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Happy Mother’s Day to all moms. Just short 98 times ‘round the sun, my sweet mommie, Helen Marie Burneiko Stec, passed on to new worlds late last year, and for the first time in 61 years I got no more mom to call and wish happy to.
Born in 1926 and married by the early 1950’s, mom was like other women of her generation – lacking options. Most had kids (five was the norm in my family), and mom had four of her own by 1962. Mom was a classic 1950’s middle class (white) housewife, who spent a lot of her life living for everyone else. Thanks mom for all you did for me.
Inheriting her cookbook, a hand-penned masterpiece of cursive precision and elegance, I stand in amazement of the pride she gained perfectly penning family recipes, and the definition-of-self it seemed to offer.
Now mom and dad did have a life outside of us. They traveled the world in the 70’s and 80’s taking full advantage of live-in-grandma for childcare. My mom even worked outside of the home, volunteering once a week for 30 years with Providence Hospital Gift Shop of Southfield Michigan. But taking care of everyone else remained her biggest job – raising and cooking and cleaning for the four of us, as well as care giving to mother-in-law Julia, mom Frances, Uncle Tony, sister-in-law Virginia and dad while he lived out diabetic dementia and advanced age in assisted living.
Mom was 88 when dad passed –an experience I’m honored to have shared with both. We drove home from memory care in silence, until she broke the quietude with a comment I’ll never forgot.
Now the money is mine.
Wait… what did you just say?
I don’t think she knew she was speaking out loud, the comment was muffled but direct. It seemed to bubble up from deep within, like a release valve letting out a long bridled puff of steam. I let the words disappear into the darkness, and never asked what she meant but thought about it for years. I’ve come to believe the remark didn’t have anything to do with money. Mom never spent the money – she left it to us (thanks Ma). I think her comment was about autonomy. Personal control. The power to finally do you. I’ve translated her runaway emotion into now the decisions are mine.
88 years old, Helen Stec – finally open to learn about herself. Taking care of others was done. Who would she be now? What did she want to do? Was it too late to find out? I never thought much about who my mom was until dad passed. I don’t think she did either.
Helen had five more autonomous years in her big house on the lake. I’d remind her that single gals make their own fun, and she remained active in church and social groups. But at 88, how much who-am-I-time do we really have left, or energy to find out?
At 92, I took the chance to ask, “Ma – if you could do it again, would you make any changes?”
“I’d have more adventure.”
Huh. Interesting. For decades her response to my life stories was, “Oh Laura, I just need more security than that,” until late in life when I noticed a change of focus; “You live such an interesting life Laura.” I started to imagine mom and I on a grand road trip across the U.S., wind in our hair, camping by the river, something we wouldn’t have done in real life. Hmm, maybe she started to imagine that too?
I’ve heard that conflicts with our parents, specifically our mothers, often involve angst that “mom isn’t the person I think she should be.” I don’t know – did I do that? Mom said she felt I pushed her to do things along the many years we shared. I wanted her to think different, she got uncomfortable, I got frustrated. Maybe I just needed to give her a little more time?
If you still need a Mother’s Day present – here’s an idea – ask your mom a few questions about herself. Open up to the idea that she is someone beyond me, dad, my kids, and anybody else. Who is that? What does she like to do these days? What book is she reading? What is she passionate about in her life… beyond her family? Anything still on the bucket list? What would be different if she got to do it all over again?
Maybe one of the best gifts we can give our mother is the space to be her and curiosity to learn more about who that is.
Experience reminds me to discover the beauty of this gift of inquiry before it’s too late to ask.
this photo by Helen Stec and the rest courtesy of LSIC