What is your mother’s full name and when and where was she born?
Florence Schlund. I believe her middle name may be Irene but am unsure. I believe she was born at Parkview Hospital June 1, 1934. Mom told the story of when she was born that her father dropped her mother off at the hospital and asked when he should come back to pick her up. According to Mom, men just weren’t part of the birthing process back then.
Describe you mother. What did she do for a living? What were here hobbies?
I stared at this questions for quite some time. Should I only describe the good things or should I also include the bad things. Unfortunately, memories of bad things seem to be easier to recall than memories of good things. Part of me wanted to run down the long list of bad memories of my mother but I paused to try and remember the good memories.
My mom had a very difficult life growing up. Her father attempted to kill her mother by shooting her in the head. The bullet lodged in her mother’s head after severing the optic nerve rendering her blind. Her father then proceeded to commit suicide by shooting himself in the head. My mom, the oldest of 3 at 6 years old, discovered the bodies. My mom and her two brothers relied on relatives to raise them. Her blind mother did her best to help raise them but there were not many opportunities for the blind in the 1940’s.
I try to remember the difficulties my mother went through when I recall my memories of her. If I had gone through that difficult and damaging of an upbringing would I have behaved any better than my mother? She was a deeply insecure and distrustful person to those closest to her and a well liked and entertaining person to friends and acquaintances. She would often say hurtful things and make accusations that most people know should not be said out loud even in anger.
I don’t remember a time when my parents were affectionate to each other. There were times that they didn’t fight but the fights were very frequent. There was lots of screaming and yelling. I even recall my mother attempting suicide with a long kitchen knife but crying that she couldn’t get the knife to go in. The things she accused my father of should not be heard by little children and were dangerous to say to a man with a violent temper. I could tell many stories of the many fights that they had but I don’t want give the impression that they were all my mom’s fault. My dad was no saint and he was not the right man to help my mom with her demons.
When we were growing up she was a stay at home Mom. My fondest memory of my mother involved the times I would lay in my mom’s bed for story or naptime and would talk. I was maybe 5 or 6 at the time. She would have me hold my hand up in the air and she would tell me how beautiful my hand was. She would then ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always answered that I wanted to be a farmer because of our Woodburn relatives. I couldn’t pronounce the word correctly so it came more like fahma. My mom would smile, laugh, and hug me.