Celebration and remembrance

Today is my mom's birthday.  She is turning 64.

Eighteen years ago today is also the day that my mom lost her father, who we all called Poppa, after a long illness.  I remember my dad calling me that morning -- I was in my freshman year of college -- and I was surprised to hear from them.  "Why are you calling me?" I asked my dad, "I was going to call later and wish Mom a happy birthday."  Then he told me.

I don't think my mom's birthday has ever been the same since Poppa passed away.  My mom was with him when he died, and I sense through the sadness in her voice every February 18th that his death is the milestone that she is dwelling on, not the celebration of her life.  I wish I could turn it around for her, but I don't blame her -- I find myself thinking of Poppa on this day too.  Why is the remembrance of a person's passing sometimes more powerful than the celebration of their birth?

On February 18, 1942, my mom was born in the New Jersey suburbs of New York City.  Her parents had settled there after separately immigrating from Switzerland, and had been building a life for themselves in the city.  By the time Mom was born, my grandparents had a decent grasp of the English language, and were preparing to move upstate to try their hand at farming.  Mom was 7 or 8 when the family -- my grandparents, Mom, and her older sister and brother -- moved to the farm in Central New York.

Mom doesn't talk about life on the farm very much -- I think her early memories of the farm are clouded by the upsetting events that happened in later years.  I know she helped with the chores, feeding the chickens (she HATES chickens to this day because they used to peck her hands when she collected their eggs) and helping Nana (my grandmother) with the household chores.  I know she preferred the outdoor chores, which allowed her to work side by side with Poppa and her brother. 

When my Mom was in her early teens, her brother was killed in a hunting accident not far from the farm.  Poppa was the person that had to retrieve him and bring his body back to the farm after the accident.  While Nana mourned openly throughout her life, Poppa and Mom grieved silently.  I never heard my grandfather mention his beloved son, and Mom still hides her favorite photo of him in a cabinet -- like it's too painful to keep in the open, even after all these years. 

The whole family was thrilled when my younger aunt was born a couple of years later -- my grandparents were already in their 50s when she was conceived.  The first grandchild arrived shortly after my youngest aunt's birth, and my grandparents relished in having family around.  Despite his weather-roughened appearance and tough-seeming exterior, Poppa loved his children and grandchildren.  He would show them off proudly wherever he went.

Several years after my youngest aunt's birth, when Mom was away at college, Poppa was run over by a tractor on the farm.  He was in the hospital for some time, and when he was released he was unable to maintain the farm.  Around this time, my parents had met and become engaged, so the two couples -- my parents and grandparents -- bought two adjacent houses. 

Having my grandparents so close was the most wonderful thing as I was growing up.  Nana would invite me over and stuff me with delicious food until I would almost pop.  Poppa and I would talk about horses ad nauseum, or would draw and paint together, or play pool in the basement of his house.  And almost every evening, as we were eating dinner, Poppa would come over for a brief visit.   But although I was close to both of them,  and to my dad's parents as well, I secretly considered Poppa my favorite.  Every summer, he would drive me to the driving competition in the next town and we'd spend the day admiring horseflesh and talking.  I can only imagine now how difficult it was for him to remain on his feet for a whole day, but I know he did it out of love, and he wouldn't have missed that summer event for anything.

Poppa and my mom always had a special relationship, too -- they were so much alike.  My mom inherited my grandfather's symmetrical, strong face and naturally muscular build, rather than my grandmother's delicate features.  Although I can see both of her parents' personalities shining through in Mom, I think the predominant force is Poppa's influence: strength and silence in handling obstacles.  In keeping with his proud heritage as a Swiss mountain farmer, Poppa rarely complained -- he was a man of few words, but the words he did share were expressive in his love for family and his favorite diversions (TV movies, Westerns, horses, and painting.)  As I've expressed before, my mom is strong and self-sufficient as well.  I can imagine them together when Mom was young, sitting silently together and just being content to keep one another company -- and then I can flash-forward to think of the many days that Poppa and I sat together in much the same way.

Today, I will call my mom and wish her happy birthday.  I will acknowledge that I remember the other significance of this day, because I know that it will be on her mind as well.  And I will try to find the words to tie the two together, to express that today should be a reason for celebration and happy remembrance, rather than sadness.  Poppa would want it that way, and he would be proud to think of his greatest legacy: my mother.

Comments

[Beverlee]

I admire you for having such a grasp on your family's history. I guess when we are not able to have the kind of relationship with our grandparents that you did, we miss out on some of the stories. I remember my paternal grandfather with such love. Unfortunately, he passed away when I was 10. I wish that I could have known him when I would have appreciated him in a different way ...

[Jamie]

What a wonderful post about your family (and photo!) Family history is so important and your girls will appreciate the effort you've made to record it some day. I hope your mom has a special birthday, although it is also a reminder of painful memories about her father and your Poppa. Thanks for sharing.

[knq]

That's a beautiful tribute - and I love the picture!

[moonface]

What a thoughtful, beautiful tribute to your mother. It must be difficult when it is a day that marks such a happy occasion as well as one of profound sadness.

Best wishes to your Mom.

[mama_tulip]

This was such a treat to read.

Happy Birthday to your mom. :)

[sarah]

This is one of my favorite posts, Nancy-I love reading about family history-you did a wonderful job revealing bits of your own family's history-you should read this to your mom-
Happy Birthday to her

[TB]

Nancy that was so beautiful and quietly powerful. You amaze me.

Happy birthday to your mom. She does look so much like her father.

[Suzanne]

What a beautiful post! I hope your mom gets to see this loving tribute to her and her father.

[Dawn]

That was so lovely, Nancy.

[Beth]

Beautiful, as always.

Please make sure you save these essays for your daughters when they get older. They will appreciate them when they are your age.

[Julie]

What a wonderfully touching post, and that picture is just incredible. Thank you for sharing with us.