My Three Moms

I'm not the type to want a fuss made over me. I myself uncomfortable with gifts and ostentatious displays of affection or esteem.

This Mother's Day, I got exactly what I wanted. A kind acknowledgment from my boys who are spread all across the country.

And, a quiet day in the woods to pick fiddleheads and enjoy nature with 2 of my very favourite sidekicks.

That said, I can't help but think of the "mothers" in my life today and what the word mother means.

It's really more than a noun. It's also a verb. Certainly giving birth to a child makes one a mother in the strictest definition of the word. But being a mother takes more than simple biology. It takes love and care and sacrifice. So much sacrifice. Joy, pain, tears, It really is the hardest job in the world, and one that's impossible to get completely right.

I've had 3 mothers, one by birth. Two by choice.

First, there's my biological mother. From her, I got beauty, a sharp mind, the uncanny ability to make poor life choices, and from what I've heard, a bit of mental illness courtesy of Depression and Anxiety.

She was lively, whip-smart and on her way to nursing school when she got pregnant with my brother. Soon another baby, and another came along. Then me. Three weeks later she was dead. A bowel obstruction snuffed out her young life. She was 25.

To this day, her 2 photos and stories from relatives are the only things I can look at and recognize even a hint of myself.

It's something most people take for granted, the ability to look around and see people that make you make sense. Daddy's nose, Mommy's eyes, stuff like that.

After Sharon's death, I was adopted out. It was 1971 and the law refused to acknowledge my birth father's claim to the motherless baby. First, he was Black. Second, my mother was still legally married, although separated for several years. Both were the stuff of scandal.

The search began in earnest to find a home for the wee babe and her siblings. One was already with my mother's estranged husband, so she wasn't a concern. But the other 3, we were.

Then a man and a woman stepped up out of the blue. Both 43, both the parents of a 15-year-old son, anxiously awaiting his impending graduation and adulthood.

The man was a little more keen than the woman. He was the oldest brother of the children's, my birth father. His wife agreed. They took all 3 kids, the older 2 for a year to allow the birth father time to get on his feet and then reunite with the children he bonded with, and the baby, who they'd keep.

My new mom, my adopted mom wasn't really equipped or keen to take on an infant in mid-life. I can't say I blame her. But, despite her misgivings, she had a strong devotion to duty. I was duty.

I can't say she was exactly warm. She wasn't. Not just toward me, she just wasn't a warm or outwardly demonstrative person. She didn't give hugs or kisses. She never told me she loved me. It was implied in the time she spent on me.

She taught me to read when I was 3. She passed her love of literature on to me. And she created the monster you now see before you.

She had my back against everyone in town. If the school had a problem with me, she solved it. Her daughter would NOT be disrespected.

I remember I was threatened with suspension once. I was in grade 12. I had asked to go to the washroom because I had to go. The teacher refused. I asked again. He refused again. So I walked out and went to the washroom.

I was immediately sent to the principal's office and admonished for insubordination. I was a straight A+, not even A, A+ student, and this was the fight they picked.

They called my mother. And they got a little more than they bargained for. She told them I would not be suspended and that if her daughter asks for the washroom, they are not to tell her no. Then she said some stuff about racism because there were teachers that had an issue with my being mixed race. Nothing happened to me. I went back to school the next day.

She was also the woman who, despite her chilly exterior, made darn sure I ate. As a small schoolgirl, I came home to a hot lunch every single day. And when I was done for the day, a tasty snack was waiting.

She was hard on me with homework. Sometimes brutally hard. But I did learn to always put 100% into what I do.

She taught me never to take anyone's word, to always think for myself, and to challenge authority. She taught me to trust my gut. Her words still ring true in my head:

If someone feels off to you, it's because they're off.

I was never the perfect daughter she wanted. She raised her son in the 50s and 60s. I grew up in the 70s and 80s. She wasn't prepared for how the world changed. She wasn't prepared for me.

We fought like cats and dogs. She hated me sometimes. And I wasn't a fan of hers. But we worked it out. And in many very fundamental ways, I'm the person I am today because of her.

But being adopted, I still felt I didn't know who I was. So, at 16, I traveled to Nova Scotia to meet my biological siblings and dad.

What I found was a whole different world and people I didn't understand. I met 2 half-sisters, 2 half-brothers, my birth father, and his wife.

I felt like an outsider mostly. I struggled to feel any connection to them. Sure, the kids were cute, but that was it. I wasn't meeting them as family. I was meeting them as a stranger that might become a friend.

Except Erna, my bio-dad's wife. She immediately embraced me with her warm and loving nature. She was as warm as Winnie was cold. She instantly accepted me as her daughter and made no distinction between hers and his.

We saw each other after that from time to time over the years. I'd blow into town on business or just to say hello. And she was always there, welcoming.

The last time I saw her stands out. It was a few years ago. I went to visit during a business trip. She assembled all the family. I mean ALL. THE. FAMILY. Cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews. There were literally 35 people waiting to greet me when I arrived.

As we chatted and ate, someone asked her who the white girl was. And Erna answered, not missing a beat, "That's my daughter."

And that's how she made me feel. And when you're adopted, that's a huge thing. And when you're mixed-race and too white to be Black and too Black to be white, that's a huge thing. All she saw was her husband's child, which meant all she saw was her child. That's really big.

From her, I learned acceptance, compassion, grace, and how to work your ass off for your family. I also learned to make a kick-ass potato salad because, damn, that woman could cook!

For most kids, it takes one mother to shape them. It took 3 for me, but I've always had to do things the hard way, so thank you to the three amazing women who helped shape me. I hope you're all looking down from Heaven with pride at what you created.