How to describe my mother is  rather difficult. She was a tiny woman, about five feet tall, always proud that she was a little taller than my father. Her face was beautiful, her hair long and copper colored, her expression stern, mostly sad.  She was the youngest of eight siblings, six brothers and two sisters. She overheard a remark: “That’s all we needed, another girl”. She felt unwanted.

Her mother had a serious heart condition, and so my mother became a full time nurse. She did not have a chance to enjoy her youth, go out on dates and enjoy friendships, go dancing.

She told me, that when my father was introduced to her, she planned a special room in her new home to keep her mother with her. Not a good beginning for a marriage. My grandmother passed away shortly before the wedding took place.

Somehow, my mother made me feel unwanted as well. She let me know that I had been an accident. After giving birth to three siblings before me - two boys and another daughter - she thought she had enough. My father wanted another child, so I  was his little girl. I was a nuisance and gave her nothing but trouble.

She was a conscientious mother, she made sure that the doctors took care of my scoliosis, so  that I did not turn into a hunchback. I was black and blue from being pushed: ”Sit straight, don’t slouch!”. The love was missing.

When Hitler turned our lives upside down, I was the first to arrive in the United States and my mother was the first I brought to this country to stay with me. My siblings found plenty of reasons not to take her in. She lived with me and my husband for forty years and we actually made the best of it.

In her later years, she developed a sense of humor, which was badly missing in her youth. My husband, whom she adored, was a very funny, witty and handsome young man. He knew how to make her laugh. He and I went to work and she took care of my household. She was a terrific cook and pastry chef. She had a free hand in her choices.

When she was in her late nineties, she asked me: ”wouldn’t  you like to learn how to bake? It’s a pity to let all these beautiful recipes go to waste.” I was glad to learn and did a fairly good  job of it. Whenever I bake, which is rare, she is right there in the kitchen with me and I talk to her and think of her with love.                                                                                                           

© Gerta Freeman - March 18, 2010