I would like to write a bit about my mother, Corinne Beatrice Henry Paullin. She was one of the finest, most loving and reliable persons in my life. I never doubted her love or caring for me, or for our family. She loved her younger brother, Wayne, as much or more than any other sister. She was treasured by her own grandparents, who were relatively prosperous, as well as by her parents, who were lower in income. Mom’s grandpa was the first really old guy that I had ever met. I remember visiting him and his “new” wife (a nurse who married him and took all of his money) in Salem, and Mom requesting that I go over and kiss the old man, who was seated upon some sort of chair with a potty built into it. It is a kiss that I will never forget, the kiss of foreboding death. His funeral was to be the first that I attended, as well.
She worked at many jobs over the course of her working career. She started at the original Fred Meyer store in downtown Portland. She worked at National Insurance, General Tool, Grandma’s Cookies, The Oak Lodge Fire Department, and Murphy Logging, and a couple of other companies that I do not remember.
She usually defined for me what God’s love must look like, the unconditional love that a mother has for her newborn child, which was the love mom had for me. Mom offered nourishment of all varieties when I was young, feeding me, telling me stories, healing my childhood wounds by kissing them and applying bandages to them, holding me after horrible nightmares, and protecting me from over exuberant punishment when it was meted out. She always had her wisdom and knowledge of life, which she freely shared with me my entire life. I did not always follow her advice, at my own peril, because she was usually right about most things that were important enough for her to talk to me about. Mom was always mom to me, from birth until the day she died. I honor her for that and I respected and loved her presence in my life.
My mother was a constant presence of love and respect for me. She was a great supporter for me throughout all of my years until her death. My mother, in case in it is not obvious elsewhere in this story, was my “great protector” from the over-extension of male punitive technology and methodology. I had to draw her into a couple of the discipline efforts that my dad extended to me, especially when his belt hit my ass especially hard and often. But the image of my mother crying hysterically as my father raised his belt into the air remains one of those “marker memories” of life. My basic discomfort with aggressive male energy probably started here, and this “fear” informed and guided me through all of my relationships to follow.
I took her for granted for all of my childhood, and into adulthood until the age of 31 for me. She always wanted the best for me, she tried to be a motivator, she tried to help me right my ship whenever it listed too severely and I will forever be grateful to her. We did not talk much over the years, even though we spent so much time together, especially from the year 1995 on, when Sharon and I moved into my parent’s neighborhood. Beginning with Mom and Dad’s fiftieth wedding anniversary in 2000, and extending through 2009, Sharon, Pam, Aunt Susie, and I shared in most of the vacations that were taken, due to the need to be more present for our aging parents.
Suffice it to say, my mother was severely overshadowed by my father’s exuberance and outrageous nature, though she did not seem to mind most of the time. My lack of elucidation on my mother’s story shows aspects of my own poor communication style, and aspects of Toxic Masculinity that directed me to not pay more conscious attention to her as a human being, and create better stories about her and her life.
I was never really very clear about mothers’ religious persuasions, as she did not speak too much on those matters. She wanted me to take her to New Hope Christian Church fairly late in her life, but I was so done with that perspective that I never volunteered to take her there. She did watch and listen with interest as i wandered through the years on my own search for life’s meaning and significance. I think that she was almost entertained and amused by some of my relationships with the various teachings, teachers, ministers, and spiritual advisors. It was apparent that she was most impressed by my relationship with the 12 steps of alcoholics anonymous, however, as that is where she saw I gained the most understanding and stability in life.
Going through all of the photographs of my mother has caused me to think also about many aspects of my own life: what a great gift that life is, what a great debt of gratitude I owe my mother, and father, for what is the greatest opportunity in our known universe, which is to live on this planet. I am so fortunate to have been born into a family with a mother who always tried her hardest to do the best job she could do, whether it be raising children, working in any of her numerous jobs, enjoying friendships, or just living life to its fullest.
By hearing some of the talk of friends who have called since mom’s death, I have heard some wonderful, funny, and fascinating things about my mother that I never got to experience personally. She was, at times, an enigma to me, but I could always count on her to be there for me, no matter what was going on in my life. I tried to return the favor later in life, but I could never repay her for all the good she brought me.
I just enjoyed sitting with her, talking or quiet, and sharing time. My mother always seemed to need to be on the move, however, so those shared periods were short in time, though frequent in later years. Every time we sat down, and the conversation started to turn “serious”, especially about death, dying, or emotionally laden issues, she would just pop up from the chair, and state:
“Macy’s is having a great sale today. I gotta go now!”
And, with a smile, off she would go.
I still feel inadequate, and not up to the task, of fully representing the beauty and the humanity of the person I called mom, and that the rest of the world called Corinne. I do know that she loved life, and her friends and family, and always sought the best for all that she knew. She loved the outdoors, and that was reflected by many years of camping and travel trailering. She loved hiking, and logged thousands of miles hiking and Volkswalking through the years, through many states and countries. She loved to dance when younger, and enjoyed many years of square dancing, and many friendships that ensued from that activity. She also loved her golfing, and had many friendships that she enjoyed from that activity.
She loved her children, though, and that is what I remember the most, and will for the rest of my life miss the most, about mom. I made the mistake of assuming that Mom was always going to be with me, and I delayed some important conversations with her, and missed opportunities to truly get to know her better. It is the curse of being a child that we never get to know our parents as well as we could. My parents”friends had a much greater opportunity for that privilege. Mom certainly had many great friendships over the years, and some of the longest would be perhaps, with Eloise Mills. She loved so many of her friendships that were developed through square dancing. The loss to death of a long-time friend Betty Rolf late in Mother’s life was particularly hard, and I know that the parade of death of so many of her friends was harsh for her, prior to her own passing.
Mom tried hard, though, at everything that .she attempted. It was tough watching her in the later years, as she gradually lost so much to the ravages of her disease process. Losing her knees, losing her smile when her face was tore open from a fall, losing her balance frequently and falling, bruising herself horribly, yet she was a determined woman, and was not defined by those limitations, but instead by what she continued to accomplish in life. She played golf almost to the end.
Her continued participation in water aerobics, though, may well have been the source of the MERSA infection that cost her her life, taking an unhealed wound to the pool. On her last healthy day she still made it to her volunteer job with the Portland Visitor’s Center, a job that she had worked at for years and enjoyed immensely, along with the friendships she developed there. It was an amazing, excruciatingly rapid decent unto death from that Monday afternoon return from her job. I so wanted to be a better son, and help her towards healing, if possible, her last week, but my insouciance around her dying process humbled me, and left me grieving at levels I have never even before touched. Being part of the family decision making process around turning off my mother’s life support machines left me devastated and depressed.
Fix You, by Coldplay
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4V3Mo61fJM
I still await a happier ending for this story of my mother. I know that I could put a more positive spin on it, yet, at this moment, this is how I remember her life.
I await a better story to tell, the story that represents a better, more understanding, compassionate truth about my mother.
Until that day comes, I just want to wish a happy birthday to my mother’s memory, who would have been 88 years old today, had she survived.
I love you ,Mom.
