Tribute to my mother...

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