It’s May, and Mother’s Day is right around the corner. This is the time of year I especially miss my mother. I’ve mentioned several times in this blog that I regret not asking her more questions about herself. But every year when May rolls around, I realize I do actually know a lot about her, if not everything.

For instance, I didn’t know it then, but I see it clearly now in retrospect, she was a feminist before that word even existed. Back in the early 50s, she decided she wanted to learn how to drive a car. There weren’t many women drivers on the road back then. Husbands usually did all the driving, or there was public transportation. That wasn’t good enough for my mother. She hired a driving instructor, passed her driver’s test and acquired a license long before her four sisters. As a matter of fact, she became their main mode of transportation, and even though she urged them to get their own licenses, it was several years before the first one found the courage to do it.

There’s no doubt she was the driving force in our family. She multi-tasked before that ever became a word, too. I guess that’s why I always regret knowing so little about this dynamo who was my mother. When I was a very young child, I thought there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do; I thought she knew just about everything. As a rebellious teenager, I hated that she was right about everything. And as an adult, I marveled at her wisdom.

I remember her facing off with our family doctor. Often, when I was sick with some childhood illness, the doctor would recommend a penicillin shot. At the time, penicillin was considered a miracle drug, but my mother insisted a person might build up an immunity to it. The doctor strongly disagreed, but grudgingly honored her wishes. One day, on the way home after one of these visits, she sympathized with me saying that she knew I felt very, very sick, but on the off chance I might need penicillin to save my life someday, she preferred to nurse me back to health without it. I was young, could hardly understand what she was telling me, but I felt her anxiety. Now I realize how hard it must have been to stick to her guns when all she had in her arsenal to defend herself was sheer conjecture. All I know is, while my friends almost always got a needle at the doctor’s office, I received very few. My mother took a stand at a time when doctors and scientists denied the possibility of resistance. Now we know that–

Antibiotic resistance occurs when bacteria change in some way that reduces or eliminates the effectiveness of drugs, chemicals, or other agents designed to cure or prevent infections. The bacteria survive and continue to multiply causing more harm.

If you wish to read more about how a body can build up a resistance to antibiotics, (information my mother was not privy to at the time) go to About.com: Pediatrics.

Although she could never convince me to eat red beets, she did manage to cajole me into eating carrots. She told me they were good for my eyes. Science has proved her right on that one, too.

And like many other mothers, she believed that chicken soup would make a sick person feel better. And according to the Mayo Clinic, studies show they were correct.

Generations of parents have spooned chicken soup into their sick children. Now scientists have put chicken soup to the test, discovering that it does have effects that might help relieve cold and flu symptoms.

However, when I purchased my first pair of reading glasses, she warned me not to become too dependent upon them because I would end up needing a stronger prescription every time I took an eye exam. Although the last part of her statement has proved correct, I’ve been told my eyes are going through their natural progression. As I age, my eyes age right along with me. So, I guess my mother was wrong on this one, or maybe…science just hasn’t caught up to her, yet.

Do you have a memory about your mother that you would like to share? This is the time and the place.