Helen Mugridge as a Child
I remember my Mom was a very active person. She had to be, having 6 children to keep watch over, especially her hyperactive youngest kid (that would be me, for those of you who don't know).
My Mom liked to do things in the yard, or at least have us doing things in the yard. She liked to bowl (and she was a pretty darn good bowler), play golf, participate in the Women's Guild at St. Gregory the Great, make quilts, myriad different things that kept her, and us, busy.
She liked to travel, and she and my Dad traveled the world together. They took countless photos and sent scads of postcards, many of which I have to this day.
My Mom was a saver. She saved just about everything you could think of. She even saved all the utility bills from their house on South Green Road even after they had moved to Solon! "Just in case", she would probably say if asked.
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| A Young Helen |
My Mom saved the things that apparently were important to her. I remember when I got my "box of stuff". In it were such things as cards I had made her in grade school, and little trinkets I had given her. She had even saved my baby teeth. I was quite taken by surprise when I found that she had also saved the postcards that Pat and I sent when we were on our honeymoon in San Francisco 30 years ago. Apparently, all these things meant a lot to her. And I know that in my brothers' and sisters' "box of stuff" are similar articles that Mom held special in her heart of them, too.
One of the things I remember quite clearly was that at the end of the summer, when the flowers had long been spent, Mom would send me out with this ancient, metal hand pruner to cut the peonies down. I think they were the first pair of hand pruners ever made but they still worked fine, well, at least 40 years ago they did. It wouldn't surprise me that, if I scouted around, I might still find this pair of pruners - my Dad doesn't like to throw things away that still work.
I remember that I was supposed to cut the stalks down to about 6" high or so. I can't remember what I did with the cuttings, if I put them on the compost pile in the far right back corner of the yard, or if Mom came out to help me bundle them up or whatever. What I do know is that back then I really didn't know if this was something that needed to be done, or if my Mom was just trying to get me out of her hair for an hour or 2. I figured out later in life that it was a bit of both.
Peonies were Mom's favorite flower in the world. They had adorned the altar at St. Stephen's Church on Cleveland's near West Side when she and Dad got married on June 18th, 1938, and they adorned the flower bed at the back edge of the driveway at their home in South Euclid, where they had lived for 43 years.
After my parents moved to Solon in 2000, we planted some peonies around their back deck. They have finally taken hold, and they were quite glorious this year. When my Mom was in the hospital recently my sister, Helen, cut some of the peony flowers, along with some lilacs we had planted, to take to Mom. Knowing that ants love peonies, perhaps almost as much as Mom, Helen was careful to preclude any from finding their way into Mom's room. The flowers brought a big smile to my Mom's face, as they always have.
I remember Mom and Dad would come to my Little League games and cheer me on. I know my first season I didn't do so well, I think I only got 1 or 2 hits that whole first year, but they kept cheering me on. As I grew older I became a much better ball player, and they would come to watch me play. I still remember those webbed folding chairs they would bring to set up along the sidelines, and the lemonade or iced tea Mom made to bring in that old green thermos. I think they still have those webbed chairs, but I think the old green thermos may be long gone. Or at least it should be.
I remember Mom and Dad would come to my piano recitals, something I didn't really enjoy doing all that much because I hate playing in public, but I did them because I saw how happy it made them. I remember one time Mom and Dad were on their way back from Hawaii and they made it home just in time to jump in the car and drive down to St. Greg's to hear me play.
I remember falling asleep curled up on my Mom's lap at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. I remember coming home from bowling at Severance Lanes, but usually only after having stopped at Manner's to get that famous Big Boy sandwich we all loved so much.
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| Helen as a Young Lady |
I remember our annual driving vacations. Mom and Dad and I would hop in the car and just drive, to Florida, to New England, but I don't remember ever going west. Maybe we liked the Northeast too much to go anywhere else. Mom usually made us her famous minced meat sandwiches to take along in the car for the first day's drive. I don't know what the ingredients were, but they were delicious. Mom made them a lot, not just for vacations, but for trips around town as well, like when we went to Euclid Beach for Lincoln Electric's annual family day picnic there. She knew they were a favorite of ours.
I remember the time my twin sisters put a rope around my waist and tried to get me to "fly" by suspending me out of their bedroom window. My Mom came in their room suddenly. Next thing I remember I was trying to run around the corner of the house to get away, but my Mom was pulling me back by the rope. We were busted!
My Mom was a very religious woman, a devout Catholic. Every day she said a rosary and other prayers, usually for other people who got on her prayer list because of some injury and ailment. Once you got on her prayer list, you never got off, she prayed for you from then on, even if you had recovered from whatever ailment had gotten you on her prayer list to begin with. It didn't matter to Mom, she kept right on praying for you.
I have so many memories, yet I can't remember them all individually. I think it is probably because the memories one has of their loved ones are so many and intertwined that you can't just separate them easily, they are just one big happy memory. Like the beautiful quilts my Mom worked on with the ladies in the guild at St. Greg's, every individual memory is like a single thread that makes up the fabric of the whole. Each memory is special, but each weaves in with the others to create the entire quilt of one's life.
I know Mom's in Heaven. She is no longer in pain. She will drink in the beauty of Heaven's peonies, create another wonderful quilt, and perhaps endless minced meat sandwiches.
I can picture her puttering around her kitchen and dining room, setting a huge table, dust rag in hand so she can wipe out that unfortunate speck of dirt that dares to be in her home. She's preparing a feast for all of her family, for that time when God has called all of us back to Heaven. And she's probably cooking her famous cottage ham, green beans and potatoes.
In the center of the table is the biggest vase you've ever seen, jam-packed with peonies Mom cut fresh that morning from the garden. She wants the table to be adorned as beautifully for our Heavenly family meal together as was the altar at her and Dad's wedding.
One final memory I'd like to share is when Mom worked at the Maywood Medical Building, first as the switchboard operator and later on in a doctor's office. I was attending school at St. Gregory the Great, and after school I would sometimes go over to the medical building and wait to get a ride home. Mom had a shoebox with some toys in it, including those green plastic army men (which I still have, by the way), and I would play with them or do my homework while she worked.
But when Mom was at work and I was at home, we would talk on the phone when she wasn't too busy. We would chat about whatever, nothing in particular, she always wanted to know if I was behaving and all that. Of course, I always told her that I was behaving, that my siblings were not, but that everything was fine.
But I do remember how we would always end our phone chats. My Mom would say "I", I would say "love", and she would say "you." That's how we always ended our phone conversations back then. And as adults, Mom and I would always end our phone conversations with "Love You."
I can no longer talk with my Mom on the phone. I can no longer engage in that little exchange of "I" "Love" "You" that she and I enjoyed all those years ago, so I will play both of our parts now and say "Mom, I Love You."