MAMA’S STORY

by Brigitte Zimmer

I am writing this story about my Mother who recently asked me why she was the last one to know that I had Parkinson’s. I found it very hard to tell my family when I was first diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I felt totally drained as I watched each face turn from happy anticipation of what was coming to sheer dismay and pain and sadness when they heard my news. I knew that telling my mother would be very emotional. Yes, Mama was the last one I told about my Parkinson’s and I know she felt a little hurt about that. If I could have, I would not have told her at all and spared her the pain of finding out that her daughter had an old person' s disease. And I would not have had to hear her say, “It should be me who got that, not you and if I could take it from you, I would”. How I hated to bring her more sorrow for she had already had enough in her life.

Mama came from the old country as a young woman, with her husband, her daughter and a baby son. Mama clung to her own Mama and cried bitter tears as they said their last good-bye. It was the hardest thing in the world to leave everyone you love behind and follow your husband to a new country where even the language was foreign. Mama and I cried all through our 7 days of seasickness and we were homesick even then.

That June of 1953, was a hot one and even more so in the attic rooms of a house where we found shelter. I watched Mama do the laundry in the bathtub, backbreaking work, as the tears slid down her cheeks. Our hair was damp with perspiration as we tried to make the attic our home. My baby brother cried a lot which disturbed the owners who lived downstairs. We were warned to keep him quiet or we would find ourselves in the streets. Which is exactly what happened one week later. Because I had learned a few words of English from the kids in the street, I was chosen to knock on doors that had a “flat to let” sign hanging outside. Pushing Baby Brian in the stroller, my Mama and I traipsed from house to house looking for rooms but no one wanted a baby that might cry or disturb them in any way. Eventually someone agreed to give us a try and we moved in. This was to be the second of nine moves during the first year and a half in the new country.

Mama had trouble getting used to this new land. She missed her Mama, Papa and her only sister. Her brother had been killed in the war just after his seventeenth birthday. She missed the familiar surroundings, the tall buildings and the people she could talk to. She was lonely. My Papa worked at two jobs so he could save a bit of money for a better life. He grew thin and worn but he liked it here. He hoped one day to have his own house, so he worked hard.

Once school started in September, life became a little easier for me. I learned English quickly and the kid’s teasing over my accent only made me more determined to learn this language. It was harder for Mama since she did not get out that much and was not surrounded by English speaking people all day.

As the years passed Mama became happier here and was able to visit her Mama and Papa across the ocean before they died. Not long after that Mama lost a baby she was carrying and then came the news that she was expecting twins. We were all excited when the moment came for the twins to be born. My Papa came home soon after to tell me that there would only be one baby because the little boy had died shortly after the birth. Mama was devastated but thank God she had the other baby, a sweet little girl that we named Kathy.

Life was pretty good now for all of us and we had learned to love our new country a long time ago. I had been married for a number of years and now had two children of my own, a girl and a boy. Things were going well for our family until Mama announced that she had cancer and needed a mastectomy. We were so afraid that we might lose Mama but the angels were watching over us and allowed us to keep her with us for many more years. But our Papa was not so lucky.

He had been having heart problems for a few years now and the doctor’s said he had to have his heart valve replaced. So when Papa was fifty years old he had open-heart surgery which would keep him with us for nine more years. But Papa was not well. He often said, “Don’t be sad for me, I have had a good life and I have lived more in my 59 years than many men do in a lifetime”. Papa died on January 2, having just turned fifty-nine.

For Mama’s seventy fifth birthday we gave her a big party. When she saw me, Brian and Kathy and all the people she cried with happiness. My little sister Kathy, took over the running of the party and got everyone organized. There is nothing Mama loves better than a good party with all her family and friends. Over the years some of our other relatives moved here and Mama was happy to have them. Her sister was one of the ones who did not come but she and Mama take turns flying over to see each other.  Kathy is a mother herself now and she and her husband Pat have been blessed with a little boy.

Nicky is our angel boy, truly one of God’s special children. He is so beautiful and when we put him in his little wheelchair so he can sit up, his face lights up to watch the children outside playing. Nicky is 8 years old today, the same age I was when I came to this country. Mama’s heart is heavy for Kathy and Nicky, I know, but he is the joy of our lives for however long God chooses to leave him with us.

As I look back over the years I seldom think about the hardships we endured, not like the pioneers of course but nevertheless it was a hard beginning and sometimes I wonder if I would do it all again. Then I look out the window and see my husband waving at me from the garden. That’s when I know I would do it all again because we met in this country and I can’t imagine my life without him and I can understand what made Mama follow Papa to the other side of the ocean.

By: Brigitte Zimmer