The year was 1984, and it was a rough one in my home. I was an angry teenager who made mistakes more frequently than any young person should. Meanwhile, my mother fought for my life, my safety, and my future.
At the risk of idolizing or embarrassing my mother, I will simplify my praise of her in this post to say that she was selfless, loving, and strong. She fought for the Equal Rights Amendment and other initiatives that she felt were important to women - her daughters in particular - for as long as I can remember. Her fights in the 1970’s and 1980’s for the rights of women were done in her spare time, as she struggled to move past the death of my father and raise two girls to the best of her ability while making the time to go to meetings and marches.
In retrospect, what stands out to me the most about my mother’s life during that time was that I made it exponentially more difficult. Instead of being inspired by her, I fought against her and rebelled. While she was struggling to provide for me and make the world a better place for me, I was demeaning myself and doing my best to be the opposite of what she wanted. Though much of my behavior can be attributed to a deep depression, anger, and sadness over my father’s death, it was nonetheless the antithesis of my mother’s dreams for me. Maybe it prompted her to fight harder, or maybe it became a distraction from my antics, but she continued to fight for the rights of women in any way she could. She was involved in organizations for women’s rights, even after the 1982 deadline for the ERA, in public groups and in our private lives.
When Geraldine Ferraro accepted a place on Walter Mondale’s ticket in 1984 as the vice-presidential candidate, my mother was thrilled. There was a woman on the national - and international by default - stage, an example of the long fight for women’s rights in America and my mother’s hopes for opportunities for her daughters. Though I was too caught up in the teenage drama I created for myself to notice at the time, I now know that Ferraro’s place in politics at that time must have been bittersweet for my mother. As she watched this strong woman rise to heights never seen in the U.S. before, she had to watch her eldest daughter slink further away from her potential and promise.
Today, news surfaced of Ferraro’s death. Reading about her life and sorting through the cloudy memories of her accomplishments catapults me back to a time in my life that I often try to forget. But at the same time, I remember Ferraro as an extension of my mother, everything she has survived and all of her own successes. As did Ferraro, my mother fought against the odds for a greater good, and she also struggled to save the teetering life of her daughter; both battles were ultimately successful.
As I privately thank Ferraro posthumously for her contributions to the women of the world, I also wanted to thank my mom for hers, as she is still in this world to read this. Ferraro will always hold a special place in my memories and deserve much gratitude for the way she helped pave for women, but it is my mom who fought the same fight, just on a lesser known and different level, and not only saved my life but set an example for me that I don’t often enough follow. I often lean on her and stand on the road she paved for me, but maybe this is a good opportunity to let her know what that road means to me. Mom, you are the greatest among my heroines.
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