Before I tell more stories about Aurora, it’s impossible to move forward without first talking about the person who made those childhood years feel safe. Every memory I have, from Kool-Aid in the backyard to weekends at Bass Lake, has my mother somewhere in the background. She rarely stood in the spotlight, but she was the steady hand on the rudder, keeping our family on course even when the waters became rough.
My mom, Mary, lived a long and beautiful life, 98 years strong. She passed away leaving behind a legacy rooted in faith, resilience, and unwavering love for her family.
She was born on March 25th, 1922, in Thief River Falls, Minnesota, to her parents Seraphim and Augustine Roland. Life on a family farm in the 1920s revolved around the seasons, the weather, and the work that simply had to be done. Before she was old enough to drive a car, she was milking cows before sunrise, gathering eggs from the chicken coop, feeding livestock, pitching hay into the barn loft, and helping bring in the harvest before another day’s work was done.
There wasn’t much in terms of material wealth, but what she did have was something far more valuable: a strong family, a deep sense of purpose as a Catholic and a Christian, and a childhood she always remembered fondly. Meals were one of the few times the family slowed down, gathering around the kitchen table before heading back outside to finish the day’s work. Saturday might mean preparing for the week ahead, preserving vegetables, baking bread, or making repairs around the farm, while Sunday offered a rare opportunity to put on their best clothes, attend church, visit neighbors or relatives, and enjoy a home-cooked meal together. There were no televisions, video games, or smartphones to fill the hours. Entertainment came from conversation on the front porch, card games around the kitchen table, music played on a piano or fiddle, reading by lamplight, and the satisfaction of spending time together after another long day of honest work.
She shared stories of those early years often. You could hear it in her voice, the appreciation for simple living, hard work, and togetherness. Those lessons would shape the rest of her life. She grew up alongside her siblings: Augustine, Lucy, Louise, and Marcel, all of whom eventually passed before her. Loss was something she experienced throughout her life, but she carried it with quiet strength.
When my mother turned fourteen, she faced a decision that would shape the rest of her life. Growing up on a remote farm, there was no local high school, so the only way she could continue her education was to leave home and move to a larger town to live with another family. In exchange for room and board, she was expected to help with household chores, but those expectations quickly grew into something far beyond what had been promised, leaving her feeling more like an indentured servant than a student with a chance at a better future. Thankfully, her older sister Lucy recognized what was happening and stepped in to rescue her from that difficult situation. My mother never forgot that act of courage and love, and throughout her life she spoke with deep gratitude for the sister who made sure a fourteen-year-old girl had the opportunity not only to finish high school, but to reclaim her dignity and hope for the future.
On June 17th, 1947, she married my dad, Gus. Together, they built a life centered around family and education. Starting in 1948, they welcomed five boys into the world, the last one being me in 1958. And she did it with grace.
Before fully dedicating herself to raising our family, my mom had earned a two-year teaching degree after high school. Later in life, after years of motherhood, she returned to school and graduated from Winona State University in 1971 with a degree in elementary education. That alone says a lot about who she was: determined, disciplined, and committed to growing. She went on to teach for 25 years in Oakdale, WI, shaping young minds and impacting countless lives beyond our own home.
Her faith was always at the center of everything. As a devoted Catholic, she was deeply involved in her church and lived her beliefs every single day. She didn’t just talk about values; she modeled them, consistently, and without needing recognition.
After retiring in 1987 at the age of 65, she embraced a new chapter. She traveled with close friends, Fran, Gloria, and Edna, exploring both domestic and international destinations. She loved sharing stories and photos from those trips, reliving each experience with a sense of joy and gratitude. She was also incredibly talented and active. She painted, gardened, watched birds, and exercised regularly. Many people in the town of New Lisbon remember seeing her on her daily walks, a steady, familiar presence moving through the community she loved.
But beyond all of that, beyond her accomplishments and hobbies, what stands out most to me is who she was as a mother. She was the glue that held everything together.
Imagine a household with six men, five boys and my dad. It couldn’t have been easy, especially considering my father struggled with alcoholism. There wasn’t a lot of outward emotion in our home, but my mom was always the steady, grounding force.
No matter what, she was there. When we got hurt, whether it was bumps, scrapes, or something deeper, she was the one we went to. She had a way of listening that made you feel understood. When life got hard, when relationships failed, when hearts were broken, she didn’t judge. She just listened, supported, and gently guided.
Her faith gave her strength, and in turn, she passed that strength on to us. She was our moral compass, always pointing us in the right direction, even when we didn’t fully realize it at the time. Both of my parents were hard workers, and that work ethic became part of who we are. But my mom’s strength wasn’t loud; it was quiet, steady, and constant.
She also had a fun side. I still remember when I was a junior in college, and she agreed to buy a brand new 1980 Mazda RX-7 knowing I would purchase it from her when I graduated. Not exactly what you’d expect from a mom at that stage of life, but that was her. She drove it for a year, turning a few heads along the way, and then I ended up taking it to Minnesota when I started at 3M. It’s one of those small memories that sticks with you.
She was there for my milestones too, like my graduation from Iowa State University and my wedding to Pamela, and for the everyday moments that matter even more.
When she later moved to the Twin Cities into a senior living home at Brookdale in Edina, it opened the door for an especially meaningful chapter in both of our lives. It was during that time that she had the chance to really get to know Pam, who was my girlfriend then. After walking through the pain of a 25-year marriage ending, I think my mom recognized something in Pam that told her this was different, that this was the person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. She didn’t make a big announcement about it; that wasn’t her way. But you could see it in her eyes, in her warmth toward Pam, and in the way she embraced her as part of the family long before the wedding day arrived.
And when that day did come, it was one of the most beautiful memories I have of her. At 96 years old, she was as alive as I had ever seen her, fully present, engaged, and filled with joy. She walked me down the aisle in a beautiful outdoor setting, a moment I’ll never forget, symbolizing not just a new beginning for me, but her blessing over it. Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” was playing, and I was tearing up as we neared the altar. She gave me a hand squeeze as if to say, “I’ve got you.
Throughout the entire celebration, she was everywhere: on the dance floor, talking with guests, smiling, laughing, soaking in every minute, every second, every hour. She stayed late into the night, not wanting to miss a single moment. It was as if she knew how special that day was, not just for me, but for all of us. And in many ways, it felt like she was celebrating not only a wedding, but a new chapter of life she had hoped I would find.
Then, in the final chapter of her life, something unexpected happened.
During COVID, after I had temporarily lost my job, she moved in with me and Pam in March. I was fully expecting to get my job back in a few weeks or a couple of months, but my mom was isolated in her room, and this was a great option for the short term. What could have been a difficult season turned into one of the most meaningful times of my life. I had the opportunity to care for her every day. I made her meals. We played cards, lots of cards. We spent time together in a way that life doesn’t always allow. It was simple, but it was special.
And then, near the end, things changed quickly. After learning that my job loss was permanent, we all decided to make her living arrangement with us permanent. She had been living in our lower-level room, but her furniture and the rest of her clothes were still back in Edina. We cancelled her rental agreement and moved her out of her apartment on Wednesday, August 5th. There was plenty of help with the entire Rubash family pitching in. It was quite the celebration, and my brother Chuck and I had a few Fireballs to commemorate the happy event.
That Friday, Pam’s parents were in town and we had a wonderful meal at home, followed by a card game of Rummy and a walk down the street. It was a joyful time, and I remember thinking that this is what I am supposed to be doing. I felt there was a reason that God had given me this opportunity to be with my mom at this stage of her life. I was looking forward to seeing my mom into her 100s and beyond.
But God had different plans. She suffered a stroke early in the morning of Saturday, August 8th. By Monday, August 10th, she was gone. I was there with her when she took her last breath. Holding her and talking with her. Singing to her. She had told me many times that she was ready to go. Her eyesight and hearing were failing her. She had the aches and pains of a 98-year-old who lived an active life. She had outlived her brothers and sisters. She had outlived most of her friends. It was time.
Forty-four years earlier, in July, my mom and I were alone with my dad when he passed. I don’t know if that’s coincidence, timing, or something more, but as the youngest, I was there at both beginnings of goodbye. And that’s something I carry with me.
Looking back now, I realize that my mother didn’t just raise five boys. She shaped the values that would guide all of us for the rest of our lives. And because she created such a secure home, we were free to spend our childhood exactly the way childhood was meant to be lived: outside, exploring, imagining, and making our own adventures.
