My mother was a woman of quiet dignity, tough-as-nails discipline and a heart of gold.

She (Mary Joanne) and my dad (William) settled their family in North Minneapolis in the 1950s after a young marriage. Ten of us children grew up in a tiny home on the corner of 53rd and Oliver (how we all fit in there is a miracle in itself). I was #8 in the pecking order and I found it hard to garner the kind of attention one craves when one is growing up in a family that large. However, somehow my parents found a way to make it all work out — thanks to their grit and determination.

My elder sisters would sometimes step in and “act” as a mother to us younger ones when Joanne was unavailable or overburdened. With dad being away for long hours at his job, it was welcoming to have such loving siblings who assumed the role of “parents” for special circumstances.

My mom, being a practicing Catholic, was an earnest believer who gravitated towards the Virgin Mary in her readings and prayers. As a matter of fact, I always found my mother and Jesus’s mother to  bear similar traits and character. My mother was humble and contrite, gracious and devoted and she wore her heart on her sleeve.  My mother had a colloquial air about herself, a quaint sense of humor and simple elegance.

I miss her. She left this earth on June 27, 2001 and there’s hardly a day that goes by that memories of her elude me.

On Mother’s Days in my childhood I would sometimes write, “Happy Mother’s Day to the best mom I’ve ever had...” or, “Happy Mother’s Day to my best mom...” Looking back, that doesn’t seem like such a silly thing to write.

In my mom’s later years, she developed emphysema and eventually had to go on oxygen. Yes, she was a heavy smoker throughout her entire life and I remember having her tell me one day years ago...”Billy, thank God you never smoked like I did. Every day I’m here I feel like I’m drowning.”

As her life moderated over the last few years of the 90s and into the early 2000s, she eventually was placed in the hospital and in due course into hospice care. One day, at the hospital me and my eldest sister (Sue) went to visit my mom in her room. My mother motioned to me to come over to her side. I did so and she told me as she pointed to the foot of the bed, “Billy, look there...there’s the Virgin Mary.”

I was dazed. I glanced in that direction and of course didn’t see anything. So I said to my mom, “what did you say?”

She looked to the foot of her bed again and said, there’s Mary. She has a veil over her face.”

Needless to say, all the hairs on my body stood up and I quickly asked my sister to come over and had my mom tell her the same thing. All the time I was wondering if maybe the drugs she was on or her tiredness was causing her to hallucinate.

The next day, I went to see my mother again and I immediately went to her bedside and asked her if she remembered what she saw the day before. She just looked to the foot of her bed again and this time said, “Nope, she’s not there right now.”

Chills again.

I will never forget those days when the Mother of Jesus Christ came to comfort, guide and show love to my earthly mother in her dying days. A virtue that my mother extolled to all her children.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers young and old!