Wednesday, 3/30/11: Mom

I could write and write here, and I'd never be close to filling this page.

My mother, Susan Gertrude Ziemer-Brender, a woman of many names, was my primary parent - they divorced when I was 10, and I lived essentially as an only child from that age on, with the exception of borders who lived in our house too, some of whom took on roles of parent, friend, sibling and occasional horrible enemy.

My mom taught me so much, it's overwhelming to know where to start. So I'll start at the beginning.

Born in Vienna, surviving 3 concentration camps in WWII, survivor of 3 marriages, and mother to 3 of her own children, official-adopted mom to 2 other boys, and unofficially countless others, my mother was someone who not only beat the odds, but challenged and overturned them.

She came from a horrible and ugly place that traumatized her as a child and teenager, and used that pain to help others heal. A nurse, therapist, leader, healer, mentor, humorist, intellect... So many boxes to put her in, you might just run out.

My mom made lemonade from those lemons, but also used the skin and pulp to make memories, laughter, inappropriate-and-humiliating-your-child moments of the most sacred variety, introspection and amazing goulash. On cooking, she made good food, but we all agreed that it looked nasty. Liptower; that crazy German potato/sauerkraut/polska kielbasa/onion thing; and so much more german and austrian stuff.

But the real "meat-and-potatoes", so-to-speak, on Susan Ziemer, is that she was an amazing and wonderful person, who touched everyone she met over my lifetime. High school friends on Facebook still remember having great conversations with her, and on Thanksgiving and Christmukkah, she'd always have a caravan of older women over, who made me nervous and uncomfortable and resentful. They were alone and lonely, and had nowhere else to go for holidays. She was someone who looked out for people, who gave and gave and then gave more.

For most of the years she was alive, she was my best friend. Not only did she teach me how to play Scrabble as a young lad... She also taught me how to forgive and love the darkness - in people, circumstances, whatever. She showed me that whoever and whatever I am is beautiful. My mom not only encouraged me to chase my sorted dreams of being an actor, rock star, chef, and whatever else might be the career du jour... She got out of the way to let me grow, hurt, fall, and get back up and try again.

Certainly she was no saint; but I don't need to talk about her problems. I did that most of my young life, and today I am celebrating her.

The fact is, most days lately I am celebrating her. The man I am becoming is so much about my mom, who emanated love.

I really could go on and on... I've barely scratched the bottom left corner of the surface. But hopefully you get the idea. I miss her, she never leaves my mind or presence, and I love her more than ever.