married and have a
family of my own, there will always be a bowl of fruit in the centre of the
table. And so there always was.
My mother must have inherited her tenacious spirit from my
grandmother. She had to be resilient, with four rather wild brothers sharing
the small home. Many times my father would say, “it’s amazing your mother
turned out normal, growing up with brothers like that.”
My childhood memories are full of song. My mother woke up
singing. “Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day. I’ve got a
beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” – and she meant every word. I
thought she surely must be one of the best singers in the world. She seemed to
have a song for every occasion. The radio was always on, right beside the
kitchen sink, so she could sing while cooking and doing the dishes. That too,
was passed on from her French Canadian mother.
Mom taught us to be resilient too. I remember the first day
of Grade 6, or maybe it was 5, when I was wearing a brown polyester A-line
skirt and a lemon yellow tee-shirt and I thought I looked just fabulous, with
my little pixie haircut and Mary Jane shoes. Until I got to school and someone
told me that yellow doesn’t go with brown and my hair makes me look like a boy.
A skinny, brown boy.
I was pretty upset when I got home and didn’t want to talk
about it but Mom eventually got it out of me. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “I
studied the colour spectrum in my Interior Decorating course and yellow goes
perfectly well with brown. That person just doesn’t know any better.”
Later, when I ran off and got married at 19, and later when
I had serious trouble in my first marriage, and even when I decided to move to Asia , my mother was always there for me, showing support
without meddling. I know she worried a great deal about me and my impulsive
decisions, but she remained a steady, positive force I could always depend on.
Never passing judgment.
My mother is abundantly generous. Whether it’s the loan of a
vehicle, or extra place settings for Thanksgiving dinner, she always thinks of
what you need and offers it, before you even realize you need it.
I’m constantly asking myself “What would Mom do?” Because in
any given situation, that would be the right answer. It’s a safe bet, anyway.
Live life to the fullest. Speak your mind. Go out of your
way for people. Enjoy a good glass of wine each night. Greet each day with a
smile.
We celebrated Mom’s 70th with a professional family
photo shoot. She is still the same classic beauty with the demure smile, the
stylish dress, the matriarch of the family. She is the glue that holds us
together.
My whole life I’ve been told I look and sound just like my
mom. I didn’t see it much before but now I see it more and more every day. And
that’s just fine with me, because there isn’t anyone I would rather be like, in
this world. Happy Birthday, Mom. We love you.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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