When I was a young child, I always thought my mom was angry most of her life because she didn’t want us, wished she hadn’t had kids, didn’t like being a mom. Then, when she passed away 5 years ago, I had the chance to read some of her old journals where she made an entry every single day for most of her life and began to understand that in actuality, she embraced motherhood and her children with a huge amount of enthusiasm. In her early entries, she was giddily happy about having kids and a family, and wrote long entries about how wonderful it was to be a mother and how happy she was, being married with kids.
It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis that my mom started to become the rather complicated woman that I knew, growing up.
When he diagnosed her with Multiple Sclerosis in her mid 30’s, my mom’s doctor told her that she must never gain weight, because one day the MS would cause her to become bed-ridden. He told her that the disease was progressive and that she would gradually lose the ability to care for herself, let alone care for her family.
What a horrible thing to have looming over you, especially when you had 4 young children all under the age of 10 to care for (my brother came along 5 years after I was born).
And, my mother being the stoic that she was, decided then and there not to tell anyone.
Not my father, not her parents, not us, not her best friends. No one. She kept the diagnosis a secret for over 25 years.
 |
| My mom at my first Christmas. Look how stylish her shoes were, she was a big shoe fanatic. |
When she finally told me on my 31st birthday that she had something to tell me that she’d been hiding from all of us, including my dad, the very first thing I said to her after she told me that she had Multiple Sclerosis was, “That’s why you wouldn’t go with us that day at The Cloisters in New York.”
My mom was a big history and religious buff. So, you can imagine my surprise and confusion the day our whole family went on a special visit to The Cloisters, in New York City, when as we got out of the car, she proceeded to pull out her book (she was a big reader, and always had a book with her), sit herself on a nearby park bench and announce, “You all go on without me, I’m going to stay here and read my book.”
I was dumbstruck, and couldn’t figure out why she always seemed to withhold herself from us, and especially from something which she had seemed so excited about. I mean, this was the holy grail of family trips for the Schmidt family – religion, history, education and literature all rolled into one – and for no apparent reason, my mom was refusing to join in with the rest of us.
 |
| The Cloisters in New York City |
At dinner that night so many years later, she nodded and said, “Claudia, I could never have made it up all those steps with my MS.” The disease made it very hard for her to walk for long distances, and stairs were always a big challenge. If you’ve been to New York City to see the very beautiful and historic Cloisters, you’ll know that there is a very windy, steep staircase up the side of the hill that they are poised upon.
My dad couldn’t find a parking spot up top, and so parked the car on the street down below, at the foot of the stairs. When my mom saw the very long staircase, instead of asking my dad to drive back up and drop her off at the door of the museum, she just sat herself down on a bench to read her book, rather than tell us the truth about having Multiple Sclerosis.
Such a small thing: if she’d only been able to ask for help, we would have jumped to support her. She had a hard, and lonely life, I think. We all would have loved to have been able to help her if she’d only been willing to share her “weakness,” which is what I think she considered it to be.
My mom passed away 5 years ago. During this year, as I went through the various stages of my breast cancer journey, I would think about how glad I am that she’s not physically here to have to deal with this. If she were here in body, she would only feel helpless and unable to help me, since she couldn’t travel at the end of her life, and was in fact bed-ridden those last two years.
But since she’s not here in body, I believe that she’s able to see what’s actually going on, in spirit. I’m not a particularly religious person, although I consider myself to be very spiritual. My theory is that my mom can see and know what’s going on with me, in its totality, from where ever she is in her current form. So, she can see all the physical difficulties I had this year but could also see my spirit and strength throughout, and has that sense of knowing that I’m able to handle it.
Mary Elizabeth McClafferty Schmidt was a strong woman. She raised 4 strong kids, and I’m proud to be one of them.
She was a good mom. I got to know her so well those last years when she lived here in NC, Claudia. I talked with her daily, and visited at least once a week. I was so lucky to have that time with her. I do feel sad when I think about how she could have made her life so much easier if she had told us all earlier on. We’d have understood her so much better. I really loved her, and I miss her.
She’d have been so sad to know you had such hard things to go through, Claudia, but she’d be so proud of you, too.
i am so moved…so much to comment about..How different it woulda coulda shoulda been. And yet, how can any of us really know what we would have done, if we were her. Beautifully written
@Lisa Lee,
Thanks Lisa. You’re right, woulda, coulda, shoulda — it’s what formed me, so I guess it was just as it should have been, but sometimes I feel like she made it so hard on herself. All that Catholic stoicism. Thanks for reading….XO Claudia
Sue, Yeah, I think it would have been tough for her because she couldn’t have done much to help, but I know she would be proud of my strength. She loiked strong women. 🙂 XO
I can just hear her Friday nite conversations with me, saying how she doesn’t know how you do it. Once, when she was so crippled up by the MS, Claudia, she said to me, “Sue, I’m so lucky.” I thought, “LUCKY????!!!? She said, “I could have had cancer.”
How ironic, eh? I don’t know if I ever told you that.
I read this yesterday and can’t get this story out of my head. It’s just so sad on so many levels. I can just see you as kids feeling so hurt, confused, and rejected, and her feeling as if she is protecting everyone. And it all just leads to distance. Very very sad.
@Jodi,
Yeah. Very sad. Although, after she told me at my 31st b’day, I wound up re-creating my entire relationship with her and we became very close. There are very few things I hide from my kids, though. I think it’s better for them to get the whole picture.
Claudia
@Sue,
I vaguely remember you telling me that. Classic Mommy! She was so interesting…..XOXOXO
how sad, but how good it was your Mom finally told you even though years later. If only we knew so much more.
What a touching story. How lonely your mom must have been holding onto her secret all those years. I can sympathize with her a little though, because I think as a mother you kind of want your children to think you’re invincible. I can’t believe how classy she looks in that picture with you as an infant and two other little kids to take care of!
Thanks, Kate. Yes, I can really only imagine how hard it must have been to hold all of this in for so long. And, didn’t she look amazing in her very 50’s housewife style outfit? Very Mad Men, and with 4 little kids (my brother came 5 years after me)! Side note, she sewed and made all of our outfits. She was pretty ferocious.
Moms are strange creatures–the things they do to make their children’s lives better. Lovely story.
Yes, indeed. I wonder what stories my own kids will share about me when I’m old and grey……
Beautiful story beautifully told. It was heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. And what amazing gifts she left you–the journals, her strength, her spirit…
Thank you, Kelly! I really appreciate your generous words!
She was a good Mom. I understand her desire to keep her secret. I am so thrilled that you have her journals. I am sorry for your loss. I celebrate your defeat of cancer and I send you gentle hugs. Thank you for sharing at the Thursday Favorite Things Blog Hop . Big Hugs
Thanks, Katherine. Yes, she was. Very proud, very independent and very strong, in her own way. Thanks for the very kind note. xo
I can’t imagine how she managed to keep that secret, dealing with her illness all alone – what a strong, powerful woman she must have been.
I know, sometimes my siblings and I still talk about it. Once we knew, of course, there were lots of little things we all remembered: she would forget to wear oven mitts when taking stuff out of the oven but had so little feeling in her fingertips that she never knew until the last second, she would trip a lot, and was always obsessively exercising which was very unlike her as she wasn’t vain but her dr. told her never to gain weight because she’d be bed ridden one day. It was a huge burden on her, until she finally told us all. I often think the stress of hiding it contributed to her overall health, since stress exacerbates MS. She was a fighter.