Strategic Discipline Blog

Memories are cloudy for me of my mother’s visit to see me in the hospital in the summer of 2012. I’m pretty sure it was in June. Karen Soda, my mother’s best friend in Princeton, Wisconsin agreed to help drive my mom to Iowa City, IA, along with my cousin, John Coda. My mother had told Karen it was a mission of hers to visit me. It was over a 4-hour drive, and they’d agreed to stay overnight on the way back, with my mom demanding she would pay for the hotel. She wanted to make sure Karen or John Coda, my cousin, didn’t get too tired.

My mom appeared in my room with John and Karen, but she didn’t speak much. It was almost as if something captured her tongue and prevented her from saying anything. Karen and John asked questions, and I queered them on their lives, Princeton, and their families. Mom mostly observed, nodding her head occasionally, but not being too engaged in the conversation. When I asked Karen and John about my mom that day, they remembered her being fine, but getting sick at the hotel room after. (There's a funny story about this my cousin John shared with me many years later.)

When I looked back at the day, I sensed once my mother got into the room, with the monitors, lines going into my arms, the hospital bed, the room, nurses, etc., it may have overwhelmed her.  In 1973 she’d been to Columbus, Ohio, to visit my oldest brother Jim, after his drag racing accident on Mother’s Day, as well as subsequent visits to St Luke’s hospital in Milwaukee as he recovered.  Then she’d visited and been with my brother Gary countless times in UW Health University Hospital in Madison.  Karen and Mom spent the night together the night Gary made his transition. 

I can’t imagine what it might have felt like for her to visit her 3^rd and youngest child, also in the hospital at 89 years old.

She’d seen her two oldest children, Jim, and Gary, my brothers,  die before her, and she now was witnessing her youngest lying in a hospital bed as well with a prognosis that didn’t appear to be promising.

My mother loved me and loved almost everyone she met. She had a generous heart, willing to help anyone in need. Karen and my mom worked together in the St John’s Baptist grade school lunch program. My mom started helping by baking cinnamon rolls and bread while I was in grade school and eventually helped full-time when I was going to high school. My dad was traditional, feeling mom should stay home with us boys, and it was only when we got older, that he and those traditions became more flexible, he agreed to allow mom to help out at school. Some of my fondest earliest memories are of my mom baking cinnamon rolls, pies, bread, and Polish Paczki on Saturdays to take to the Catholic church for bake sales to raise money for the Catholic grade school. Mom’s Polish Paczki was always a hit. She made them with prunes, possibly because the filling was easier to handle, and not so messy. I liked them when they were fresh out of the oven when the filling and the rich dough would literally melt in your mouth. Otherwise, prunes were never my favorite fruit.

People, particularly men, often make critical remarks to gain their friends' or partners' attention.  Sarcasm, chiding, and teasing are far easier to achieve camaraderie than love and affection. 

It may seem difficult to believe but I never heard my mother say a negative word about anyone. When my brother Jim got divorced from his wife Lois and it was discovered she’d been having affairs, my mother had a difficult time discussing anything about her. She would shake her head and say, “I don’t like that woman.” Or “I just can’t understand her!” Yet she would never make a negative or disparaging comment. She always seemed able to see the best in everyone. It’s one of the most potent characteristics I feel I received from her. I sincerely hope it’s still true.   

My mom was only 5’2”.  It surprised people when I shared this with others. I grew to be just over 6’4” I have several pictures (not good quality unfortunately) of me, my boys, Josh & Noah, and our family visiting my mom in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin in January of 2013, just about four months after I received my bone marrow transplant and exited the hospital.  I’m still wearing a mask in the pictures as a precaution the doctors advised me to protect myself after the transplant. It was great to spend time with her.  One regret I have is not being able to be with and visit her more before she passed.  

My mother made her transition on July 7, 2014!

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