I lost my second mother two weeks ago.  And no matter how old Rosemary was (91), somehow it seemed too soon.

We had made plans to visit my first best friend Paula, and her mother Rosemary, on Cape Cod on the day we attended her services instead.  My daughter and new little granddaughter were to accompany me and it was something I was so looking forward to.  Our trips to Cape Cod to visit Paula and Rosemary are always the highlight of summer.  But this year, it was just not to be…

I call Rosemary my second mother for two reasons:  first, I spent a lot of time at Paula’s house and second, Rosemary treated me like her own daughter.  I loved her and she deserved my love.  When I was troubled she would sit on the front steps with me and listen intently.  She never thought my problems were childish or foolish.  When I had a traumatic semester at college and wanted to come home, I went to Rosemary’s and slept on a cot in Paula’s bedroom.  Rosemary was always there with tea and sympathy.  Humor and kindness.

I’ve known Rosemary since kindergarten when she was our room mother at school.  I remember the day she took Paula and I to the zoo and how she held both our hands close.  When I was older and had to run the short distance home from Paula’s house, Rosemary would wait on her stoop until I flashed the porch light which was the signal that I was safely home inside.  When my grandmother died, I rushed to Rosemary’s arms and then cried into her lap.  We waited for Paula to come home from a date and then we all had tea and talked into the night. With Rosemary’s listening and wise positivity and perspective, we sorted through junior high angst and well beyond. 

Paula’s parents took me with them to their summer home on the Cape every year of high school and not only did I get to follow their less regimented family rules, I was also the lucky beneficiary of their love.  The last time I saw Rosemary, she told me that for years the proprietor of the fish market in the village asked her how her daughters were.  That is plural – daughters.  I always felt I belonged to Rosemary in some way and that she was mine too.  And I thanked her every year as best I could with a Mother’s Day card and a note.  She never stopped caring about how I was and where I was in life.  

I was there the night Paula’s father died and later in the week, I walked into the funeral home with them…just the three of us.  Half my memories of childhood are what happened in their household.  I knew her grandmother and shared books with her.  I remember every doll, dog and boyfriend Paula had and she remembers mine.  As did Rosemary…

A true lover of life and people, Rosemary always seemed younger than her age.  She laughed a lot.  Loving, kind, interested and always outer-directed, she made people feel that they mattered.  And they did matter.  She made it to every party, celebration, and gathering and often called out to neighbors walking by the house just to say hello and how are you.  What made it really nice is that Rosemary and my own mother were good neighbors and friends too.  And that was one of many reasons growing up in our neighborhood was so wonderful.  I always had two mothers who cared.

Although it may be true that Rosemary belonged to an age where solace and secrets could be given and shared on a front stoop and neighbors could become lifelong friends… or girls next door could turn into daughters…Still, I hope to let Rosemary live inside my heart and see what good may come.  Afterall, she was an excellent role model.

I want to thank my friend Paula for sharing her mother with me all these years.  And I very much regret that Rosemary did not have the chance to hold my new little granddaughter in her welcoming arms.  Rosemary would have loved her too.

 ~

“I shall die very young….maybe seventy, maybe eighty…maybe ninety.  But I shall be very young.” 

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Please read my prior posts about Rosemary and view a more recent photograph of her:

Here
Here
and, Here