Part 2 - Memories of my courageous adoptive mother

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I left off this story where my father was away in New York City on business and my adoptive mom began acting strangely. During the trip up north to the cottage, mom muttered a number of things that made no sense. "Brian," I said, "let's stop off in Orillia at my aunt's place. I want to talk to them first before heading to the cottage." It turned out to be a wise decision, because after speaking with mom for a bit, my aunt and uncle realized that she had lost touch with reality. They immediately called my father in New York and he flew home right away. That very first day, my father took her to our local psychiatric hospital, but they refused to take her. She was too far gone. The next three days were horrible, as I watched her fall apart before my eyes. I didn't go to school during this time, because her behavior was so erratic. She got on the phone and ordered color TV sets for just about everyone on our street. Later, when my father got wind of it, he flipped. Then she called her favorite ladies shop and gave them hell about something. Apparently, she thought she owned the store. My job was to keep her off the phone, ensure she didn't burn the house down and generally, treat her like a child. I really hated to do that. The nights were even more stressful. As I lied in my bed that first night, I knew my father was trying to get my mom to take some pills that the doctor had given him for her. I could hear mom crying and protesting. Then she called me through her sobs. "Martha! Martha! He's trying to kill me!" She was adamant that she would not take them. I could hear them scuffle and ran from my bed. There was my father sitting on her on the floor trying to shove those pills right down her throat. That just tore my hear out and I cried myself to sleep. After the third day, my father announced that we would be takimg mom to a special home in Guelph where they had the facilities to take care of her. Of course, we couldn't tell her where we were taking her, but all went well for the most part because we told her we were all going to the cottage - the place she loved. However, when we reached the gates of the facility, she knew something was up. "You're trying to put me away!" she screamed. "I don't want to go in there!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks and mine as we led her up the steps to the front door. I could not believe it had come to this and my heart just ached. Mom spent three months in Homewood and underwent shock treatments. We drove up to visit her every Sunday, which more often than not resulted in her accusing us again of putting her away. The guilt was just unbearable. It was so terribly hard to walk away each time and come back to our big house that seemed to rattle without her. Finally, the day came for us to bring her home. I was so excited. It was kind of like the reverse of our first meeting, only this time I greeted her with open arms. Mom was coming home and I was relieved - at least for a while. Well, I'm sure you can guess that this was not the end of her travail. The cancer continued to ravage her tiny frame and she became weaker every day. I continued to tend to her needs, while she tried so hard to smile through her pain. In fact, when relatives or neighbors came calling, she would sit right up and crack a few jokes, just to ease the tension. It really was heartbreaking for me to watch, because I knew that the minute they left, she would sink right down again. Then when I was 18, the day came when she slipped back into that nether world again and we were sure she wouldn't make it. She was in a coma for several days, but to everyone's surprise, she pulled through once more. Again she said to me: "I will never leave you. I love you too much!" By this time, I believed her. I also thought about my name change. I really had become her "little helper" and I thanked God that he had sent me there to care for her. At 19, I graduated from college and soon after married my college sweetheart. In fact, I was pregnant with my first daughter when mom was taken back to the hospital. When I walked in, I heard her ask my dad for a glass of Coke with a squirt of lemon. He dutifully went to get it for her, while we spent a few precious moments together. Somehow, I knew it would be our last. "Mom," I said. "I love you so much. Please don't leave me. I want you to see your grandchild." She responded: "I will never leave you, Martha. I love you too much!" That night, my father called to say mom had slipped away quietly in her sleep. Though she has now been gone for 37 years, I still see her wonderful smile and hear her joyous laughter, even through all that pain. I remember well, the laughter and the tears we shared - intermingled in a very special mother-daughter relationship that will never die. I know that she is happy now - still smiling and watching over me, because she loves me too much!