Lessons my mother taught me

RICKI SEGAL

There are many challenges that present themselves in life. One of mine is going to visit my mother at the nursing home where she now lives.

My mother, Hilda Stern, is a resident at the Simkin Centre in Winnipeg. She is lost to her family, as she suffers from Lewy body dementia (a form of Alzheimer’s disease). During my frequent visits, I sit beside her and tell her things that she will not remember a second later. I look at her and try not to see the woman who is sitting in the wheelchair in front of me. Instead, I try to think of the woman that I remember as my vibrant, healthy mother.

My mother taught me many lessons when I was growing up. At the time, I didn’t realize the importance of the messages she imparted. I naively thought that my mother would live forever and always be the same as she was when I was a child, but, of course, this cannot be. Recently, I have been reflecting upon what I learned from her when I was young.

The most important lesson Mom taught me was love. Her greatest joy was having our family over for the Jewish holidays and for Friday night dinners. My mother’s vessel, which she shared with many women of her generation, was food. Her cooking and baking brought her great pleasure, as she shared her delicious creations with the people she loved. Her favorite dish was kosher chicken soup with egg noodles, served with kasha and shells, with fried onions and lemon meringue pie for dessert.

Without even realizing it, I later became a modern version of my mother, with regards to food. When I asked my children over and over again what they wanted to eat, they would repeatedly refuse my offers and respond, “What is it about the word ‘No’ that you don’t understand?”

My mother would have been a good saleswoman. I often think of the time that she made a blueberry cake and insisted, “Have a piece. It is only fruit!”

My father, Sid, shared this interesting perspective on food. His favorite line was, “Have a piece of cake. What do you have to lose?”

It never occurred to either of my parents that food could cause obesity or other health problems, such as the unhealthy emotional attachments that plague many people today. To them, food was an essential element to be shared and savored.

I often think of my mother when I prepare meals, even something as simple as lunch for a friend. While I am preparing food in the evening, I dig into my memory and visualize my mother – not as the woman sitting in the wheelchair but the healthy woman standing by the hot stove, stirring, chopping and happily mixing ingredients to make all the delicious food we enjoyed as a family.

As a young woman, my mother worked in an office and also looked after us. On Thursday evenings, she would stay up late into the night, cooking to prepare for our traditional Shabbat dinner. Not once did she complain. Instead, once again, she taught me the lesson of doing for others. Her selflessness was not relevant to me at the time; I only understood that lesson years later.

Another important lesson my mother taught me was about romance. She adored my father. One day, when I was having a discussion with her about what to cook for Rosh Hashanah, I asked, “Why don’t you make apricot chicken?”

My mother replied, “Your father doesn’t like it.”

I suggested, “Well, he isn’t the only one at the dinner.”

My mother responded, “But he is the most important one.”

Her comment caught me by surprise at the time and I have since thought back to that statement and marveled at the wonderful relationship between my parents. My father enjoyed my mother’s traditional Jewish cooking and thought she was the best cook in the world. I know it was not just because she was always so attentive to his tastes. Each meal that my mother prepared was done with love for him and for all of us.

Mom was tenacious and was determined that her children would get a Jewish education. My sister Carole and I went to I.L. Peretz School in Winnipeg, and my brother, Marvin, attended Talmud Torah. The tuition, even in those days, was considerably high for my parents, since my father was a salesman in the food industry and didn’t earn a lot of money. My mother would speak to the school administration and lobby them to reduce the tuition for us so that we could obtain a Jewish education. Thankfully, Mom was successful in achieving this goal and we all graduated from Jewish day school.

Culture was another value that Mom believed was important for her children to learn. It was not without sacrifice that my parents bought us a piano and arranged for my sister and me to take private piano lessons. Mom wanted us to play piano so that, if we were at a party, we could entertain and become the centre of attention and be popular with our friends. My dad received his paycheque on Thursdays and our lessons were on Wednesdays after school. Mom often reminded us that she had to look for spare change around the house to pay for our piano lessons.

My beloved mother also taught me to have a respect for money. She never wasted anything that she cooked. Boiled chicken became chicken salad and leftover roast became roast-beef sandwiches for lunch the next day. Both of my parents grew up during the Dirty Thirties and learned to appreciate the value of a dollar. To this day, my siblings and I really enjoy getting a good bargain.

We were taught to appreciate the simple things in life – the things that money can’t buy. We appreciate the love and respect of our family and friends, even if we have differences of opinion. My mother looked after my children when I was ill and looked after my sister’s children regularly. She taught us to nurture our children and to love our spouses and to cherish them above all, even our children.

As a true tzedekah, Mom helped raise money for Israel and our local Jewish school. Through her example, we learned the importance of volunteerism.

Another meaningful lesson that my mother taught me by example was forgiveness. In my rebellious teenage years, I often said things that were mean and hurtful to my parents – words that I later came to regret. They always forgave me and never stopped loving me. The lesson of forgiveness and realizing that parents do the best they can with what they have ultimately became the backbone of my philosophy on life. I hope that my children and grandchildren will learn to forgive me for the mistakes I made with them when they were young. We all aim to love our children unconditionally and do the best we can as parents.

I will appreciate my mother long after she has gone and I will remember the valuable lessons that she has taught me. Her legacy is deeply embedded in my heart.

Ricki Segal is the author of My Zayde and Other Memories of Growing Up Jewish. Two dollars of the sale of each book is donated to the Alzheimer Society of Canada. She can be contacted at ricki03@ mymts.net. This article is dedicated to Hilda Stern.

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