With love, respect and a
profound sense of sadness and loss, I share these memories in honour of my
mother. Mom. Annie Schofield Diggle Polushin – possibly
the most unique and memorable set of names one little woman can have. I am
mourning a unique and memorable little woman.
Mom grew up in the Forshee
district on the farm. She had a great
love of the farm animals and the outdoors, which she nurtured all her life. Her
great talent and passion, though, was literature. Mom loved words. She rolled around and splashed in them,
reveled in them and celebrated with them.
Her memory for lengthy pieces of poetry and prose was phenomenal, and
passed along to some of her children, particularly my brother, Murray. Her love of books and reading was shared with
all her family. I am not particularly
proud to relate that I often took advantage of the fact that I could avoid
after-supper dishes if I had a good book on the go. Mom was a superb writer, evidenced by the
beautiful poems included in her service leaflet, her well-worn dictionary, and
a variety of publications that included her work over the years. Her creativity
and love and talent for writing have passed, in some measure, to her children
and grandchildren.
Mom’s grammar was
impeccable. She was the family guru for
English usage for at least three generations, as we pursued our various
programs of education. At a very young
age, her children learned that there were correct ways to speak, and incorrect
ways which must be avoided. I couldn’t have been much more than four years old
when I went with Dad to the neighbours’ house one day. Apparently I returned in a proper state of
indignation and related my shock and dismay to my mom: “Do you know what that
man said, Mommy? He said ‘them buggers,’
and that was wrong, wasn’t it, Mommy? He
should have said ‘those buggers.’”
Correct English was the norm in our home, because we had corrected
English – something that has become a sport whenever two or more of our family
are gathered.
I grew up thinking my mom
could do anything. Not once did she tell
me that she could, but then, not once did she let me down on even the most
ridiculous requests. Indeed, some
solutions were her creation. When I
started school, one of my classmates, a neighbor boy from a whole family of
boys, took a shine to the little doll that I had brought with me. I’m sure it was his delight in my distress,
more than interest in the doll, that sent me home in tears. My mom decided to make him a doll. Out of a potato. Dressed in a lovely white
Kleenex gown, and placed gently in a Velveeta cheese box. He loved it.
I got my doll back, and my hero mama became my “go to” lady for the rest
of her life. My mom could make a
Hallowe’en costume from scraps, can a
winter’s supply of fruit, and share it with all of us, write a script for a
Christmas concert, make a plate of sandwiches for a class party at a moment’s
notice, and polish a second hand pair of
figure skates late into a Christmas Eve night so that I might have my Christmas
wish without breaking the bank. She
could resume her teaching career to cover a class for a colleague of mine, and
she could edit my term papers. My mom…
Mom was a great storyteller,
or more accurately, story maker-upper. (Sorry, Mom.) As little tykes, we would
follow her relentlessly, as she worked and told us about the little boy who
fell down the mouse hole (moral – eat your supper), or paused to push us on the
swing, but only until the poem she recited was finished. Beth once told me, and I agree, we must have
worn her out with our constant tumbling about her feet, but you see, we just
loved her so much. She was so
interesting to be with.
Mom taught for about eight
years in various country schools before I was born, and again when I was in
junior high school, to help finance the building of the new house, which would
be her home until illness forced her to the Care Centre. I had the pleasure of teaching on the same
staff with her at Bluffton School for a time, and after her retirement, she
continued volunteering in Mary’s classroom in Rimbey, into her 91st year,
reading with primary students and helping with marking. Mary may have to suspend her daily math “Mad
Minutes” now, as she brought them to Mom for correcting almost up to Mom’s last
days. She had a wonderful connection with students, and my heart has been
warmed by the tributes we have received from many of them.
So many things to say about such
a wonderful lady! I must mention her
grace, her integrity, her patience and her wonderful, gentle sense of
humour. Particularly her sense of
humour. She loved to laugh; she saw the
good and the amusing in so many things. She
even laughed at the stories my brother, Mark, shared. Stories, I, for one, would not ever have told
my mother, I am sure! As I sat with her
for the last while, I knew she was not going to be with us much longer on the
day she did not laugh at some ridiculous comment I had made.
I reserve my final comments
for an observation of Mom’s Christian faith.
More than anyone I have known, my mom had “got it.” She was a sharing,
caring, devoted Christian. Her bible was
every bit as well worn and well learned as her dictionary, and her life was a
complete testimony to her conviction.
She set the faith bar very high for her family, and loved us all along
our various paths. But Mom was also a thinking Christian, and she loved nothing
better than a chat with someone who could challenge her, or whom she could
challenge, as Reverend David can attest when they were discussing the Lord’s
Prayer a few weeks ago.
In closing, I thank the staff
of the Rimbey Care Centre for your gentle, loving care of our little mama. She appreciated you all, so much. You made her feel as though she was being
spoiled. And you were so kind to us as
we spent increasingly long hours with her.
Thanks, as well to Reverend David Holmes for being her friend and
spiritual companion for the past eight years, particularly in your capacity as
Hospital Chaplain. And thank you to all
of you for loving her and allowing me to share a few of my memories of my mom
with you.
Connie Jensen
June 9, 2013
