She was a newlywed. The small wedding with family and close friends had taken place weeks ago. Such joy, life brimming with anticipation of wonders to come. But early on it was clear something was wrong.
As she walked, she shuffled, sometimes stumbling.
Her doctor in Waterbury, Connecticut, was unsure and suggested she see a doctor at the notable Lahey Clinic, then located in Kenmore Square, Boston. While this should have been the happiest time in her life, instead, she sat and heard the devastating diagnosis: Multiple Sclerosis (MS), the unpredictable, often disabling disease of the central nervous system. Treatment options in 1952 were limited.
During the first year of her marriage, the disease, with all its uncertainty, progressed slowly. In her heart she longed to have a child. But could she? Would she be able to fully care for the baby? What if the toddler wandered away? There was no way she could run after him to keep him safe.
This is the story of my mother. But in some ways it is the story of so many moms facing difficult decisions as they choose to navigate a path forward when life doesn’t go exactly as they had hoped.
Mom prayed to the God in whom she placed her hope. Then almost by accident – some might call it providence – she came across a book that would change her life and give me life.
More than 70 years later, “The Power of Positive Thinking” by Norman Vincent Peale sits on my bookshelf and reminds me that faith is why I am here today.
Mom came to understand that she could have a child only if she accepted that she could not do it alone. She’d need my dad, my sister, her family, and many friends to raise me. It would take a village of loving people. She would have to depend on others.
Like so many, as Mother’s Day approaches, I reflect on how my life was shaped by the love of the first woman in my life.
Mom taught me about humility, grace, and the power of community. And sheer determination.
MS robbed Mom of the full use of her legs as well as her left hand. She could not drive and her days were spent in our home.
A baby grand piano divided the area between our living room and dining room. Each day, Mom shuffled past it. By now, she, once an accomplished pianist, now could only dust the keys once a week. Her old sheet music, her favorite piece, “Clair de Lune,” was still stored in the piano bench. The piano itself, instead of being an instrument of joy, became a daily reminder of what was missing from her life. Although she had every right to be bitter, I never heard her so much as sigh, as she passed it by.
In public, she used my arm for balance. Sometimes, she stumbled and fell. Sometimes people stared in pity, sometimes they offered to help. But, always, my Mom graciously moved on.
I did not see her disability. I saw only my beautiful, talented Mom.
Yet the image of my mother, seemingly deterred by her disability, is incomplete.
Mom learned to live her life as though she did not have a disability. She could not get to the world, so through her cooking and warm hospitality, she brought the world to her.
She was of proud Greek ancestry but she taught herself to cook high French cuisine. She made both old world specialties and American comfort food. The aroma of rich sauces and sizzling roasts permeated our home. The kitchen counter never lacked for homemade pies or handmade Greek pastries to greet the unexpected guest.
And there were always plenty of leftovers when my high school and college friends came by for late night raids on our refrigerator. They came to depend on them!
Every day my mother maximized her many talents to the delight of others. She formed community by her cooking as she graciously fed our neighbors and friends. She filled our home with love.
MS closed off many opportunities for my Mom to participate outside the home, but she never let that diminish her. She nourished stomachs and hearts and was thankful that she could still give to others and eager to give more.
I spent most of my career leading two non-profits, COMPASS in Dorchester and the Cotting School in Lexington. Both served children and families with complex challenges. I made sure a photo of my mother was in my office to remind me to be faithful to her lessons.
This is my 35th Mother’s Day without my mom, but she still teaches me: Love takes risks, depend on each other, no one goes it alone, take life’s bumps with humility and always see a person’s strengths, not any weakness or disability.
For her memorial card, we chose to use a lyric from “Les Miserables” that epitomized her life: “To love another person is to see the face of God.” That is the challenge and hope that lives on in me and in all of us. Happy Mother’s Day
