My mom, Marie-Noëlle, was born December 25, 1934, in Châteauroux, France. Her parents, Etienne and Denise Virard, had six children: Pierre, Marie- Noëlle, Michel, Nicole, Colette and Claude.

They grew up in the WWII era and learned to live with little during their early years. When my mom was 19, she met and married our father Eladio “Kid” Gamero and had my brother Manolo “Manuel” Gamero and me. The marriage didn’t last and they divorced in the early 60s.

Divorce wasn’t popular at that time and was looked down upon. Often women felt ashamed and struggled to find ways to make ends meet. During those years mom worked two to three jobs so we were mostly raised by our grandparents, Mémé and Pépé. 

Over time, my mom said, she longed to spend more time with her children, raising them herself. As much as she loved her family and knew they took excellent care of us, she wanted more. 

While working at an Air Force Base she met Americans who told her about America and what it could offer her. A couple from Marin County California offered to sponsor her to come to the US. She could take a luxury boat trip, they told her, and would have a friend on the other side to greet her and to help her begin her new life in America. 

She thought about it long and hard, she said, and finally decided to do something few women, especially in those days, would have had the courage to do. 

In 1963 she set out to make a new life for herself and her children in the United States. I’m sure leaving her kids behind for a year wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the only choice she really had. And it wasn’t so bad for us kids who stayed with Mémé and Pépé.   

My brother was eight and I was six. Though we didn’t like the idea she would be going so far away, we understood she couldn’t take us with her until she could see if she could survive in this faraway land that many people only heard and dreamed of. 

During the year we were apart, my mom bought me a little gold cross that I have worn my entire life, and still wear to this day. 

When she arrived in San Francisco she was greeted by her sponsors who introduced her to her new roommate, Sandy Bradford. Sandy had agreed to let my mom live with her, help her get a job and experience life in America. The two became life-long friends and had the best of times that year. My mom got a job working with Sandy at the Burge’s drive-in diner in Novato. 

It took my mom a year of working and saving money before she could send for us kids. During that year my brother and I were filled with so many different emotions. On the one hand we desperately wanted to be with her, and on the other hand we were frightened at the thought of leaving the family and life we knew and loved so much. 

My aunts and uncles married while we were still living in France. They started their families so I had a lot of cousins I loved and knew I’d miss them all. 

The day finally came. The airline tickets had been purchased and we were told we were going to America. I remember being quiet and solemn. I didn’t know quite what to do or how to act. I knew my French family was unhappy to see us go, and that hurt. On the one hand I was excited to go see my mom and what America was all about. On the other hand, I was sad and scared to leave the ones I loved and the world I knew. My brother and I were a bit frightened at the thought of going on a big plane, just the two of us, and trying to find her at the other end. 

Everyone assured us we would be OK and that people would be looking out for us. But when you’re seven or even nine that’s not so reassuring. Once we were on the plane flight attendants gave us little wing pins and toys to play with. We watched movies and they spoiled us with foods we’d never tasted. They even gave us a ball and let us roll it down the aisle. 

When we finally arrived, we were greeted by my mom and by her fiancé, Matt Conlin. I’m sure I was told about him before we left France but I remember being a bit surprised to see my mom with a man when we arrived. He looked like a nice guy and I figured if she liked him, he must be OK. I quickly came to the realization he was going to be in our lives when we arrived at our apartment in San Anselmo and he lived there, too, along with his mother and their cat. 

That first night I remember running around the apartment which seemed so big and so different from my grandparents’ home back in Chateauroux. In the kitchen I found pot covers that I put on my head, thinking they were shower caps and wondering why they kept them in the kitchen. 

It wasn’t long before we learned my mom was pregnant. I was ecstatic! My love for babies began when I was a baby, my mom said. So, this was a game changer for me and it made the transition from life in France to life in America so much easier for me. Though I still missed my family. 

In a few short months my mom and dad bought our family home in Marinwood, California, a sweet neighborhood community north of San Rafael. 

In May of 1964 Patrick Philip Conlin was born, and in November of 1966 Philip Steven Conlin was born. These two were the best little brothers a girl could ask for. I was so involved in their lives that my dad bought me Mother’s Day gifts, telling me I was like their second mom. I’m not so sure mom liked that but she went along with it. 

She was strict on what we wore, including always having to have the best shoes from Stride Rite. At some point a girl outgrows Stride Rite shoes and wants Go-Go boots. Mom said no, dad said yes and snuck me out of the house to buy me some. She was mad but she got over it and I was allowed to keep them. 

During those years, dad worked as a police officer in San Rafael and later as a private investigator. As it turns out, during that time my future husband Dave Zehnder was a young police officer in the nearby city of Corte Madera. Mom worked as a waitress at the Hickr’y Pit in Mill Valley and later at Lyons in Terra Linda, where Dave often stopped for breakfast. 

In 1973, during my last year of high school, they decided to move to Washington State. By then Manuel had already moved out of the house and by 1975 I was back in California. 

Dad ended up working as an investigator for a bank and mom was a rural route newspaper carrier. All of her customers loved her and she became especially close to one of her neighbors, Grandma Scott. 

Over time mom and dad grew apart and divorced in the early 1980s. 

In the 80’s and early 90’s they became grandparents to our sons Andy and Chris and to my niece and nephew, Aaron and Danielle. Two years ago, mom became a great-grandma to Aleah Marie and most recently to Miles David. Sadly, we lost her before she was able to meet Miles.    

In the late 1980s mom met and married John King. They loved hiking, going to wineries and taking trips to France. 

Mom worked hard her entire life. She took work very seriously and always did her best in everything she did – whether it was waiting on tables, cleaning homes or apartments, or delivering newspapers. She always made the most tips because her customers loved her. She won awards at the Columbian and found a way to get those papers delivered even during the worse snow storms. 

Each of her children have fond memories of doing the paper route with her. It was long and there were fun stops along the way. Especially those to the little stores where we’d stock up on treats. The route always ended with a stop at Grandma Scott’s for watered-down coffee and homemade cookies. Mom was also a very devoted friend. 

During our near-daily phone calls over the years we were apart, my mom told me how much she would love it if we could move to Washington to be closer to her. We had to wait for Dave to retire and in 2001, we finally made the move. In 2008 we opened an in-home licensed child care and preschool and work together and mom loved it! She loved spending time with the children and I could see how much she enjoyed them. And they enjoyed her just as much. 

I loved the times we shared together, mother and daughter. She loved when I took her shopping. One of my favorite memories was the day she started dancing on the upper level of the Vancouver Mall. It was during the holidays and Christmas music was playing. Children were visiting Santa and she was in a very jovial mood. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, she just started dancing and it melted my heart to see her let herself go and just have fun. 

But her all-time favorite was when I would take her to get massages and pedicures. We would have massages done in the same room and I could hear her little noises that let me know she was thoroughly enjoying it. I loved when she’d get up afterwards and her cheeks were all rosie and pink. She was in Heaven!   

Everything changed when she had a stroke in 2014 and then a major stroke in 2016. It was very difficult for us to watch our very strong, resourceful, daring, courageous, determined, active, funny yet serious, loving, and sometimes a little obnoxious mom eventually become unable to care for herself. 

This should have been the best time of her life, when she no longer needed to work and could relax and enjoy life. Though knowing mom, she would have definitely kept herself busy because that’s who she was. I’ve always felt she was robbed of a time when she could kick back and enjoy her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

Those last years when she was sick is not what I choose to remember about my mom. 

I choose to remember the strong and vibrant woman she was. The woman who had guts and grit, who wasn’t afraid to move across the ocean to start a new life – a woman brave enough to trust that the people who were sending her there had the best of intentions.  

I choose to remember the mom who would jump on her grandchildren’s bikes and act like a little kid, something we didn’t see much of when we were young because she was always working so hard to make ends meet. 

No matter how busy she was or how hard she worked, she found time to do the one thing she and I loved most – going to the beach. I have many fond memories of sitting in the sand with her, sifting through tiny little rocks and the look on her face when she found ones that looked like peas, or beans, or hearts. I still have some of those precious little stones. 

I choose to remember a woman who took pride in everything she did. A woman who could save money like no other and who always made sure her children had all they ever needed. 

She may not have been perfect and she may have had some regrets. But, again, that is not what I choose to remember about my mom. I choose to remember she was human, and we all have our regrets and none of us are perfect. I know she did the best she could with what she was given. 

She gave me life and she gave me love. She gave me the best of herself and for that I will forever be grateful. I love you Mom and I miss you every single day!