My Mom

Yes CJ, its story time with Gerry again.

My Mom is a spry 84, who still gardens and rides her bicycle in the mean streets of Montréal. Trust me, to a cyclist, Montreal streets are mean. In 1999 some dough-head threw open the door of his minivan while my Mom was going by. She ended up with a broken arm and a black eye. The city is full of jack-asses. But I digress.

Actually, when I last visited my Mom, one of our conversations was about her bicycle. She keeps her bike locked up in the basement garage of her building in Benny Farm. Apparently, she recently took a spill trying to get it out of the garage, so is considering giving up her cycling. I find this rather sad. You see, Mom has been an inspiration for many, riding her bike into her 80’s. But safe is safe.

Also on my last visit, Mom has noticed that she is forgetting things. She has been voicing her memory concerns for a few years. She mentioned to me that it’s like a book; all the stuff is in there, it’s just that as more pages get added to the book, it is sometimes hard to find the page you’re looking for. She gets frustrated with this, and discusses it often. I try to reassure her not to worry too much about it, as the worrying does not diminish the forgetting. She gets the point, but then forgets because she mentions how she keeps forgetting things.

But back to Story Time. My grandparents bought their house on West Broadway in the 1930’s. There was only farmland north of their attached home stretching all the way to the train tracks at Cote-St-Luc road. As well, the Benny’s owned a farm at Cavendish & Sherbrooke. Over the years, Mom saw all the local farms receding into memory.

Benny Farm was bought by the federal government shortly after WWII to build low-cost housing for the returning soldiers. These were all 3-story walk-ups that ended up housing many of our chums from high school. The present Benny Farm has morphed into a mix of old and new buildings; some of the original buildings are in the process of being reworked, some have been refurbished and are housing single-mom families, and some have been torn down and replaced.

25 years ago, the nest had emptied, save my youngest sister. My father was unable to work anymore, so my parents (Mom really) decided to move from my grandparents house into Benny Farm. I took a week off of work and gave them a freshly painted apartment to move into. Interestingly enough, their first building is still standing, and Mom tells me it will become a CLSC (Centre Local des Services Communautaires = super community centre).

This was a scary time for my Mom. My Dad, Big Al,was sick and could not work. It appeared that Big Al's condition had finally been properly diagnosed and was being treated effectively. The hatchlings had gone from a high of 6 kids (How you doing Wayne) down to only 1. So Mom decided it was time to change.

Benny Farm at the time had a short waiting list; I think they only waited about 4 months after the decision was made. In the intervening years, specifically after the new buildings were built, they began to really enforce the Veterans first, and then Veterans only rule. As Big Al’s contemporaries and the Korean Vets have been dying off, the Vets only rule has been downgraded.

Through all this, my Mom would work to keep herself busy. When my sister was still in school, she became involved in the school board. As they began planning for the new buildings in Benny Farm for the Veterans, she worked on this next. I learned from Mom that you need to stay busy, and you might as well help those around you. My Mom had some really great talents and skills to bring to these organizations, which greatly benefited.

Mom’s experience from these community endeavors are displayed on the walls of her apartment. They are mixed in with her pictures of family. The walls are quite amazing; she has pictures that predate her childhood all the way up to pictures of her grown grandchildren. No picture is wasted on Mom. These are her triggers to remember her experiences.

For me they are a great tapestry and spark great memories. For Mom, they do the same, but have a much more wonderful affect; they are bookmarks in the pages in her book.

There is a plan afoot to have all her grandchildren in Montréal for a visit in November. Mom, just consider it more bookmarks.

I love you Mom.