A love letter to all mothers

Guardian reporter Dave Stewart remembers his mother who died recently

Mother’s Day will mark three months almost to the day since I lost Mom.

Since Feb. 8, I’ve thought long and hard about penning a tribute to my mother, hoping it would be read as a love letter for all the moms out there and maybe offer a bit of comfort to those, like me, who are missing that special person in their life on Mother’s Day weekend.

My mom, Gladys Stewart, was born July 17, 1946, to Stuart and Agnes Dickson in Charlottetown. She grew up on Brighton Road with two sisters, June and Alice.

She and my dad married in 1966 and had two children, me in 1968 and my sister, Jacalyn, in 1972.

We grew up a family of four in what was then known as Sherwood, just outside of Charlottetown.

She worked at the RBC on University Avenue but also had a part-time job at Boutique Fiesta at the Charlottetown Mall, a high-end women’s clothing store.

With kids, school, pets, vacations, jobs, friends, you could say we were your average family.

A SPECIAL SMILE

Since Mom died, I’ve listened to my father tell dozens of stories about her, all of which have warmed my heart and made the pain of losing her sting a little less. I’ve grown closer to my father than I ever have, soaking in every little detail of their time together. Here’s how they met. My father, John, and Stuart Dickson worked together at CFCY Radio where Stuart was the news announcer. They decided to go golfing one day at Green Gables Golf Course. Stuart asked Dad, 22 at the time, if he could bring his 17-year-old daughter.

They met after the game. Dad was immediately drawn to mom, saying she had a personality which drew people to her; a smile that lit up the room.

She also enjoyed clothes and fashion — and especially the opportunity to take part in the fashion shows put on by Boutique Fiesta, basking in every moment on that stage. We loved to see how happy it made her.

She loved socializing. And she had lots of chances as my father was a member of 721 Communication Regt. in Charlottetown (Brighton Compound), eventually working his way through the ranks to commanding officer. There were dozens of formal mess dinners to attend — full of military brass and tradition.

Dad would also serve as aide-de-camp to the lieutenant-governor. The role meant Mom got to accompany him at many of the events he attended. She loved it. Dad would often call Mom late in the day at the bank, telling her they had an engagement with the lieutenant-governor that evening. It wasn’t much notice, but Dad says Mom would always answer with an enthusiastic, “great, I’ll be ready.”

FAMILY FIRST

But, like all the moms out there, my mom loved her family most of all.

She took such pride in anything my sister and I did.

For example, the day I got my driver’s licence, she handed me the keys to her car. The only catch was I had to drive her to work and pick her up.

Pride in her family only grew as she became a grandmother to four.

There are so many great memories: our first time at Walt Disney World; movies at the Parkview Drive-in; camping at Marco Polo Land; swimming at Brackley Beach; Christmas with a tree barely visible behind a mound of presents; her over-the-moon happiness and pride in 1999 when I was married on June 26 and Jacalyn on Aug. 27.

Those are the memories I choose to remember.

Sadly, life sometimes throws you a curve ball.

Eight years ago, we knew something wasn’t right with

Mom. She had chronic pain every day.

It took two years before a specialist took one look at her and said it’s cancer. She was diagnosed with multiple myeloma about six years ago.

But, no matter how bad the pain got, all she wanted to talk to you about was family. She always asked about my wife, Kimberly, and our two kids, Taylor and Cassie, and would always tell me about what Jacalyn’s family was up to, her husband, Blair MacAulay, and their two kids, Corbin and Reegan.

A MOTHER’S LOVE

In 2017, I truly realized the power of a mother’s love.

I had a breakdown that year and was diagnosed as bipolar.

Up to then, I was the one calling Mom all the time. When she found out about my diagnosis, she started calling me every day to make sure I was OK.

She called me every single day, regardless of how much pain she was in.

The only time she brought up her suffering was if I was having a bad day. I realize now, it was her way of trying to take my mind off my pain and focus on hers.

One day this past December, the furnace in our home died. It needed a new circuit board, which was going to be pricey.

I just happened to mention it to Mom. She asked me to drop by to see her and handed me a cheque for $300 to help with the bill. I tried to refuse, but she replied that it was something she wanted to do because she was a mom.

I hugged her and said, thank you — a phrase I feel I never said enough to her.

A couple of weeks later, Mom came out to our place in Eldon to spend what would be her last Christmas.

Two days later, the pain became too much for her to bear and she had to be hospitalized.

The last five weeks of her life were hard, to say the least, but she always smiled when her family came to visit.

One impression will stick with me forever during those weeks, the way she looked at my father. It made me stop in my tracks.

She knew her time was coming to an end.

The look they shared was something I struggle to find the words to describe.

It was a look that said they were best friends and soulmates, a look that said, right now, nothing else in the world matters.

It was a look that transcends this life.

I miss Mom. I think about her a dozen times a day. The world feels different now.

If I can ask one favour of those reading this, give your mother a hug for me and tell her, thank you.

To all the moms out there and in heaven, happy Mother’s Day.