When I was teaching—and boy, that seems like a long time ago—I sometimes used a poem (I think it was a song, actually) called ‘The Housewife’s Lament,” which contained a stanza that went like this: “With grease and with grime/From corner to centre,/Forever at war/And forever alert./No rest for a day/Lest the enemy enter,/I spend my whole life/In the struggle with dirt.”
The “enemy” in the poem is dirt. For some reason, out of nowhere, that line popped into my head one day when I was thinking about my mom.
I went to the Internet to try to find the poem, and I was lucky. I found it. If you’d like to read the whole poem, go to http://ingeb.org/songs/olifeisa.html.
I often write about my dad and the wonderful relationship I had with him. I worked side-by-side with Dad from the time I was old enough to do chores on the farm until I left to go to college. I will always treasure the bond we had.
But I had a mother, too! And, while I don’t write about her as often, she had a very powerful positive influence on me, and indirectly on our kids and our grandkids, I suppose. I am more proud of, and thankful for, my mother than words can possibly express.
Being the wife of a farmer was not an easy life. In addition to all the “regular” homemaking duties that women were expected to do back in the “good old” days, a farmer’s wife also helped out with the farm work. Mom did all those things until I was old enough to do them.
Mom cooked countless meals, did tons of dirty laundry, washed a mountain of dishes, and spent many of her waking hours “in the struggle with dirt.” Keeping a farm house clean is no job for sissies! But she was our dietitian and chief medical officer, administering medicine as needed, along with liberal doses of love.
She nursed me through a tough battle with rheumatic fever when I was about 6 years old, often sitting on the edge of my bed, applying cold compresses and holding my hand long into the night.
Mom had no formal education beyond ninth grade. She had to go to work to help support the rest of her siblings and her parents during the Depression in the ’30s. But she was determined that my sister and I were going to be educated! She couldn’t help us with our homework, but she made darn sure we did it every day.
And when I graduated from college, Mom cried during the whole ceremony.
When I met the love of my life, Mom accepted Marilyn as a second daughter. Mom always proudly introduced Marilyn as “my other daughter.” I have never seen a closer relationship between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law than the bond they shared for nearly 50 years.
When Mom and Dad got married, they lived on the VanHaren family home farm. That meant that she not only shared the house with her new husband, but my Grandpa was there, too. And he lived with them for the next 20-plus years, until he died. In the last years of his life, Mom was his nurse, too.
Mom and Dad were married for 68 years. They held hands every day and openly expressed their devotion to each other. They were remarkable role models for me and my sister, and our kids often remarked about the love they observed whenever they were around my parents.
So, even though I don’t write about Mom as much as I do about my dad, I am proud to tell you that she is one of my heroes.
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