Mothers and Our Other Mother Mothers

 

My Mother, EA Jay c. 1943-44

Photographer unknown

One thing we all have in common (among the many things we all have in common), is that every single one of us, all living things, have had a mother who brought us forth into this world. Those lucky enough, were raised by them in loving, caring, supportive homes by women (and men) who taught them how to be kind, loving, supportive people in turn. 

Today, I want to talk about another kind of mother: the other mother. There are so many of you out there: stepmothers, godmothers, foster mothers and women who just stepped up to love and care for us when those of us who lost our birth mothers along the way needed a mother's love to get through something, or to support us, or congratulate us on our successes and comfort us in our losses. Today, I salute you and thank you for all you have given - selflessly and without asking for anything in return.

I had a second mum when I lived on Salt Spring Island. Her name is Jay and she cared for me when I was a bit lost. She housed me, fed me and showed me the unconditional love that only a mother can. I am grateful to you, Jay. Thank you for reminding me about unconditional love and about giving because you can. I did some healing in your care and in your home. I am eternally grateful. Also, I had the most amazing godmother, Mary Woodburn, who taught me so much about unconditional love and freedom of spirit. I am a much better person for the love of these two women and for many others along the way who taught me the lessons that a mother teaches.

So, to all of you out there who have been a mother to someone, for a day or for a lifetime, I salute you and thank you for giving that very particular kind of love. Please know that you have made the world a kinder, safer and more peaceful place because of your actions. My gratitude to each of you for caring for the children of the great mother, Earth, who I celebrate on this day for her love and sustenance of all of us. Please be kind to her and care for her now and always so that she may continue to love and provide for generations to come.

For those of you who have recently lost your mothers, my heart goes out to you in your loss. Talk to her today anyway - tell her what is in your heart and go out and give love to another. This will help to heal the pain in your heart. 

To my mother, Eunice Audrey Jay, thank you for my life and for caring for me. I learned so much from you, from the lessons of your life and your love of the arts and culture. I wish I had known you longer. I have learned from your strength. I send you love and I wish you eternal peace and joy.

Here is a link to some ideas to think beyond our own mother's today:
http://www.upworthy.com/how-we-can-think-beyond-just-our-own-moms-on-mothers-day?c=ufb1 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 10, 2015

Love and Molecules - Lest We Forget

Eunice Audrey Jay, circa 1943
My Mother
RIP

RIP, Flying Officer (Pilot) Richard Norman Foster

No. 183 Squadron RAF - 149358

Hawker Typhoon 

Shot down 31 January 1944

by flak near Guidel

on attack on Kerlin-Bastarde Aerodrome

circa 1943

My Mother's Love

RIP

Mom, circa 1943

Imagine, my mom was driving a Velocette motorcycle around England in 1943. She was 19 then. She had a boyfriend who was a pilot. They used to read poetry to each other at Harrow on the Hill by Byron's tomb. They were in love. My mom was stationed at Biggin Hill fighter station. Her boyfriend, Richard, was stationed at another airfield flying Typhoons. They lived fast and true to their hearts. There was no time to waste by not feeling, blocking and worrying if it was right. Life was so tenuous - up for the lottery every moment as planes fell from the sky, bombs fell from the sky and buildings crumbled around people daily. The world was at war and nothing was forever. There was only the moment in which their truth existed. Richard was shot down over France on January 31, 1944. He was killed. His grave is in Guidel Communal Cemetery in the Bretagne region.

Richard's Grave site,

Guidel Communal Cemetery

Bretagne, France

Photo -  Courtesy of Alain Octavie / Pierre Vandervelden **

In 1948, my mother married my father at Harrow Church. They had four kids, moved to Canada from England twice, started their own business, and divorced in 1975. My mother continued to work to support the two children she still had at home. She created a new career for herself and kept my brother and I in school, in good clothes, with enough food to eat and the occasional vacation and special treat. She did well by us although I believe she was always a bit sad - she had lost a part of her self in the process of all this.

At 58 years old, she died of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease); robbed of her retirement and her chance to go to Europe and explore the arts of the countries she had spoken of so passionately over the years. I don't know if she knew Richard's grave was in Bretagne - there was no internet in her lifetime. It is one of my goals to visit his grave and honour him - the life he gave for his country and the love he shared with my mother.

Her wish was to have her ashes taken to Byron's tomb to be spread in the place where she remembered her passion, her love and her truth. This was done. I hope that my mom and Rich's molecules are dancing together still.

Live; love; be brave.

Below is a stanza from a poem by William Morris, The Message of the March Wind  that Richard wrote out for my mom. No wonder he only used the one romantic stanza for his love, as the poem is largely about socialism which probably wouldn't have been popular among his fellow Brits during the war! I found it glued to the inside cover of a book he had given her about the Cotswold Country in Gloucestershire  - the area where Richard's family lived on a beautiful dairy farm in a stone house with a thatched roof. I visited there with my mother and my brothers when we were young teens. Richard's dad, Bill Foster, taught me how to milk the cows and collect eggs from the chickens. They were lovely, warm people. I suppose they may have looked on us as the grandchildren they never had. Anyway, more on this story another day. Here is the poem: 

To Celebrate a Day in May, 1943

From The Message of the March Wind

By

William Morris

"Now, sweet, sweet it is through this land to be straying

'Mid the birds and the blossoms and the beasts of the field;

Love mingles with love, and no evil is weighing

On thy heart or mine, where all sorrow is healed."

(?) and Richard Foster (Brothers) and Edward Smith (my uncle)

circa 1943.

Through the Gate at Harrow Church

Photo by Brian Francis Cornwall, my father.

Circa 1948.

**Special thanks to Pierre Vandervelden and Alain Octavie for their assistance with photos and information and the incredible work they do at: http://www.inmemories.com/index.htm 

For more information on FO Richard Norman Foster, visit, the Lost Aircraft site 
and:
Aircrew Remembered: http://aircrewremembered.com/foster-richard.html

(Post revised this year) by Gillian Cornwall, November 10, 2013.