Mom would have been 74 today. Very odd not to need to pick up the phone to give her a call. I remember when she turned seventy; when I asked her how she felt about being that age, she said, “I don’t want to be seventy!”
“Well,” I said, “consider the alternative.”
Four short years later, the alternative is the reality.
Otherwise, it has been a good day. This morning I finished and submitted the two hundred word essay I wrote for the Lenten reflection booklet the local Episcopal churches are compiling jointly. My knee feels the best it has for a long time and I had a good workout at physical therapy. I was able to piggyback on a free wireless signal from the café next door to the PT clinic and listen to VPR Classical on my iPod Touch during electrical stimulation, which is a lovely way to pass the time. Feeling guilty after PT, I bought a bowl of delicious chicken chipotle soup for my lunch from the cafe'.
Evensong for the Feast of St. Andrew, the patron saint of my church, awaits tonight. Good to attend church on this day in particular.
Thanks for hanging with me during NaBloPoMo! I think I got something up each day. I’ll see how or if I will continue this much posting during Advent. No urgency now, certainly!
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Funerals, Part I
(This is the first of probably three installments about the experience of my dad's funeral with its context. Thanks for humoring me.)
“I feel much better after seeing Dad in his coffin. He looked really good,” I said as I steered my car into freeway traffic.
“Why did it make you feel better to see Dad when he was dead?”
I had just picked up my brother Law Enforcer at the airport, two days after our father’s funeral. We were on the interstate heading back to the old hometown.
“After all,” he continued, “Nothing was there except a body. He was gone. Why did you have to see him in his coffin? Why drive all the way to Arkansas for his funeral? He didn’t know.”
No one had ever asked me questions like that. The importance of a funeral was something I never had questioned myself. Law Enforcer is a lawyer, though, and likes to make people think.
After a pause, I said, “Maybe it is because I’ve seen so many other peoples’ dead parents. I just needed to see my own.” The number of dead bodies I have seen in a thirty year nursing career spent in ICU, oncology and hospice number well over a hundred.
Law Enforcer nodded. “That makes sense.” Then we noticed we were on the wrong highway; I missed the exit while pondering his question. That conversation was over.
When Mom had died, Taciturn and I were unable to get there in time. The family members who were within ten minutes of the hospital had the honor of being present when she died. Family and friends who lived within an hour were able to view her body before it was removed to the crematorium. The rest of us were out of luck.
Mom had made it clear she wanted no sort of memorial. “Too much fuss,” she said, and Dad honored her wishes. But at dinner a couple of days after she died, something was off kilter. Was Mom just on vacation? That is what it felt like. Without a final, ritualized goodbye, I was not convinced that my mother really was dead. The only thing that seemed different at dinner was the glazed, sad look that passed through my father’s eyes.
“What is it, Dad?” A silly question, but I asked it anyway.
He shook his head as he returned to the present. “I miss my wife.”
We knew Dad was lonely, so my brothers and I called at least weekly. We worried that something would happen during the six hours a day he would be alone while everyone in the house was at work or school. Dad promised us he would get a cell phone to use in case he fell. Seeking another way to ensure he was well, I asked him if he would be interested in video chat on Skype. Dad was enthusiastic about the idea. I made a mental note to call Caretaker brother, who lived with him, to see if a webcam would work with Dad’s ancient computer.
But Caretaker called me first. He found Dad’s body on the floor between the wall and his bed when he arrived home early to take him for a doctor’s appointment.
Dad missed his wife so much that he could live only two months without her.
“I feel much better after seeing Dad in his coffin. He looked really good,” I said as I steered my car into freeway traffic.
“Why did it make you feel better to see Dad when he was dead?”
I had just picked up my brother Law Enforcer at the airport, two days after our father’s funeral. We were on the interstate heading back to the old hometown.
“After all,” he continued, “Nothing was there except a body. He was gone. Why did you have to see him in his coffin? Why drive all the way to Arkansas for his funeral? He didn’t know.”
No one had ever asked me questions like that. The importance of a funeral was something I never had questioned myself. Law Enforcer is a lawyer, though, and likes to make people think.
After a pause, I said, “Maybe it is because I’ve seen so many other peoples’ dead parents. I just needed to see my own.” The number of dead bodies I have seen in a thirty year nursing career spent in ICU, oncology and hospice number well over a hundred.
Law Enforcer nodded. “That makes sense.” Then we noticed we were on the wrong highway; I missed the exit while pondering his question. That conversation was over.
When Mom had died, Taciturn and I were unable to get there in time. The family members who were within ten minutes of the hospital had the honor of being present when she died. Family and friends who lived within an hour were able to view her body before it was removed to the crematorium. The rest of us were out of luck.
Mom had made it clear she wanted no sort of memorial. “Too much fuss,” she said, and Dad honored her wishes. But at dinner a couple of days after she died, something was off kilter. Was Mom just on vacation? That is what it felt like. Without a final, ritualized goodbye, I was not convinced that my mother really was dead. The only thing that seemed different at dinner was the glazed, sad look that passed through my father’s eyes.
“What is it, Dad?” A silly question, but I asked it anyway.
He shook his head as he returned to the present. “I miss my wife.”
We knew Dad was lonely, so my brothers and I called at least weekly. We worried that something would happen during the six hours a day he would be alone while everyone in the house was at work or school. Dad promised us he would get a cell phone to use in case he fell. Seeking another way to ensure he was well, I asked him if he would be interested in video chat on Skype. Dad was enthusiastic about the idea. I made a mental note to call Caretaker brother, who lived with him, to see if a webcam would work with Dad’s ancient computer.
But Caretaker called me first. He found Dad’s body on the floor between the wall and his bed when he arrived home early to take him for a doctor’s appointment.
Dad missed his wife so much that he could live only two months without her.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tribute to My Parents
Peeking at my father's obit yesterday, I ran across this wonderful essay written by a childhood friend of my Law Enforcement brother. I was already out of the house during the time period described, but I still lived close and remember how happy my parents were at this time in their lives. Parentheses and italics mine.
N and B E were like a second set of parents to a couple of us kids from the S-L clan. As children, we practically lived at their house after school, on weekends, in the summer. We remember regularly knocking on that big solid wooden door every afternoon, and every weekend morning, about as early as we figured they'd accept us. Mr. E almost invariably answered the door.
"Hey, beeb, shoot to me," he'd say, his right hand outstretched for our exaggerated, ritual handshake.
"Shake the hand that shook the hand of dear old dad, amen brother, got new glasses, M passed the test, shot a chicken, killed a hen, good ole' brother Ben." It was always the same; we must have done it a thousand times, along with the dead-fish handshake, the politicians' handshake, the lumberjack handshake.
We baked more cookies with Mrs. E than we did with our own mother, which is saying a lot, because we spent a lot of time in the kitchen with our mom. RCE was my best friend; PME was (my brother's) best friend. So we spent a lot of time over there. And the E family always welcomed us as if we were family, too.
(My brother) and I, and our brothers, wish the Es solace. N and B were a blessing in our lives and in many others'. We'll never forget them. Nor will we forget the lifelong frienships we forged during the countless hours we spent in their home and among their family. We might not see you much, but we think about you all the time.
A lovely reminder of happier times. This was, as my Caretaker brother said, "kickin'."
N and B E were like a second set of parents to a couple of us kids from the S-L clan. As children, we practically lived at their house after school, on weekends, in the summer. We remember regularly knocking on that big solid wooden door every afternoon, and every weekend morning, about as early as we figured they'd accept us. Mr. E almost invariably answered the door.
"Hey, beeb, shoot to me," he'd say, his right hand outstretched for our exaggerated, ritual handshake.
"Shake the hand that shook the hand of dear old dad, amen brother, got new glasses, M passed the test, shot a chicken, killed a hen, good ole' brother Ben." It was always the same; we must have done it a thousand times, along with the dead-fish handshake, the politicians' handshake, the lumberjack handshake.
We baked more cookies with Mrs. E than we did with our own mother, which is saying a lot, because we spent a lot of time in the kitchen with our mom. RCE was my best friend; PME was (my brother's) best friend. So we spent a lot of time over there. And the E family always welcomed us as if we were family, too.
(My brother) and I, and our brothers, wish the Es solace. N and B were a blessing in our lives and in many others'. We'll never forget them. Nor will we forget the lifelong frienships we forged during the countless hours we spent in their home and among their family. We might not see you much, but we think about you all the time.
A lovely reminder of happier times. This was, as my Caretaker brother said, "kickin'."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Catching up, Part I
Sorry I've not been around lately. My mother took a rapid, dramatic turn for the worse right after my last post and died on August 4. We left our vacation place in VT for my family home in MO as soon as we got the news that she was deteriorating, but we were unable to get there in time. In fact, she went so quickly it was as if she had leapt off of a cliff. The hospital called to tell the folks at home to get there pronto; they live ten minutes from the hospital and got there literally as Mom drew her last breath. Although I could not be there, I'm heartened to know that she died surrounded by family.
In accordance with Mom's wishes, my father opted to forego any memorial service or even visitation. Her body went straight from the hospital to the crematorium. Dad did not wish to purchase an urn from the funeral home as it was very expensive, so the undertaker sealed her cremains in a box for us to pick up. That was a surreal experience, let me tell you. The undertaker sat a small cubical box on the table and said, "Here she is." My brothers and I just stared. When we finally came around enough to take the box to the car, my brother put the box in his grandson's car seat. I had an irresistible urge to strap the box in.
Those ashes will be divided up. She wished for part of her ashes to be buried with my father when the time comes, and the rest to be scattered on her mother's grave in a small churchyard in east TN. Unfortunately, no one recalls the location of that small churchyard. My remaining aunt has only a vague idea; she plans to check with her children to see if they remember.
Poor Dad is devastated. Today would have been their 53rd wedding anniversary. I'll call later to check on him.
I miss Mom, but at the same time I rejoice that she now is held in God's comfortable arms. She had a great deal of emotional as well as physical pain during her life. Now that suffering is over.
As I continue to gather my thoughts, I'll post more.
In accordance with Mom's wishes, my father opted to forego any memorial service or even visitation. Her body went straight from the hospital to the crematorium. Dad did not wish to purchase an urn from the funeral home as it was very expensive, so the undertaker sealed her cremains in a box for us to pick up. That was a surreal experience, let me tell you. The undertaker sat a small cubical box on the table and said, "Here she is." My brothers and I just stared. When we finally came around enough to take the box to the car, my brother put the box in his grandson's car seat. I had an irresistible urge to strap the box in.
Those ashes will be divided up. She wished for part of her ashes to be buried with my father when the time comes, and the rest to be scattered on her mother's grave in a small churchyard in east TN. Unfortunately, no one recalls the location of that small churchyard. My remaining aunt has only a vague idea; she plans to check with her children to see if they remember.
Poor Dad is devastated. Today would have been their 53rd wedding anniversary. I'll call later to check on him.
I miss Mom, but at the same time I rejoice that she now is held in God's comfortable arms. She had a great deal of emotional as well as physical pain during her life. Now that suffering is over.
As I continue to gather my thoughts, I'll post more.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Last Friday in VT
I wrote another post, then reread it and decided it was not for public consumption. I'll try again!
Rainy Friday today, our last in VT. We leave next week. We've just puttered today; I did some work for my online writing class while Taciturn researched bonds online. We celebrate the new fridge that was delivered to our vacation digs yesterday. We no longer have to use an ice chest to keep items cool.
As exciting as it was to visit with my mother by phone for the first time in a month, to hear her so weak was disturbing. But she has been through a lot this past month, so she is entitled to weakness. At least she can speak.
We've enjoyed our time in the Green Mountain State, despite all of the craziness with Mom. Vermont offers so much to do and see. The genuine friendliness of its people is a lovely thing. We'll miss it after we leave.
It'll be good to get back into our own house with our own things and back to our routine, though.
Rainy Friday today, our last in VT. We leave next week. We've just puttered today; I did some work for my online writing class while Taciturn researched bonds online. We celebrate the new fridge that was delivered to our vacation digs yesterday. We no longer have to use an ice chest to keep items cool.
As exciting as it was to visit with my mother by phone for the first time in a month, to hear her so weak was disturbing. But she has been through a lot this past month, so she is entitled to weakness. At least she can speak.
We've enjoyed our time in the Green Mountain State, despite all of the craziness with Mom. Vermont offers so much to do and see. The genuine friendliness of its people is a lovely thing. We'll miss it after we leave.
It'll be good to get back into our own house with our own things and back to our routine, though.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Benefits of Mom's Vascular Procedure
Now that some circulation has been restored to her leg through the placement of a stent into a blocked illiac artery, Mom really feels much better.
So much better, she is able to walk to the chair on the front porch and smoke one cigarette right after another. Before the procedure, her feet were too painful for walking.
She has been told that people with her level of vascular disease should not smoke due to the constrictive action of the nicotine on
blood vessels, but she says, "I don't inhale!" So she keeps on.
(See Lauralew tearing out her hair.)
I've been very busy visiting with my Missouri family so I've not been online much at all. However, I am keeping up with the discipline of writing morning pages. There were a few free hours two days ago so that time was spent working on a short story and some poetry for an intro to creative writing type class I'm taking.
Sunday I leave for the 1.5 day drive back to my house and hopefully I can catch up with everyone's blogs as well as my own then.
So much better, she is able to walk to the chair on the front porch and smoke one cigarette right after another. Before the procedure, her feet were too painful for walking.
She has been told that people with her level of vascular disease should not smoke due to the constrictive action of the nicotine on
blood vessels, but she says, "I don't inhale!" So she keeps on.
(See Lauralew tearing out her hair.)
I've been very busy visiting with my Missouri family so I've not been online much at all. However, I am keeping up with the discipline of writing morning pages. There were a few free hours two days ago so that time was spent working on a short story and some poetry for an intro to creative writing type class I'm taking.
Sunday I leave for the 1.5 day drive back to my house and hopefully I can catch up with everyone's blogs as well as my own then.
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