In Memory of My Mother, Patricia Ann Gottsch

Patricia Ann Gottsch was born May 3, 1938 to Robert and Evelyn Dodt in Phoenix, Arizona. The 4th of 10 children, she was a graduate of Holy Cross High School in Santa Cruz where she was Senior Class Vice President, candidate for Class Queen, member of the year book committee , recipient of various dance awards, and a member of the Holy Cross Sodality Club.
She met my father in 1957, through a friend who invited him to attend a Young Catholic Workers Conference in Santa Clara, California. It was there they became acquainted and began courting.
Not long after they were married, on December 27, 1958 and began to build their family of five, 3 boys and 2 girls.
Joe with his red hair, blue eyes and beautiful mind. Who once tried to ride his tricycle down our basement steps, is now a pilot, married to Kim and father of four. Patrick the gifted athlete, married to Stephanie, and father of four lovely daughters. Jeff the charmer, who stole the hearts of my grandmother and aunts, married to Cindy and father of five. Susie, our school teacher, married to Tim, and mother of two.
And of course myself – . . . . . . the free babysitter.
So what do you do as the mother of five, after you’ve made the school lunches, gone food shopping, washed all the clothes, broke up fights, wiped away tears, fixed the meals, given the baths and oversaw our nightly prayers? If you were Patty, you’d probably toss in another load of laundry and stay up late to watch Laugh-In, or Johnny Carson while matching mountains of socks. Or, maybe you’d sneak away to a weekly toll painting class at Maureen Strey ‘s.
As our mother, or course, I thought she was beautiful, with her blonde hair, petite size and “lipstick only” style? She was fun. She was authentic. And unless you knew her well, you wouldn’t know that under her sweet, mild exterior, she was a pistol, feisty, fun- loving and independent.
She was there for us. For our First Holy Communions, confirmations, high school and college graduations, our boyfriends and girlfriends and our marriages. My brothers and sisters may remember the famous guiding words she would shout from the porch as we left with our dates, “Remember, your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit”! This usually made for our safe and prompt return – well before the established curfew.
She was there for us. Our front door was always open – we did not need a key – because she was there, at home, out in the garden, down in the basement, or the kitchen fixing dinner.
She was there for us. In the summer she took us to Berkley Park, Sellwood Park, Creston Park and Oaks Park. On rainy days, she moved the furniture out of the way so we could roller skate in the house. And on snow days, she made buckets of hot chocolate and piles of buttery toast.
She adored children. She saw them all as angels. And she knew just how to handle them. I remember calling her on the telephone often when I first started babysitting. “Mom, the baby won’t stop crying, what should I do? Mom, the baby won’t take the bottle, what should I do? Mom, this diaper is over the top – PLEASE COME!
Raising children was second nature to her. While we were all at school, she would take in a few more babies and toddlers from the Holy Family neighborhood. She loved each and everyone one of them – and they loved her too, and commonly referred to her as, “Auntie Pat”.
She was there for us.
She was there for her friends too. Giving of her time to listen while they poured out their troubles and worries. She kept every confidence - and never turned them away.
She was a wonderful cook. Her cheese bread, canned peaches and pickles, thanksgiving dinner, holiday fudge, and tacos, were some of our family’s favorites.” And she was a gracious host, who welcomed anyone to share our table.
She was crazy about Christmas. Our house was the envy of any department store with decorations everywhere even the bathrooms, beautifully wrapped gifts that blanketed the living room and stockings filled with candy that would make a dentist smile. She would stay up till 3am with Dad wrapping gifts before laying her head on the pillow. She was there for us. And we were blessed.
Such self-giving would not have been possible without Mom’s strong undying faith. She was happy, and comfortable with God and with her faith. She did not worry terribly about the future. She knew that she was not alone and that our Father in Heaven was with her at all times. And this is exactly how she faced her journey through Alzheimer’s - with quiet consolation and amazing grace. Never was it more evident than in the manner of her dying. She was completely unafraid, often radiant with happiness, beaming at all the people she loved. And with her strong heart, she held on to every last bit of her substance, so we all could say good-bye.

May the memory of our mother, Patty, always be a blessing to those gathered with us today in body or in spirit. And may our Lord’s perpetual Light shine upon her.

Auntie Pat

Children called her "Auntie Pat". The children she babysat while we were at school.
Some were toddlers of neighbors on our street, others were infants and tots of people from our parish. I don't know how so many mother's found out about my mom.
I guess it was just word of mouth.
She truly was great with kids. She loved them. Really loved them.
And she had patience like no one I've ever known.
She just had this knack for babies. She knew what they needed, and how to comfort them. There were never any tears. No crying upset babies. They were always happy and content.

I remember coming home from grade school, when she was babysitting.
She would be there, just enjoying the day, folding clothes on the sofa, surrounded by children; a baby cooing on a blanket, two tots playing on the floor, another one with a toy car crawling by. Complete harmony. Everything in order.

Some of the mom's in the parish have told me that my mom saved their lives, or saved their children's lives. It's the greatest compliment, really. And a well deserved one at that. She really was a pro.

Meet my Mom

She's a Saint. A real Saint.
You know why?
She never asked for anything for herself. Never.
Not a new dress, shoes, makeup, nothing.
She earned money on the side taking care of other mother's children while
we were away at school. With the money she earned (and I think it was like $5 per day per child), she bought things for my father, like a new gun case one year, which he badly wanted.
She smiled most of the time.
She referenced God often.
She did not criticise her children, she advocated for them.
She loved the underdogs, the broken-hearted, the troubled, the weak, the ones who needed someone to listen.
Of course, I didn't notice it when I was growing up.
Because she was my mom. And I was all about me at the time.
What a mistake that was.
Words of wisdom folks, don't wait until you mom is sick and dying to take stock
of how special she is. DO NOT WAIT ANOTHER DAY. Tell her now, tonight, just how special she is.

My Mom, Patricia Ann Gottsch

Helpful Hints

She often said, "If you look in the mirror too long, you'll turn to a pillar of salt".
(As a teenager, I was quite insecure - and thus self conscious and always checking something in the mirror). I think she wanted me to be humble and authentic.

Regarding boys, she would say, "Look at his family". She believe you could tell a lot about how he treated his mother, what he learned from his dad, if he had many siblings, etc. She was right.

When I asked her where babies came from, she said, "When a mother and father love each other soooo much, God gives them children". (I was 14 and didn't have a clue, so I bought it).

She used to watch me from the front porch as I followed my brothers to school. I think I lopped along just like them. So, she told me, "Stand up straight so that your head touches the sky, and suck in your stomach". I still do that.

And when I was picked up for a date, she'd yell from the front porch, "Remember your body is the temple of the hold spirit". Nuff said.

My Mom.

My mom, Patricia Ann Gottsch, maiden name, Dodt, was the 4th child in a Catholic family of 10. There were six girls and four boys. I think she was the child in the middle who got lost. Her father was in real estate, had a restaurant on the beach in Santa Cruz, was a staunch Catholic who invited the priest over to supper on Sundays. I only know she was a gift wrap girl at J.C. Penny Company and that her dad taught her to save her money. When my dad met her at a dance in Santa Cruz, she was 20. They married when she was 21. Honeymooned in Lake Tahoe. My dad says she cried all the way there because she didn't want to leave her family. My dad was 23. They were so young.She became a mother and a homemaker. To me she was like Doris Day. Naive, sweet, innocent. She prepared 3 square meals a day, cleaned house, did laundry like a Gap employee who folded clothes crisp enough to display in a store, rolled her blonde hair once a week, wore only lipstick, and idolized my father. She sang the French song, "Ce sera sera, whatever will be, will be", to us. She listened to Roger Miller albums. She woke me up when Elvis Presley or Tom Jones were on the Ed Sullivan Show.She rose at 5:00am every morning to make my dad a hot breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee. Then made lunches for all us kids, customized to our taste for mayonaise, mustard, balony or cheese only sandwiches. She scrolled our names on neatly folded brown paper bags in beautiful red cursive with a red ElMarco felt pen and lined them on the top of the bookshelf by the door.We wore neatly cleaned pressed uniforms and went to Catholic school. She made life beautiful. She believed in love, God and always stood by the underdogs.