The Month of Mom continues with Part III. In addition to the volunteer activities and passions I shared in the previous two weeks, Mom worked throughout her life. She was a waitress. She was an Avon lady. She worked for several optometrists. She sold floor covering. She sold real estate. She worked for Hewlett Packard. She worked for Bergner’s. She was an in-home healthcare provider. She was a ballroom dance instructor, and she owned a neighborhood grocery story.

Aha! The nut-bolt-screw-pin-knob-button-coin drawer. Surely she would find something there that could serve as a pea. However, the picture she found there crumpled, worn, and yellow with age, somehow stopped her search. Her mother was pretty and young then, delicate like the gardenia often seen in her full, dark hair. In those days, Tina would not sleep without this picture. She so worshipped her mother and longed to be just like her.

What caused Mom to become so harsh and unyielding? Was it the great difference between her and Dad? Mom in her heels, silk, and fur; Dad in his same dark suit, white shirt, and narrow tie?

She thought about how her father would never remove his suit jacket in the presence of women and how her mother seemed quite the opposite, seldom showing such reserve. Maybe that was where it started, but it had to go deeper.

Wherever it all started, maybe before I was born, I know it got rapidly worse after Robert died ... Every day becoming more and more the unresponsive, unfeeling mass of humanity she is today; refusing to acknowledge any part of the world. I wonder if she feels anything ever? What will it take to penetrate that wall she has built around herself – the one the doctor calls a “catatonic state”?

Tina allowed herself to ponder a soap opera she had seen on TV about a man in such a state who was miraculously retrieved from that lonely hell by his “prodigal” daughter’s touch. Could she ever create such a miracle? Whatever she had to give, she would gladly give to see her mother loving and full of life again.

A sudden rap on the door brought her to her senses and above the silent singing in her mind ...

Pretty baby, baby mine

she heard, “Tina,”

look so pretty
look so fine

“Tina, it’s time you got ready to leave.”

love your mother,

“Remember, we’re going to show you off to your aunts and uncles today ...”

but say your mine

“so look your best.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Tina sighed, took one regretful look at her tower of luxury reduced to a heap on the floor, and then, impulsively dove into the middle of the pile where she rolled and sprawled and giggled as she had done many times among the beautifully colored leaves the autumn caused each year to carpet the ground below the oaks and maples.

“Tina, you’d better hurry. You haven’t had a bite of breakfast yet, though you best not eat much as  we’ll soon be having lunch at Aunt Clara’s.”

“OK, Father, I’ll be ready soon.”

She didn’t dare say “in just a minute” when, in fact, it would be much longer, lest she be subjected, once again, to her father’s lecture on choosing the words that convey her exact meaning.

Father beams so when family tells him what a nice girl I’m growing up to be. I don’t want to give them any reason to criticize or cause him unhappiness.

The bed was once again perfectly made-up; every corner neatly turned, comforter straight, pillows fluffed, and accent pillows placed just so – a bed fit for any princess.

Princess. He called her that often, and she wondered if he remembered The Princess and the Pea. Did he ever think of their little song? Some day she would ask, but not now. He still hurt too often.

“Pretty baby, baby mine
look so pretty
look so fine
love your mother,
but say your mine”

She hummed the rhyme as she, without hesitation, selected the most “proper” dress from her closet. Her aunts always approved of the navy blue. Though she knew heels and hose to be more appropriate for a girl of her age, she wore knee socks and her Mary Janes as was expected of her. Not since the day of her brother’s funeral had she worn anything springy. That day she had put on her pale green gauze dress, which was his favorite. She would never forget her mother’s tortured look as she threw her a black cardigan and screamed, “Cover up with this! Don’t you know it is your brother’s funeral, not your coming out party?”

“I’ll never risk that again. Not ever. Better to play it safe.”

After pulling her hair straight back and fastening it with a rubber band, she searched her handbag for her glasses. She could see without them, but somehow felt less vulnerable when she wore them.

As she headed out the door, she turned to pull it closed and caught an ever-so-quick flash of green in the mirror, and, for a brief instant, she saw a princess reflected back at her ... a very beautiful and delicate princess to be sure.