Letters: The many ways and whys of motherhood

Eithna Russell, my 84-years-young mother, is amazing. She has been blessed with excellent health and a huge heart. She dances four nights a week. She raised six children after our father died in 1964; put us all through Catholic school; worked 10 hours a day as a waitress; lost one child to mental illness and buried another from cancer; helped raise a granddaughter; and had cancer herself. Never once in my entire life have I heard her utter the words "poor me," "what about me," or "it's not fair." Talk about a role model.

Lee Kleinbart

Jenkintown

When I was coming home from my service in the European Theater of Operations after World War II, I wanted to return to Temple University. I was due back in February 1946, when the school term would have started. I would not have been able to register in time. My immigrant mother, Masha Kanoff, with her broken English and no knowledge of college workings, went to the school, commanded attention, and was able to enroll her soldier son. What courage, what strength, what love was shown by my mom.

Hy Kanoff

Huntingdon Valley

Although she grew up poor in Kensington in the 1920s and had to quit school to help support her family, my mother, Eunice Macdonald, was one of the most creative and intelligent people I've ever known. She was a vivid commentator on the passing scenes of life. With notebook and pencil in hand, she could be seen at any and all occasions - from parades to weddings to funerals - writing down impressions. Later, at home, she and I would weave stories around her notes. We made plans to write a book together about life from the elder and younger point of view. Dad died suddenly, and when mother and I came home from the funeral, we wrote down our impressions and emotions. Just four months later, mother lay in a hospice bed and I had the privilege of sharing the last whispered secrets of a lifetime as we said our goodbyes. And yet - mother would say, "Martha Jeanne, write this down. . . ."

Martha Hunter

Willow Grove

My mother, Clara Rotkowitz, had an excellent ear and a grand gift for mimicry. Her perfectly inflected Dr. Ruth Westheimer was my favorite. I had just purchased an answering machine and convinced her to perform the greeting as Dr. Ruth. Everyone who called my number and got Dr. Ruth was mystified. How did I get her to perform my greeting? Soon people called just to hear Dr. Ruth. If we answered, disappointed callers asked us to hang up so they could call again and hear Dr. Ruth's voice. Reluctantly, I shelved "Dr. Ruth" and recorded a brief greeting in my own voice.

Phyllis Mass

Philadelphia

This is a short story without any climax, but it sums up my mom, Roni DiGennaro, perfectly. Early one morning, after visiting my family in Pennsylvania, I woke my mom to say goodbye before heading back to New York City, where I currently live. She rolled over with her eyes still half shut and said in a quiet voice, "Do you want to take some chicken back with you?"

Nikki DiGennaro

New York

My father once came home unexpectedly early and caught my mom, Katharina Glaser, reading a book; knitting; listening to the radio; and giving herself a foot bath. He shook his head and said, "More one could not do."

When my mother told me about this many years later in a letter, I had my wife do each of those four things while also holding a cat in her lap. I took a photo and mailed it to Mom so she could see my wife had beat her by one item.

Anton Glaser

Lansdale

When I was 2 years old, my dad - at the age of 35 - was drafted in the Army and sent off to war during World War II. My older sister was 11 at the time. My mom, Rita Walton, was left on her own to feed and clothe us.

I don't know how my mom did it, but she took care of us. She had a part-time job cooking for the priests of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Between that and what my dad could send home, she provided a living for us. She had to face the burden when my dad got wounded in France and we didn't know if he was still alive. We survived and my dad survived - all through guts and determination.

George Walton

Upper Darby

In 1958, when I was an 8-year-old Girl Scout, I had the opportunity to go camping for a week. I badly wanted to go, but it cost $14. Somehow my parents, with a modest income and raising seven children, found the money. It was to be my first time away from home and I was very excited. I did not last three days. I soon had stomach pains and was crying. I was homesick. Thankfully, I was driven home.

I felt like a failure. My mother, Mary Moffatt, sensing that, greeted me with words I will never forget, "Ceil, it's great to see you. You're just in time for dinner." I was back; that was good enough. It was a lesson I take to my role as a mom today.

Ceil M. Hendrickson

Havertown