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This poem
for my mom is composed of 78 rhyming stanzas, one for each year
of her life. Sensitive personal information was censored
for privacy. Underneath the poem are thumbnails of photos
related to its contents. You can view the full-sized
photos by clicking on each thumbnail.
Mamasgotchu
My mother’s maiden name was Kathleen
Joy ________.
Her unexpected departure leaves a hole _______________.
Kathy was the nickname by which she was known,
both in childhood as well as after she was grown.
Entering the world in 1945, she was born and raised in Detroit, the Motor
City.
At age four, her loving father was tragically lost to a work accident---such
a pity.
Way back in middle school gym class, Mom began being a leader and activist
of sorts.
She spearheaded a sit-in, demanding under their skirts, girls be allowed to
wear shorts.
She used to make clothes from patterns, including a prom dress of her own.
At the dance, she was surprised to see a duplicate that another girl had
sewn.
Mom graduated from Mackenzie High School in 1963.
At U of M Dearborn, she earned her teaching degree.
Before educating kindergartners, she worked at Michigan Bell.
The sound of a ringing phone forever startled her like hell.
In 1964, at the World’s Fair in New York, she bought her first painting---a
cityscape.
In 1965, she vacationed in Hawai’i and returned with a bunch of blue lucite
grapes.
She met my dad, Walt, while first enrolled at Wayne State.
Months later, they became a couple following a double date.
That night at the Peppermint Lounge in Toledo sealed their fate.
After a five-year wait, they became each other’s lifelong mate.
My dad was drafted, but thankfully losing his life was not to fear.
My mom moved to Eltersdorf, Germany, just so she could be near.
She had changed her surname, becoming an official Filas on ________, 1970.
On my parents’ fifth anniversary, they received the greatest gift of
all---me!
Mom’s strongest desire in life was to have a daughter to nurture and raise,
and to be present and supportive during both the brightest and darkest days.
Tammy and the Bachelor was the movie whence she selected my name.
Before I was born, my mom used to have a pet dog named the same.
When I was growing up, I longed for a sister or brother,
But I am grateful to have had a mother like no other.
At gatherings or away from home, one would always know that Mom was around:
Her laughter and projecting “teacher voice” would be the most prominent
sound.
With her great sense of humor, she could turn any statement into a dirty
joke.
She avoided pharmaceuticals, hardly ever drank, and never did she smoke.
She found pleasure as a passenger on Dad’s motorcycle, feeling the wind on
her face,
taking in the natural scenery along the country roads, traveling at a
comfortable pace.
Mom didn’t wear extravagant outfits and jewelry, or even have pierced ears.
She preferred a wallet over a purse, and wore her hair to the left side for
years.
She was excellent at saving money---using coupons and waiting for sales.
She didn’t waste resources on cars, traveling, restaurants, hair or nails.
Estate sales were her favorite shopping destinations, selling items most
unique.
Many would be gifts for me---original art, natural objects, or a fascinating
antique.
She sought and bought things to bring a smile to others, generally not for
herself.
The stylish garments she chose fit me so well, I rarely purchased clothes
for myself.
She would thoughtfully prepare gift boxes and wrappings with artistic flair.
Fancy paper was adorned with handmade bows and trinkets, arranged with care.
My skills of self-expression, she provided numerous ways to enrich and
enhance.
She assured I had access to personalized private lessons in art, music and
dance.
With a wall of bins containing craft materials---I had art supplies galore.
She provided me with an amazing array of artistic media to explore.
Mom emanated creativity--- she could dance, make art, play piano and sing.
Perseverant, dedicated and determined, she could accomplish almost anything.
While pregnant, she painted a crisp winter scene in oils with twisty, barren
trees.
She learned and practiced country-western dancing in the late nineteen
eighties.
Her ceramic functional sink of innovative conception was executed with
perfection.
She convincingly acted as a date of the Unknown Comic who offered her no
affection.
Entertained by foreign films and dark comedies, our favorite was “Harold and
Maude.”
As a family, we saw DIA films and Animation Festivals that generally left us
awed.
She listened to CCR while I was in the womb, just before turning 30.
When I was 30, I bought all their albums and the music of John Fogerty.
Due to her appreciation of music, I had the rare chance to see Stevie Ray
Vaughn live.
When I was underage, she came along so I wouldn’t miss Mucky Pup at the
local dive.
We merrily sang “On the Road Again” carpooling to school.
I miss her 1973 Mercury Comet---that car was just so cool.
Willy Nelson’s “Pretty Paper” played at Christmastime has become a sad
affair.
None of the holidays will ever be the same now that Mom’s no longer there.
Mom would go all out to celebrate her most beloved holiday, Halloween,
transforming herself into the most authentic witch you’ve ever seen.
Winklepicker shoes, ratted up hair, and a lumpy papier-mâché nose she’d
wear.
Seeing her teeth covered in black crayon would undoubtedly elicit quite a
scare.
Big bird, a sunflower, a ladybug, a turtle---whatever I was inclined to be,
she’d imagine, design and sew a beautifully-crafted costume for all to see.
When I couldn’t sleep after viewing “The Tiny Tree,” a sad Christmas
animation,
Mom sewed a stuffed pine with a smiling face on a silk trunk, ameliorating
the situation.
With her builder’s license, she oversaw home improvements fashioned with
style.
A mental math whiz, she could expertly install window treatments and lay
ceramic tile.
As a furniture connoisseur, she could easily tell the various aesthetic
types apart.
With her passion for interior decorating, she could turn any room into a
work of art.
She sparked my interest in Midcentury Modern, Art Deco, and hand-blown
glass.
I inherited her botanical knowledge and pressed plants from field biology
class.
She imparted her love and respect for all animals and plants,
and inspired me to admire little creatures like spiders and ants,
Mom’s poodle, Sambo, allowed me to have the companionship of a dog since
birth.
Raising six puppies from our terrier and keeping one brought considerable
mirth.
While Mom would’ve adored a grandchild, she became “Grandma” for my dog
instead.
Lyle relished in her homemade biscuits, birthday toys, belly rubs and pats
on the head.
Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I had many a pet.
Mom had a soft spot for feral cats whose needs weren’t being met.
She also wasn’t capable of turning down a dying plant on sale,
certain her knowledgeable efforts to save it weren’t likely to fail.
Landscaping her home and the neighborhood island, working wonders with her
shears;
she carefully sculpted topiaries of birds, hearts, spirals, abstract shapes
and spheres.
She continues to live on through her gorgeous flowers.
Some days, it seems they have supernatural powers.
When the golden morning sun illuminates the leaves of the Beaujolais
Heuchera,
I’m reminded they’re the last plants she bought me, marking the end of an
era.
I fondly remember our hike along the Huron River at Hudson Mills on Mother’s
Day.
I’ll think of her in May when the wood anemones’ delicate flowers emerge on
display.
Our most memorable vacation was in Florida to visit Disney World and Epcot.
Riding bikes on Mackinac Island and staying at the Ossineke cabin equally
meant a lot.
At Tahquamenon Falls, we observed inchworms drifting downward from the
trees.
We happened upon unusual wildlife at Holbert’s Farm while picking
raspberries.
Collecting shark’s teeth on Sanibel Island and exploring caves were so much
fun too.
I’ll never forget eating Mom’s tasty fried chicken while riding in a
Heavner’s canoe.
With the Detroit Science Center, salt mine, museums and zoo;
art fairs, exhibitions and plays; there was always something new.
On my last nature hike in Michigan, I’m so glad she came along.
We experienced for the first time the periodical cicadas’ song.
Mom used to assemble cut vegetables into faces or animals so I’d give them
all a try.
She helped me master the art of making spaghetti, popovers and chicken pot
pie.
Her preparations mostly began with fresh, organic, non-GMO food.
Processed foods with preservatives she adamantly eschewed.
She delighted in having company over to the house to feed and entertain,
concocting delicious multiple course meals from which no guest could
abstain.
Elegant, exuberant parties and get-togethers, she would plan and organize.
I thoroughly enjoyed my college graduation party and 21st birthday surprise.
Her delectable walnut tortes and cheesecakes were quite the party pleaser.
How bittersweet it was to discover she had left behind a torte in the
freezer.
How I wish she could have shown me how to make more of her marvelous
recipes.
Instead we spent our time fighting for justice, drafting pleadings and
filing praecipes.
Whether creative, analytical, technical or legal, she was one of the most
brilliant writers.
She constructed descriptive and cogent sentences during our laborious
all-nighters.
Although we fought with all our might to do what we knew was right,
When we finally got to the end of the tunnel, there was still no light.
Together, we suffered hard lessons about how the world really operated.
The true breadth and depth of corruption made us imaginably frustrated.
As an open-minded individual, Mom couldn’t be considered to be set in her
ways.
She was a critical thinker, not easily persuaded by a popular belief, fad or
craze.
An avid reader of the Wall Street Journal, Detroit Metro Times, and Ann
Arbor News;
She became well-informed by examining contrasting perspectives and
worldviews.
Mom was generous, public-spirited, altruistic and selfless---qualities so
rare.
For her grandmother, aunt, and mother, she provided tender loving end of
life care.
No matter one’s race, orientation, political beliefs, economic status or
religion,
Mom compassionately embraced all people without prejudice---not even a
smidgen.
Navigating life without her feels like a daunting, unsurmountable task.
I’m not accustomed to making important decisions without her advice to ask.
After my auto accident, we communicated for 5,250 days straight.
She was one of the only people in my life to whom I could truly relate.
I will forever miss our daily telephone calls, reclining in my favorite
chair,
with hand-written notes about a variety of topics I couldn’t wait to share.
How I was doing that day, she’d immediately know.
All she needed to hear was a single “hello.”
It meant so much that she genuinely believed me as well as believed in me.
She guided my development into the strong, resilient woman she knew I could
be.
I worried what I’d do without her, and she said, “Just try to survive.”
I aspire to take it one step further and really try my best to thrive.
I engage in Scrabble, our favorite game, to honor her memory and improve my
brain.
While forming words for both of us, spelling and vocabulary skills I will
continually gain.
I was astounded when we each spelled the word “home” on our very first play.
Perhaps it’s the universe’s way of telling me her spirit has a place to
stay.
Losing my mom is the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through.
It feels as if my whole world has gone completely askew.
When I was little and needed consoling, the magic word was “Mamasgotchu.”
As silly as it was, my dad had to say it too---no other word or phrase would
do.
Nothing in this world can compare to my mother’s unconditional love.
I sure do hope she’s still watching over me somewhere from above.
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My faithful friend the
tree,
I always know just
where you'll be.
No need to check
social media to see,
'cause you'll be
standing tall, waiting for me.
I'll take your portraits,
and see how you've been,
then wait for the day
we can be together again.
Hearing your leaves rustling in the
breeze,
I’ve got a resident toad,
Livin’ in the thicket.
I’ve got a resident toad,
Eatin’ all the crickets.
Resident toad, resident toad,
take me to your abode.
Help me lighten this load, resident toad.
I’ve got a resident toad,
Livin’ in the plants.
I’ve got a resident toad,
Eatin’ all the ants.
Resident toad, resident toad,
you sure do make my day.
I really hope you stay, resident toad.
I’ve got a resident toad,
she comes out in the rain.
I’ve got a resident toad,
she helps take away my pain.
Resident toad, resident toad,
you’re the one I hope to see.
Don’t hop away from me, resident toad.
