My mom and her brothers didn’t have it easy when they were growing up. She didn’t speak of it much when we were younger but I learned recently that as children they often were left alone and hungry. She vowed that my brother and I wouldn’t go a day being hungry. Well, mom, mission accomplished. Her life was dedicated to her family, wanting us to have the things she didn’t always have for herself, with the steadfast love of parents to guide, teach and lend a helping hand at every step throughout our lives. The depth of her dedication was tested early when my father didn’t make it home from work one day. I was five and my brother was eight. Setting aside heartbreak she quickly regained her composure and got back to work at the job she cherished most, being our mom. A few years later she gave us what would turn out to be the greatest gift, our step father Rick, a truly great man, and together they have been providers, caregivers, teachers, role models, helpers, advisors, advocates, cheer leaders, friends and occasional disciplinarians. From T-ball to the Sunday wooden bat league I played in, I’d look over and see them in the stands. I can’t forget the day I was in high school between pitches on the mound and she screamed, “You can do it Joshy-pooh.” It took some time but I was able to forgive her — this past December, it was her Christmas present.

She was so proud of me when I graduated college, the first in the family. I was scared out of my mind. What was I supposed to do with a BA in Psychological Philosophy? So I did what anyone would naturally do; I went into manufacturing. Not far behind, mom finished up her Associates degree and got an internship at Whitcraft, conveniently the same place that I was working at the time. It gave her the opportunity to be the doting mother she loved to be, bringing in lunches, coming to visit me in my office every morning to chitchat, the playful pokes to my side as she would pass me on the shop floor. It wasn’t always easy; I’d tell her that she’d need to treat me in a more professional manner if our co-workers were to respect me. Then she broke out the “Joshy-pooh” and I knew it was a lost cause.

Then came my wedding day. She was so happy to welcome Aleah to our family. A bigger family meant more love to give. She also knew it meant she was one step closer to the ultimate gift that she had looked forward to since my brother had entered high school. Yes, she had been steadily pelting David and me with prompts to give her grandkids since we were about fourteen. It would be a few years, but then Billy was born and she absolutely radiated grandmotherly love; she waited so long. The reason she was put on this planet was renewed when he was placed in her arms. She would just hold him and stare at him for hours. Ollie came and my mom’s love expanded again. Even in great pain she’d find the strength to get down on the floor and play with the kids. It was her heaven on earth.

My mom loved the beach and being Captain of her boat “Thumper”. She’d spend every possible weekend during the summer on the boat. We’d go a few times a year and take it to Napatree, drop anchor and head to the beach or go clamming. On adventurous days we’d make the trip around the point out into the open ocean and do some fishing.

She also loved lighthouses. There is a framed picture series of the La Jument lighthouse in their family room that I was looking at the other day. It reminded me of her and of what many people have mentioned to me lately. She was a fighter — resilient, steadfast, unbreakable. This lighthouse off of France is pictured in the middle of a storm crazed Celtic Sea. Waves nearly engulf the entire structure as they crash against it with awesome power that only the Hand of God can provide. But still the tower remains intact, resolute against all the punishment the world around it can muster. All the while this lighthouse’s beacon stays lit, guiding sailors on their journey, caring for them, helping to keep them safe, preserving them for their families, as my mother did.

I love you mom. I hope to be half the lighthouse you were.
Josh Doblinger