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This past September, a friend's mother died quite unexpectedly. I never met my friend's mom, but this sad event has given me lots to think about. It made me realize that I often take my mother's presence in my life for granted. By this I don't mean that I'm ungrateful or thoughtless toward her, but that I don't think very often about her importance in my life and I will not picture my life without my mother.

Until now, I have never written about the exceptionally supportive and loving relationship I share with my mother, Kaye (short for Kathleen). My friend's experience has reminded me, in a most poignant way, that I shouldn't wait to say or do things with those I love on the thoughtless assumption that they will always be present in my life.

Throughout my life, Kaye has always thrived when faced with new challenges. Picture this: four kids in four years, no driver's license, and a Navy husband away at sea. One summer my siblings and I were quarantined in our house for about six weeks. We started by catching the chicken pox. When that ended, we caught the German measles. As we were not allowed off our property, my mom needed to think up ways to entertain us. Every afternoon, just before our quiet time, Kaye would have us sit on the basement stairs, bleacher-style, as she opened the freezer to display huge tubs of ice cream. Each of us was allowed to choose whatever flavour we wanted. Having this little distraction ceremony each day really made the quarantine bearable.

In the two-channel universe of the late 1950s, my mother would often iron in the evening when my father was away. My brother Marc and I didn't always fall right off to sleep. Rather than have us cry or be awake upstairs, my mother would make us a cosy nest on the chesterfield (that's "couch" for those of you not from Nova Scotia) where we could watch television and doze. Whenever I iron cotton shirts my earliest memories of this are twigged. I smell the hot iron warming the cloth, see the grainy black and white screen in a darkened room, and hear my mother sobbing as she watched news coverage of the tragic Springhill Mine disaster. She ironed long into the night that evening.

Until I was in my late teens, I never saw my mother lose her temper or get angry. She faced her challenges, decided what needed to be done and then just got on with it. I've often thought her credo must be: "If you decide to do something, give it your best effort". Kaye is a force to be reckoned with once she's made up her mind and she never does a poor job. Lest you think I'm saying my mother is perfect, I'm not. But I am saying that she is, and always has been, supportive, helpful, kind and generous to those lucky enough to know her. She makes the time to help.

When my dad died in 1993, my mother faced that gaping wound with courage and her usual attitude. She decided that she wanted to learn how to downhill ski so, every Friday, she would pick-up my daughter, Rae, and they would head out for a lesson and an adventure. Kaye also decided to travel more. She and my niece, Rowan, travelled to Bali during several Christmas vacations to visit my sister, Stephanie. From the time my son, Rhys, was three or four, Kaye would take him to see the Senators play hockey. Since they both really like Les Canadien, they've also gone to Montreal to take in a game. What I really like about this is that my mother has a very personal and unique relationship with all of her grandchildren. She has made an effort to know each one of them as individuals and not as the children of her children.

Although my brothers and their families live in Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, my mother spends holidays and vacations with them. My niece, Marie, moved from Nova Scotia last year to live with Kaye while she worked here in Ottawa. This past September, Marie moved to her own apartment and started attending Carleton University. I'm sure Marie's decision to relocate was influenced by how enjoyable her previous year had been.

In my family I'm notorious for being a homebody. My mother has simply stopped inviting me to plays, the ballet, and concerts. In September, Mom called to ask if I wanted to learn to play bridge with her. "It's only two hours, once a week," was how she put it. I was set to say "No thanks!" when I heard myself say "Okay, that sounds like fun!" Since the course ended, we have continued to play each week with two other friends and it has been lots of fun. I think one of the neat things is that I get to see Kaye, not as my mother, but as my friend and it's been great.

This coming weekend (it's mid-December as I write), Kaye and I will hold our annual Christmas baking day. Every year we bake goodies to send to my brothers, Eric and Marc, (and one year, Kaye brought butter tarts to Stephanie and Rowan in Bali). Kaye's apartment will be filled with the smell of butter tarts, mincemeat pies and tortieres. For the first time, Rae will join us. Rae is a keen cook and I have a strong feeling that she will be able to learn to make pastry, thus carrying on our baking tradition. I never bothered to learn because, whenever I was asked to bring dessert, I would answer "Mom makes the best pastry, I'll get her to bring the pie. "

In April, 2003, my mother will become a great-grandmother. Rowan and her partner, Dave, are expecting their first child and we are all aglow with the beautiful news. Although Rowan is my niece, she has been an integral part of my family for much of her life. Rae and Rhys consider her to be their big sister, not cousin, and we are all looking forward to meeting the baby. This event has made me wonder what kind of "grandmother" I'll be and has made me look to my mother as a role model once again. For this and everything else - I say "Thanks, Mom!"