A mother is the most important person to have in one’s life. After all, without a mother none of us would be here. I will admit early in the writing of this blog that my mother and I had a relationship that encompassed tension, love, grace, being misunderstood, but above all, love, especially in my adult years when I came to my senses and realized my shortcomings that led to hard conversations. Make no mistake, I loved my mom dearly and learned so much from her. I’d like to tell you about her.

Ida was the baby in her family of six children. My grandparents were German and had immigrated to America in the early 1900s. For her formative years, German was her primary language although English was learned alongside which prepared mom for her parochial education through the 8th grade at the Lutheran church the family attended. Compared to most families living in the 30s and 40s, theirs was of modest income which meant food, shelter, and needs were always met. My Grandpa Hillert worked on trains, grandma was home with the children.

I loved hearing stories about my grandparents whom  I did not have the privilege of knowing before I was born. I heard about how grandpa did all the “marketing”….that grandma spoke very little English and how mom and her sister Emma would go to a movie, come home and act out the plot to their mother, all in German, sitting in the parlour. I was told about Christmas seasons where my grandparents spoke about gifts to be purchased, using Russian or Polish to keep secrets from the children, how mom and Emma would grab hold of a few of those words, run across the street to the neighbor to have them “interpret” the words, but to no avail; they were unable to remember how to pronounce what they’d overheard.

Mom was a good 3 years younger than my dad when they met. Dad and his brother Lyle moved to Saginaw to get jobs in a plant. This was World War II time and Uncle Lyle had met his future wife, Dorothy, whose best friend was Ida. A blind date was arranged between dad and Ida. I don’t recall what the evening held, most likely a movie, but it wasn’t exactly the most exciting time for either of them. As mom explained her side she told me “I didn’t want Jack to think I was hard up for dates so I played hard to get”. When dad told Lyle about the date his version was “I’ll never go out with her again, what a sourpuss”. Well, mom told me that in reality she REALLY liked dad. The “hard to get” was a ploy, and secretly she truly hoped he’d call for a second date. On dad’s side of the failed evening, was Lyle fervently convincing dad to give Ida another chance. And he did.

In 1999 my mother was diagnosed with a second cancer that took her life in March that year. I made the trip home to be with her and I can remember sitting in their living room with my dad. The TV was on but we weren’t really watching it. We had cups of tea, each of us in a cozy chair, and I listened while my dad reminisced 50 plus years of being married to “his Ida”. My favorite thing he told me was “I can still remember what she was wearing the first time I met her. She had on a dark green jumper with a white blouse. She was beautiful, and I thought to myself ‘what did I ever do to deserve such a beautiful woman as this!?’ It was her senior year of high school. As the school year progressed they were steadily dating but no firm commitment had been made so mom made a date for commencement night. His name was Larry. Dad was to work his usual shift at the gun plant in Saginaw, but he had other plans. He skipped work, showed up at Saginaw High School and waited for mom to come outside. Of course, she did, and now faced with two dates she had to choose. She chose dad and whenever she told this story she always emphasized “I felt bad for Larry but I REALLY liked your dad….”

Compared to my dad, mom was more stoic. She was a stay at home mom but as we kids entered grade school she made herself available to be a driver for field trips. She found out at a parent teacher conference for me one year that when my teacher asked “whose mother could possibly be a driver for our trip?” that my little hand went up immediately with the proclamation “mine will, she doesn’t do anything”. No, nothing….if you don’t count keeping a home clean, laundry and ironing, fresh meals three times a day every day, scheduling to have the car for hair or dentist appointments, reffing arguments among siblings or childhood playmates.

In addition to all those hats she wore, was her most treasured one, her unfailing prayer life that was deep yet very private. God was in the right place in her life and we were taught reverence for His Name and the importance of obeying His Word. While I didn’t always appreciate the lessons I had to learn along the way of growing up, later in my life they became a treasure to hold onto and help mold my own faith journey. 

Other small lessons included: “Don’t argue in front of your children. Have those conversations in private”.

“Don’t embarrass your husband in public”

“Never call a child a brat…”

“When you’re making pie crust use VERY cold water and get all your utensils room temperature”

“Don’t worry about having an argument; making up is fun”

“Don’t say OH MY GOD!”

I’m sure there were other lessons but these are the ones that readily come to mind when I think about my mom. Other than church on Sunday, there was no other place she’d rather have been than that of her home. She was proud that she and dad bought the lot, built a house with a salary of $4,000 in the early 50s. The house went through several makeovers but remained her pride and joy. Many family and friends were entertained in the living room that spanned just over 50 years on Arthur Street. It’s where she was most comfortable, it’s where she chose to be during his last days. Facing the harshness of cancer and the treatments that accompanied it, she decided to forego final chemotherapy and declared to her doctor “I want to go home”. After some conversation to do otherwise, true to mom, she stuck to her guns and was discharged from the hospital on a Thursday. We got hospice set up, complete with a bed situated in the living room echoing 50 years of memories for her. She was home and on Sunday of that first weekend, she went “Home”.