{"id":6400,"date":"2024-05-10T15:41:29","date_gmt":"2024-05-10T22:41:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.dianastevan.com\/?p=6400"},"modified":"2024-05-10T15:54:40","modified_gmt":"2024-05-10T22:54:40","slug":"mother-an-unheralded-heroine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.dianastevan.com\/uk\/2024\/uncategorized\/mother-an-unheralded-heroine\/","title":{"rendered":"Mother: An Unheralded Heroine"},"content":{"rendered":"

Mothers, unheralded heroines, deserve our attention. They’re the ones whose tireless efforts to raise a child in our increasingly complex world are often overlooked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

To honour her mother who had just died, Anna Jarvis, an American peace activist, started Mother’s Day in the USA in 1905. In her work with Mother’s Day Clubs devoted to the wounded soldiers on both sides of the American Civil War, she wanted to start a movement that would stop their husbands and sons from being killed in wars. It was to be Mother’s Day for Peace. It’s evolved to a day when we celebrate our mothers.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Goddess Rhea, Mother of all Gods<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

But celebrating motherhood goes back in history to the time of the ancient Greeks. They celebrated Rhea, the mother of Gods in their spring festival. And later, as early as the sixteenth century, various Christian churches held Mothering Sunday, honouring the Virgin Mary and all mothers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Mother<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

My mother, the storyteller, is no longer here. She doesn’t know her daughter has written the story of her life both in the old country and in the new<\/strong><\/a>. I wish I could tell her, that while I was writing, she was always on my mind. Her sacrifice, her love, her hard work. Though largely illiterate, she was the conveyor of much wisdom, love, and compassion. She was the glue that held our family together, and also the extended family. She learned how to do that from her mother, another unheralded heroine, during their harsh life on the prairies. <\/p>\n\n\n

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My mother, Dolly Klewchuk, and me.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

My mother was the disciplinarian, but my father supported her ideas, her ways of teaching me right from wrong. He taught me to honor thy father and thy mother. A Ukrainian immigrant in Canada, he learned the Ten Commandments at the Anglican Sunday School in Stony Mountain, Manitoba. His father was not an easy man and unwittingly took advantage of my dad, his eldest son, and yet, Dad honored and respected him until the day he died. His mother barely saw the light of day in the two room house their family of seven lived in. My father knew how much she sacrificed and his eyes would tear up whenever he talked about her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I was five, Dad bought a picture for me to give to my mother on Mother\u2019s Day. He was so thoughtful. He knew what mothers did for their young, the sacrifices they made for their children out of love. I am so grateful for my mother, who worked so hard to give me a better life.<\/p>\n\n\n

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We have two daughters, caring mothers, too. They continue to help their children pursue their dreams. Both professional women, one a lawyer, the other a teacher, they work hard, too hard, but then it seems the mothers in our family tree all did that. Their love has no bounds. A mother\u2019s love is unending.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here’s a beautiful Ukrainian song, lyrics in English follow. Katia sings, My Mother. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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