A Life Well-Lived…A Tribute To Mothers

Money doesn’t buy happiness, and mothers distribute it for free…

If you ask the average person what a successful life might look like, I’ll bet pictures of people who have made a lot of money will flash through their heads, initially.

Because wealth is too often equated to success.

But is that a true measure of a successful life?

Is it only money that equates to success?

Does successful investing, always protecting assets, buying impressive goods and chattels, and watching the fear and greed responses on the share market, really make for happiness?

That’s like living your life in a strait-jacket.

In many ways I see this as evidence that we have lost our way.

Multi-billionaire, Richard Branson, agrees with me.

‘Too many people measure how successful they are by how much money they make or the people that they associate with. In my opinion, true success should be measured by how happy you are.’

We’re told that Branson’s financial success was never about money, but to make a positive difference in people’s lives.

Think about that for a moment…making a positive difference in people’s lives.

I can think of a number of people close to me who did that. None of them is, or was, rich, but all of them quietly worked to make a difference.

But one who stands head and shoulders over all of them is my mom.

Self-effacing, modest to a fault, she would have blushed at the mere notion of being held up as an example. She was just one of the crowd, just a mother taking things day by day, because that’s how things were back then.

Yet according to her four sisters, (and her teachers who we subsequently met in high school…oh the ignominy!), she was a top student. As such, she would often be given letters to take home to her parents, notification of bursaries available for promising students. No email in those days!

All of them were tossed, by her…so my aunts told me!

As the eldest of six children, she knew that she was expected to leave school at fifteen, and find a job. Her parents couldn’t afford to send her to university.

Fair enough! Except that, my mom was a polio victim. At eighteen months she was admitted to hospital with scarlet fever, and every child in that ward left hospital, having contracted polio.

Now let’s be clear about this. She was no victim. She railed about the very idea of disability, determinedly turning her life into one of ability. There was little that she couldn’t do, or try.

As an incredible seamstress, she made all of her sister’s wedding dresses.

She was also a lace-maker, (for fun…though it looked way too complicated for me!).

She wanted a new kitchen so she took herself to night classes and built all the cabinets necessary, there.

And in order to support each of us through study, she became a soft furnisher and made curtains,cushions and bedspreads for her clients, all within the confines of our tiny home, made even tinier by the wealth of children therein!

All her crafts were of the complicated variety. Arran sweaters were a specialty. They’re also known as fishermen sweaters in Ireland, because the jumpers were knitted by the wives of fishermen, all unique in patterns, so that, if their husbands ever drowned at sea, their jumpers would be used for identification.

Arran patterns are not for the fainthearted, yet she knitted them.

She even took shoe-making classes so she could make herself a pair of shoes that would fit both feet! These days it’s hard to imagine not being able to afford shoes that fit!

She would have loved to play piano, but her parents couldn’t afford one, so she bought a mouth organ, and taught herself to play.

One thing she couldn’t do, was dance. Not because of a lack of rhythm, but you need both legs to work effectively in order to do so.

She couldn’t dance, she didn’t play piano, and she didn’t go to university. But she made sure that all her children did. Where she found the money for everything, I have no idea, but she did.

So through us, I suppose, she realized what I know were her quiet dreams.

She was much admired in the small village in which we grew up, and when she died, a large percentage of the locals attended her memorial service. What a tribute, given that she had left the village twenty years previously!

If only, way back in time, there had been a kind benefactor waiting in the wings to support promising students. I’m sure she would have been chosen.

If only she had lived at another time in history.

If only she’d had wealthy parents…

But she didn’t.

Despite her disability, I believe she led an admirable life. Always busy, always canny, and ever generous with her time, and money, she made so much of her life. She traveled more than most of her generation, something she would not have done had she not migrated to Australia.

At no time did she look for others to help her, and she made the most of her talents. Her life and abilities were her gifts to us, I believe, ones that keep on giving.

Like most moms, she was pretty special.

‘I alone can’t change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters, to create many ripples.’ Mother Theresa