My Polish-American Mother

By Frances Lareau

THE BOX

Since I was a child boxes have always intrigued me. I had always wondered what type of treasures and memories individuals would place in a box and keep forever.

My mother had kept everything she had treasured and wanted to keep secret from the world in a particular box.

I remember when my mom moved in with me she had a box filled with her paper and her stuff that she treasured. I watched her place the box methodically under the window by her bed. This box stayed there until her death.

My mom being a secretive person had always intrigued me. Several months after her death I realized it was now time to clean her room. As I was cleaning her dresser, I looked into the mirror and I stared at that box for several minutes.

The moment I picked up the box, I know my journey to learning about our relationship was about to begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456700126

Frances Lareau

Frances Lareau is the author of “My Polish American Mother.” She is a practicing Funeral Director and in her spare time, she continues to write. She is a graduate of Barry University in Miami Shores, Florida. Ms. Lareau resides in Florida with her son and two lovable dogs.

Book preview

© 2011 Frances Lareau. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/13/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4567-0013-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-0014-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-0012-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011902997

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FOREWORD

CHAPTER ONE 1

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

DEDICATED TO

MY MOTHER

1923-2001

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my late mother, who gave me life, my eternal love, and gratitude.

My mother challenged me with her negativity and by constantly disagreeing with me throughout her life. By her behavior, she gave me the determination and courage to live my life with positivity and with passion and to have respect for others. Despite her depression, and unknowingly, she was able to convey feelings to me and impress in me how important it is to have love in my heart and to always be kind to people.

To my friends, Marie and Charlie Smith, Bill and Diane Steiden, Mae Helmick, Melanie Castillo, Connie DeMott, Jackie Dick, Essie, and Marsha my sincere thanks for their encouragement and their belief that I could make this book a reality. Our friendships throughout the years have been inspiring, entertaining, and filled with love and excitement.

My co-workers have also supported and encouraged my dreams and I thank them for their generosity and wonderful wishes and for the friendships that have grown throughout the years.

My cousin, Ludka Konik, has encouraged and supported my ideas, and to her I am very grateful.

To Dr. John Pitselos, my best friend and soul mate, my unending gratitude. He has constantly encouraged me to be who I am and to write freely. He has given me the strength and courage to write my thoughts and to put my words on paper and shared some of my spontaneity and dreams along the path of life, and I thank him for believing in me.

Frances

FOREWORD

My mother is the inspiration for this book through her box of recipes and written notes, along with other items that were a part of her life and collections.

Mother collected recipes in an old brown box, which sat in a corner on the floor in her bedroom for several years. The first time that I really became aware of the box, I was intrigued, and began to sort through the stained, faded collection.

Mother was a very secretive person. She revealed nothing about her true feelings during the trials and tribulations of her lifetime. She kept everything in her heart and expressed very little to my brother or me, but somehow I knew that her external façade was not the truth of her internal emotions. Despite her own conflicts, and without realizing it, she taught me many wonderful lessons that have helped me through my own trials and tribulations.

Being her daughter gave me a passion for life and the strength to live it and express my feelings. She gave me her legacy of life, which is far greater than material gifts.

The words in these pages not only express my emotions and thoughts, but also, to some extent, express what I believe mother would not. It is through these words that I am speaking for her. At the same time, I want to bring out her love for her Polish heritage. When she talked about her life in Poland, her voice came to life, her eyes sparkled. Had World War II not occurred, I never doubted she would have stayed in her native country.

Mother’s life in America was a struggle, but it was a struggle that she endured and accepted. She brought my brother and me into the world for a purpose, and that purpose, for me, was to learn from her and to better myself academically and to love and share my love with others as well as help others who needed help. Simply put, my mother left me a great legacy.

Writing this book has given me a deeper understanding of my mother and has given greater meaning to my life. It has answered questions as to why my mother and I were so intensely bonded and yet so very different. The legacy that she passed on to me will be passed on to my children. I cherish this legacy and feel confident that my children will understand that the trials in and of life will, hopefully, eventually bring peace, harmony, and a greater faith in oneself and in humanity.

CHAPTER ONE

After Her Death

My mother died October 18, 2002, and it would be six months before I was able to enter her bedroom. It took me several weeks to organize all her collected treasures and to clean the room to my satisfaction. I needed to go through her belongings carefully and make decisions as to what I would do with them. If her six grandchildren did not want some of her treasures, I was going to take them to Goodwill. Mother kept everything and anything that she thought would be useful in the future, from cotton balls, buttons, perfume bottles, pill tins and pill bottles to boxes filled with papers.

When I awoke on April 2, 2003, six months after my mother’s death, my first thought was that I needed to start the work in her bedroom that I had been avoiding since she died. It was time for some good old-fashioned cleaning.

I put on a pair of old jeans and a very old and worn sweatshirt and went to the kitchen and had breakfast. I turned on a CD of Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies, and entered the bedroom, where my work was waiting for me. When I looked around the room, I realized that this was something I had to do in order to get on with my life.

Suddenly, I saw my mother sitting on the edge of the bed saying her rosary. I could actually see her as though she were in her physical form. Stunned, I froze in place, blinking frantically to clear my eyes.

When I finally stopped blinking my eyelids, I looked at the bed and she was gone. I simply thought it was all my imagination. However, when I turned my head slightly, I saw her again, this time sitting in the rocking chair that she so much loved and enjoyed rocking in. I watched her sitting there, oblivious to me in the room. Suddenly, she looked up, turned her head to where I was standing, and looked at me. I looked at her and waited for her to say something. Instead of speaking, she smiled at me and then disappeared. After that meeting, I had the feeling that perhaps I should not clean the room and that I should just leave it as it was. Then I realized that maybe, just maybe, she came back for one last look at her stuff and then, when she smiled, she acknowledged to me that it was okay to start cleaning.

Mom was not restricted to the bedroom. She liked helping me cook and enjoyed being in the kitchen where she would peel the vegetables, wash them, and then make the salad, and she could do all that while sitting on her chair. She was unable to stand for too long because of the arthritis in her legs, and I enjoyed having her with me as long as she did not complain too much!

I went over to the black and grey laminated dresser that was my daughter’s when she lived at home. My mother liked the set and was comfortable with its color. As I approached the dresser, I saw her crystal rosary lying on top. She had many rosaries but favored a few. I remember her telling me that she was always saying her rosary for me and would say the rosary several times in one day just for me. I know I needed many prayers and I am sure that without her prayers I would not have had the strength to get through some of my own challenges in life.

Standing in front of the dresser and holding the favored crystal rosary in my hands, I looked up and into the mirror and my eyes found a reflection of a box in the mirror that was on the floor under the front window. I kept looking at the box and the more I stared at it the more I became interested in it. I turned away from the dresser and walked over to the box, picked it up and brought it to the kitchen, placing it on the kitchen table.

Instantly, I knew that was the box I had to start working with, and I knew that it contained the essence of my mother’s past and that I would learn about my mother as well as myself from it. I was anxious to open the box and start my journey by going through the mounds of papers that she had saved since 1940.

Before going through the box, I carefully positioned myself by the kitchen table where I placed the box. It looked as sad as life had been for mother. As I opened the top of the box, I felt some insecurities about the journey that was about to begin. Would this journey piece my mother’s life and my life together? What was I going to learn from the contents of this box? I knew it would be interesting and intriguing and I was now more than ready to begin sifting through the papers that would enrich our relationship.

I opened the box and viewed all the papers in it, then I decided to read the first paper at the top of the heap of papers, and then I would continue to read each paper in order, until I reached the very last paper in the box. I realized that this was going to be an interesting but lengthy exploration. My plan was to make various piles on the table for the different books and papers, from the most important to the least important.

CHAPTER TWO

The Black Binder

The black binder was my first item. As I looked at it, I noticed that its cover had separated its layers of papers and had faded with time. When I opened the binder, I recognized many of the hymns that I was taught at St. Joseph’s Catholic School, my elementary school in Central Falls, Rhode Island.

St Joseph’s was very strict. The last time that I went home to visit, I drove by the school, and to my surprise, it had been knocked down and replaced by a parking lot. I was aghast!

Many of the hymns that I was looking at brought back memories of my past, and I remembered my mother singing those songs. She had a lovely voice, and when she would sing, I could feel her happiness and see the joy on her face that the songs allowed her to experience. Every fiber of her being echoed the jubilation in her heart.

As a little girl, I remember mother sitting in the rocking chair holding me on her lap. I would lay my head on her shoulder and feel her love wrapped around me. I felt the motion of the chair slowly rocking back and forth while she would sing her favorite Polish hymns to me. The chair was strategically placed in the kitchen by the pantry so she could keep an eye on her cooking while we rocked and sang.

Some of her favorite hymns were Zdrowas Maria (Ave Maria), Maria Matko (Mary Mother), O Dobry Jezu Naj (O My Good Jesus), and Serce Jerusa (Heart of Jesus). It was in that chair that mother relaxed and that chair gave her the comfort to sing. The chair was upholstered in a green cotton fabric that had large yellow flowers dramatically placed on the material, and those flowers reflected happy feelings. The arms of the chair were a sturdy maple wood, and I loved to sit in that chair with her. The memories of that chair are of love, comfort, and mom singing.

Mother loved cooking and was a great cook. From the chair, I would sit for a long time and watch her prepare the food for the next day’s dinner. When she had everything prepared and placed on top of the stove and in the oven to cook, she would then move me off the chair and I automatically knew that this was going to be our time together. While rocking and singing, I could smell the fragrance of the food cooking. It was the most wonderful feeling and at that moment in life, I felt protected and loved. I could have stayed on my mother’s lap and in her arms forever.

To this day, it is impossible for me to sit in a rocking chair and not rock back and forth and hum some of the hymns. After my children were born, I would rock them and hum to them in that chair. It was a comforting feeling. Being blessed with grandchildren, I have also rocked them and have felt the comfort and love that was given to me by my mother.

The book of Polish hymns has brought back some very important and happy memories to me, and I placed the book in its own spot on the table. What I am going to do with the book of hymns, I am not sure, but I do know that my children and my brother’s children are not going to want it, so I will have to decide the fate of the book after I go through the entire box.

After placing the book aside, I reached into the box and the next item that I retrieved was a small black leather change purse. Holding it in my hands, I could feel the cracks in the leather. I brought the purse to my nose and could still smell the interesting fragrance of fine leather, a smell I always loved. There is something about the fragrance of leather that can make me feel comforted and rich. The black leather change purse originally belonged to my grandmother and then she gave it to her daughter Helen, my mother. As I looked at the black leather change purse, I noticed each of the individual cracks in the leather change purse were like veins in one’s body. The lining inside the purse was torn. But, the change purse still smelled of fine old leather.

I then opened the purse and found a cluster of keys. There were skeleton keys, which I remembered using to open the doors up in the attic of the house we lived in, and there were other types of keys that I did not recognize.

That small change purse still held the keys of the past. I had to ask myself what I was going to do with the purse and the keys it held. How could I possibly part with a purse that had been around for over a hundred years? Not only was this purse in the family for so many years, but also it had been loyal to its owners. This could be an interesting piece of art. I could hang this in my bedroom. Yes, I am definitely going to keep this and do something artistic with it. I knew that the grandchildren would not want a purse that was worn and torn. However, when I thought about throwing away something as significant as a change purse that had gone through World War II and that my grandparents had brought with them on a boat from Poland to New York, there was no way that I could just toss it. In this case, I decided that I am going to put this item in a special place on the table and keep it. What was my purpose for keeping this old worn change purse? The purse held keys to family secrets that I was not aware of.

Some secrets I will never know because there is no one left to talk to about them, and those secrets have gone to the grave, but I am keeping the purse because it had been in the hands of my grandmother and mother, who used it to carry their change and their keys. It is of great sentimental value.

When I held the purse, I experienced an emotional feeling of closeness to both of them and I kept it because I felt the touch of my mother and my grandmother holding it.

I can see my grandmother putting the purse in her white lace apron pocket and I can see and remember my mother using the purse as well

Holding this change purse in my hands, I can sense the perfumes that they wore and can remember the sweet fragrance of roses. I can feel their presence and when I close my eyes, I can see through them and go through flashbacks of my childhood with them. So, I will not now or during my lifetime get rid of this little black leather change purse. I will preserve the change purse and keys by framing them in a shadow box frame.

The white lace apron came from Poland with them and was worn on special occasions and holidays. When my mother passed this apron to me, I knew I would have to take special care of it and would wear it only during the holidays. In 2007, I passed the apron on to my daughter Colleen. I know she will appreciate it and use it as I did, knowing and feeling the generations of the past while wearing that apron.

CHAPTER THREE

Christmas

I reached into the box for the next item, a newspaper article dated December 24, 1950. As I unfolded the newspaper, I was excited and wanted to know why my mother saved that part of the newspaper. When I saw the articles on the front page, I became so enthused that I wanted to absorb the articles and pictures. The heading on the front page was in bold print and read, Christmases Around The World.

Since Christmas is my favorite holiday, looking at that paper made me feel as if I was getting a Christmas present and I wanted to read every word and look at the pictures and feel the joy of the holiday. Without a doubt, I will savor this paper, for it felt like my mother kept the paper just for me. I could feel her presence as though she personally presented it to me because she knew how much I loved Christmas, and that I celebrated it with great enthusiasm and decorated my home with a myriad of decorations.

The articles and pictures were of Dutch, Chinese, German, Czech, Austrian and Polish Christmases. Our Polish custom at Christmas is to have a wafer breaking welcome, which is symbolic of goodwill and friendship. We ate many wafers during the holiday season with no small amount of joy. I also remember our Christmas tree standing elegantly in the corner of the parlor.

Picturing the trees of Christmases past, I visualized some that were full and beautiful while others were on the slim side. However, all the trees in our home stood tall and were beautifully decorated. Mom had numerous ornaments that she had collected for many years. Some of the decorations were quite old and I have had the good fortune of using some of those decorations in my own home during the holiday season. I hope to continue to use them and eventually pass them on to my children.

My brother and I would decorate the tree. He would meticulously wrap the tree with the Christmas lights that our mom had kept for years and which still shined brightly when