Mum

By Angela Sanford

Anyone who knows me knows I spend a great deal of time with my mother – I am fortunate that she is still here with us as Dan isn’t as fortunate, nor are my other family and friends. Having my mother in my life means I have cash on hand – or that’s my running joke. If we go out for any reason, she’s happy to let me pay the bill and then she reimburses me with cash for whatever she has purchased. Lately we’ve not been out as much as usual and I know this because I have only a single bill in my wallet. 

Mum joins us regularly for game night each week and she’s my travel partner on most out of provinces adventures. She’s more than just “Mom” these days, she’s also my friend. It wasn’t always like that, though, and I recall a few arguments growing up and many a time we didn’t see eye to eye. Still, we don’t always agree with one another but who does?

How many people can say they went to university with their mother? Not only did we attend NSTC at the same time, we also managed to take a handful of classes together, including a movement and dance physical education class where we were also in the same project group. 

We shared a class in poetry and literature, and one of my favourite poems came from the insight of having her in my class. We were tasked with reading “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke and to bring to class our perspective on its theme. The class that ensued was quite a debate with polarly opposing views on the poem in the room – including Mum and I.

While I had interpreted the poem to be of an rough and hostile father, she had viewed the same character to be adoring, gentle and engaged. From the class, I took the understanding that our interpretations were established in and from our lived experiences and perspectives. I frequently share this poem in my own classroom teachings as a result.

Not only did Mum and I pursue similar educational paths but I would be hard pressed to think of a period in my life where I haven’t heard that we also look similar – very similar. On a rare occasion someone will compare me to the Pattersons (more accurately the Huntley genes) but I’m acutely aware that I am a mirror or my mother and her sisters. Mum has said recently she feels my looks remind her of my cousin Debra, I have been mistaken for both my Aunt Judy and Aunt Carol, when in the company of mum and her sisters. Honestly, I’m happier when I’m mistaken for Mum since she is the youngest of her family. 

When I was a teen, Mum struggled to understand my tastes but after all these years, and the time we shared together, she’s pretty spot on and can even read my mind, like when I’m in the mood for Chinese; it’s almost eerie how she speaks the same thought.

I’ve lost both of my grandmothers, all of my paternal (biological) aunts and one maternal aunt. I’ve had an amazing mother-in law, Izetta, whom we lost way too soon. I’ve experienced some wonderful mother figures in my girlfriends’ moms and one who I still call Mom – Mavis White.  I’ve watched from the sidelines as a great friend very recently experienced the loss of her mother and I am realizing the finality of this loss. It is one I am not prepared for, and I’m not certain I ever will be.

Mum’s still young in my mind and comes from a lineage of long life – mostly – so I hope we have many years ahead though one never knows what lies ahead. In the meantime, when my wallet is feeling light, I know its time to call Mum for another adventure – even just a dinner date for Chinese.