Brand building through storytelling

My Mother – Frances Perodeau

Frances PMy mother died from cancer in 1950, when I was sixteen years old. It took me years and years to get over losing her, if one ever does. I was always (and still am) looking for a kindly, grey-haired woman who might be her. Even though I’m now twenty years older than Mummy was when she died, I still feel the grief.

I lived in England then, and ten years later emigrated to Canada. My mother was the most loving, kind woman one could meet, the only person in the world who really understood me, with all my problems. I was enormously lucky to have met my husband within six months of my arrival in Canada. He is my soul mate, so kind and understanding that I have often wondered whether my mother’s soul entered his body. Who knows how things work?

We have four children and six grandchildren. My mother would so love to have known them.

I had very few souvenirs of my mother, but when clearing out the house of my father and his second wife a few years ago, my sister sent me some things, packed up in what appeared to be a tea towel, which I recognised as a table cloth my mother had hemmed by hand for the caravan we spent our summers in after the war. It must have been tucked away somewhere all those years.

How wonderful to see her tiny stitches again. I use it as a tea towel, but will put it away before it gets worn out. I think of her every time I use it.

Posted by Liz Carmichael



Previously posted comments:

Comment
Rona Maynard
September 06, 2007 at 9:09AM

Liz, I too have a pretty tablecloth handmade with tiny stitches. My grandmother made it for her trousseau and passed it on to my mother. Now it lies in a drawer in my dining room. Grandma’s cloth is way too small for our table, and its daintiness doesn’t suit our streamlined decor. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not until I have someone to pass it along to.

Comment
Breanna
December 26, 2008 at 6:06AM

HI, I am Breanna and I am 11. I don’t have anything from my mothers death but all I have to do is look in the mirror. My granny says I look just like my mommy, in her words “you like your mother in every spit of the way.”

Reply
Rona Maynard
December 26, 2008 at 3:03 PM

Hi, Breanna, and welcome to my website. I’m sorry your reason for visiting is such a sad one–11 is young to be missing your mother (I still miss mine every day, and I’m old enough to be your grandmother). I see from your other comment, on the Frances Pelodeau page, that people think you’re stubborn, like your mother. Since she’s not here to give you her take on stubbornness, let me share mine. It’s a sign of strength and character, of being able to stand your ground and fight for what you think is best. You may need to find ways to moderate your stubbornness, but it’s basically a fine quality. I’m betting your mother would be proud of you for having a stubborn streak.

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