That's My Mom

My mom lives on her own and I made a promise that I would call her every day; checking in on her should be the natural duty of the eldest son.

But she's hardly ever home. She’s always cooking for her latest group of friends, participating in public lectures, meeting her gal pals for a cocktail, going to Mass, or exploring the city of Toronto.

I can't keep up with her.

More than that, I am constantly awestruck by her openness, her sense of wonderment and her determination, especially in these dark times.

I'll give you an example.

When Donald Trump began threatening Canada, people were rattled, seriously rattled. Around that time, my mom was pushing her walker through a snowstorm on Bay Street when a woman stopped and asked if she needed help. My mother politely thanked her but said she was able to make her way. The woman walked with her for a bit and then asked,

"Do you think our country will survive the threats coming from the United States?"

My mother didn't hesitate.

"Of course, we'll survive. I don't care if I never eat American asparagus again. I'll get by on root vegetables. We ate root vegetables before; we can do it again."

That's my mom.

Anne-Marie Angus circa 1966, with Charlie and younger sister Mary

She has always worked hard — the daughter of a Cape Breton miner and a tough Irish nurse from the Ottawa Valley.

After our family left the gold mining town of Timmins and moved to Toronto, my mom took a job as a secretary. At one point, she even picked up Sunday shifts at a local restaurant.

And yet, despite sometimes working six days a week, my mom was expected to carry the workload at home as well. Chores and home repairs were alien concepts to my dad. He liked to read. And her four loud and opinionated children weren't much help.

Mom knew that if she wanted a room painted or a fixture repaired, she had to do it herself.

We lived in a small townhouse in north Toronto. It was chaotic. The music was always blasting too loud. My older sister was the perpetual summer storm blowing through the house. My fiery Scottish Grandmother lived upstairs and loved to stir the pot with her grandchildren and the neighbours.

Space and quiet didn't exist.

Mom didn't have time to sit and argue like the rest of us. She just did what had to be done making her way through the spaces between big personalities.

But what I remember most about the house was its openness. It didn't matter what a person's religion, ethnic background or sexual orientation was — family was about making people feel welcome. The big supper table might be chaotic, but it always had room for more.

As teenagers, our townhouse basement was a magnet for punk rock kids. Mom let us hang out and dance all night long. She never complained.

But if she found a crew sitting at her breakfast table working off the drink of an all-night party, she expected them to go to Mass.

Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or none of the above. The kids always went.

It seemed like a fair deal at the time. After all, there was no place else where they could hang out, drink some beers and play records until the early morning.

But the ultimate party crew were my mom and dad.

Anne-Marie and John Angus, 1959

They were pals. Best friends. When they took over the "rec" room in the basement, they would show us how real dancing was done. And boy, could they dance.

My mom has been widowed for 15 years. She had been with my father since she was 18. But after he died, she was determined to build a new life. She sold the townhouse and moved to an apartment in the heart of the city.

But it wasn't easy.

She had to take on the task of nursing my sister through a long and hard death. But Mom wouldn't let grief grind her down. As always, she did what needed to be done.

What I love about my mom is that she is a community builder. She’s always out there meeting new people and inviting them over. She is open to being challenged and learning new things.

I will get to see her this week in a stopover during my resistance tour. We will share a bottle of wine, and I will put on my favourite CDs — Irish Rebel Songs, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams. And we will get into the storytelling.

When I think of my mother, she is young. She always has been. Always will be.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Love you more than you know.

— Charlie

---

How are you honouring the strong women in your life this Mother’s Day?

Share your stories in the comments — we’d love to hear them.

---