Memories of my courageous adoptive mother

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I may be 57 years old with two grown daughters and two grandchildren, but I still recall with love and fondness, the woman who took me into her life and loved me more than life itself. She was one of a kind - a soul that loved, lost, hurt, suffered and loved again. I first laid eyes on Vera when I was 7 years old. I had been taken from a foster home by the Children's Aid to get a new outfit. I have to tell you; that was just unheard of, so I knew something really big was about to happen. Before I knew it, a man drove up in a big, blue Oldsmobile. I was told to hop in to the passenger seat and my small cotton-lined box, which contained my meager belongings, was placed on the seat behind me. I didn't know this man and as he drove, he didn't say a word. I was scared, so I clutched my arms across my chest and just prayed that I'd be safe. When we finally arrived at a lovely ranch-style house with a stunning rock garden in front, I stepped out of the car. As I strode up the long driveway with my Raggedy Ann doll clutched tightly under one arm, there she was! She looked stunning in her breezy summer dress - hair shining silver in the sunlight. I will never forget how beautiful she was, how warmly she welcomed me and how very excited she was. "Oh, darn it!" I have to use the sandbox again!" she squealed with delight. "I have been so anxious to meet you, I just keep having to go again and again!"As this woman scurried about, I watched her and soon felt more at ease. Within no time, we were all piled into that Olds and traveling north to Algonquin Park. It was fall and we walked the winding forest path, pine needles blanketed the ground - crackling underfoot. After about an hour of strolling and chatting, they asked me to step aside and I could hear them whispering softly to each other - but not loud enough to be able to make out just what they were saying. Then Vera returned to me, threw her arms about me and said: "Remember this place, Sherry. This is where we've made up our mind that we want you to be our little girl!"I was overjoyed, but didn't quite know how to respond. Nothing truly wonderful had ever, ever happened to me before, so I just smiled shyly. It would be another month before I would see this couple again - Ray, a portly figure of a man, with red hair; Vera, petite and feminine. I later learned that she had been through far too much pain for her 42 years. Her suffering began as an infant, when she was born as the fourth girl in her family. Dismayed and angry, Vera's father threw her to the ground and cursed her. She worked most of her life in offices and eventually met Ray, who was a manager for Metropolitan Life Insurance. I never did find out which one of them was incapable of having children. My father was one of a dozen kids in a poor family. After his mother died, he as the oldest was forced to take care of the entire brood. In actual fact, he had little use for children, but he knew how much Vera longed for at least one, so much in fact that she suffered a breakdown in her late '30s. "I promised God that if I pulled through, I would adopt a child," she told me one day. And so, Ray and Vera became my parents in November 1957. I had just turned 8 years old and it was decided that I should be given a new name. It was changed from Charlene Delores White to Martha Christine Hannon. While my first name was Charlene before, everyone called me Sherry. "Your name sounds too much like a gypsy," my adopted mom said. She told me that Martha meant "little helper" and Christine meant "a gift from God." Though I was happy about the change at the time, it was very strange for a while printing the new name on my work in Grade 2. I was also given my very first birthday party. I could not believe the beautiful dolls, new clothes and other gifts I received. I truly believed I'd died and gone to heaven! My mother was very watchful over me. She made sure she always knew where I was going and when I'd be back. I knew she loved me dearly and she showed it in so many ways. This was all new to me and I soaked up every single hug and kiss as if it would be my last. Each summer was spent together up at their cottage on Lake Simcoe - a place I quickly learned to love because I had my new mom all to myself, while my father stayed in the city to work. We spent many a night laughing and joking together. She had such a wonderful laugh - so free and happy. When I turned 11, she sat me down and explained that she was ill. Cancer had insidiously worked its way into her chest and she would have to undergo an operation to remove one of her breasts. I was devastated. "No! No! God, you cannot, I repeat cannot take her away from me!" I wailed. Mom had her operation and was soon back home, smiling and happy as before. One would never have known she felt any pain at all. When I expressed my fear of losing her, she replied: "I will never leave you. I love you too much!"She was having some trouble with the prosthetic the doctor had given her. It was winter and the plastic became hard, digging deep into her skin. Her solution was to make her own using a nylon stocking and some birdseed. We laughed so much about the fact that she left a trail of seeds around the house wherever she went. When I was 14, I learned that the cancer had spread and she would have to go for chemotherapy treatments on a regular basis. As young as I was, I had no idea what that entailed, but I accompanied her on many trips to the hospital. Through it all - the weakness, the throwing up and the pain - she continued to smile and joke about her circumstances. That year, we drove by car to Florida, along with my best friend Sharron. It was my first time traveling so far, so it was nice to have a friend along. Two days into our vacation, my mother lost all her hair. It just came out in huge clumps and for the first time, I saw her show concern. My father went right out and bought her a big, floppy hat, which seemed to do the trick because in no time, she was smiling again as if nothing had happened. This of course, relieved my mind somewhat but it was only months later that we learned the cancer was really taking over her helpless body. Always an active woman, mom soon had trouble walking and fell frequently. I always tried to be home quickly after school to make sure she was all right. Over the course of the next two years, she suffered progressively more and more pain - so much so that when I went to bed at night, I began praying that God would take her. Yet, whenever relatives or neighbors stopped by to visit her, she was as bright and cheery as usual - always ready with a joke and that wonderful smile. By this time, I was well in the habit of cooking the meals, cleaning the house, doing the laundry and completing my homework without supervision. I had a couple of friends that I would occasionally visit or that would drop by, but I spent most of my time making sure mom had everything she needed. Her favorite drink was Coke with a squirt of lemon and she always kept a cold glass beside her. It seemed to settle her stomach and quench her thirst at the same time. By the time I was 15, mom was bedridden. I had to help her use the toilet and brought her all of her meals. At night, I would hear her moaning in pain and it was just unbearable. I was begging God now to take her and put her out of her misery. Often, I cried myself to sleep. My father was a busy man what with his work, golfing and business trips. It was during one of those trips that something very unexpected happened. I awoke on Saturday morning and prepared my mom's breakfast as usual. However, when I took it in to her, she appeared to still be asleep. As I tried to gently rouse her, she cried out in pain but did not wake up. After listening to several heartbreaking moans, they turned into screams, yet she still was not awaken! Not knowing what to do, I ran to one of our favorite neighbors. Eventually, an ambulance arrived and it was explained to me that mom was in a coma. I was scared - very, very scared - that I would lose her this time. My father arrived home quickly and went to the hospital to see her. When he got back home, he told me the doctors did not expect her to make it. I was crushed. What would I do without her? I loved her so much. God must have smiled down from heaven, because she did survive. When she returned home, she made a point of telling me again that she would never leave me. She loved me too much. I was overjoyed, but that joy was short lived. She began having cobalt balm treatments on her head. I knew, because she'd come home with little black markings on her forehead. She finally told me she had to have the treatments because the cancer had spread to her brain. While my father was away in New York City, my mother seemed to deteriorate mentally. Many times, she spilled her coffee and/or dropped her cigarette on the floor. I had to basically watcher her every second. I was 16 by then and while at school, I worried about whether she would be all right and always hurried home to make sure. Then one Saturday she said: "Pack up all your dad's stuff. I don't want to look at it."Taken off guard, I didn't know how to respond, but I helped her put some things into the upper shelf in their bedroom closet. "Now," she said, "I want to go up to the cottage."It was February, so I knew this was definitely not a good idea. At that time of year, there was no water as the pipe was not out in the lake and the lake was frozen solid. I tried to reason with her, but to no avail. She wanted to go and would not take no for an answer. She also wanted to take our big, color TV and her mink stole, which I placed carefully into our newer Oldsmobile. At the time, I was thinking how truly odd her behavior had become and wondered what I should do about it. My boyfriend at the time drove us north toward Lake Simcoe. During the trip, she muttered a number of things that made