Things She Told Me: #5

"Every man is an island."

Yes, she said, "Every man is an island.", in direct contrast to 16th Century poet John Donne who writes in Meditation XVII:

"No man is an island,  entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were;  any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

I only heard her say this a couple of times in my teenage years and each time in the context of a deep and serious conversation about the nature of human relationships. Do we ever really "know" another person?  In retrospect, I  suspect she felt her life was much like an island, adrift in a vast sea of loneliness.  Did she believe others might feel the same? She was confident in her conclusion as if resolved to this view of reality.  

Some days I think she's right.  We may be individual parts of a whole, inter-connected, desperately linked one to another. Yet, we constantly fight a personal reality of disconnectedness, alone-ness on this lonely personal journey we call life. 

Not everything my Mom taught or told me was cheery and bright. For that, I'm grateful.

Things She Told Me: #4

"If you can read, you can sew!"

Mom tried in vain to coax an interest in sewing out of me from the time I was ten or eleven.  She was a very capable seamstress and entirely self taught, a fact which probably motivated her statement. She meticulously followed a pattern, producing amazingly complicated garments; tailored suits, fancy dresses, and jackets. My sister caught the sewing bug which pleased Mom. Unfortunately, I didn't.

I can hem a pair of pants and sew on a button. But, sew as in create a garment?  I once made a straight skirt and thought it a huge amount of work for something that didn't fit too well. No thanks, I'd rather purchase my clothes.

To Mom, sewing was about the challenge. She would rip out a seam and re-do her work to perfection. I would watch her, witness her frustration, observe her tenacity and attention to task. But, I didn't care to take on the challenge myself. I resisted all her efforts to teach me. As an adult, she was still trying to get me interested, offering me one of her sewing machines and looking through pattern books for relatively simple styles.

"If you can read, you can sew!"  represents Mom's general approach to any challenge. Read the instructions and jump in. Anything was possible.

Thanks, Mom.

Things She Told Me: #3

According to Mom, who absolutely loved ice cream eating it with great enjoyment up to a week before she died, the very best part of any ice cream treat was as "the last bite". I'd have to agree. The last bite, so sweet and sad at the same time. The experience comes to and end but leaves you dreaming of the next one ahead.

Mom was especially partial to soft serve ice cream, layered into a cake cone (not those pointy sugar cones). The last bite became the end of the cone. As long as there was a bit of ice cream nestled down in there along with crunchy cone, all was well with the world.

"My, but that's good", she'd say.

Indeed.

Things She Told Me: #2

Just a reminder: this mini-series of posts are memories I have of my Mom; things she told me, lessons learned, advice she gave, and in some cases how being where I am now in my life makes her words all the more interesting to me.

Mom shared with me more than once her personal observation regarding men who had never married by the time they were 35.

"You can pretty much count on it; if they haven't been married by then, they're homosexual."  In later years she used the word "gay" instead.

There were no judgments, just her personal conclusion

I can already think of several exceptions to this rule.

Things She Told Me: #1

This mini-series of posts are memories I have of my Mom; things she told me, lessons learned, advice she gave, and in some cases how being where I am now in my life makes her words all the more interesting to me.

So; to my Mom, always ready to impart her wisdom--many thanks, much love and I will always miss you deeply.

When Mom and I shopped for my wedding, we found ourselves in the lingerie section of Foley's in Houston. This was the fall of 1977. I was 23. She was 60. I remember hunting around for a nightgown to take on my honeymoon.

"Buy something black", she advised. "Men love black negligee."  And then, a wry smile.

I felt like we had crossed a line. Maybe I was embarrassed. I don't remember that we said anything else about the subject after that. As I recall, I did buy something black but beyond that, no specific memory.

Today, I'd have no problem saying something like that to my daughter; neither of us would likely feel too weird about having that sort of  conversation. In 1977, with my Mom, this felt a bit odd.  But she was right: men do like black.

A Year Ago, I Knew

Last year, on the last Sunday in September, I remember stopping in to visit Mom and Dad at the adult family home in the mid afternoon. Mom was sitting in the living room, calling out, "Mama, Mama, Mama.", barely showing any sign of recognition when I walked through the door. Dad was with her, concerned and doing what he could to comfort her.  I tried not to make too much of her behavior; the day prior she had been much the same when I arrived but seemed to snap out of it during my visit.  

I may have brought her a small single serving of ice cream that day although I can't quite remember. If I did, she ate it with enthusiasm. She wasn't eating much in those last weeks but never turned down ice cream. I tried to bring her things that might bring her some joy and momentarily distract her from an ever flowing sense of anxiety and dread. Ten minutes with some mint chocolate chip ice cream drove her demons off, at least for awhile.

On that particular day she never came around and her agitation escalated. Nothing the caretakers or I did seemed to make any difference. She would sit for a minute, then want to get up and walk and once up (a struggle with her worsening weakness) she wouldn't know where she wanted to go. The endless calling out for help was making all of us feel concerned. She didn't have a fever. She didn't seem to be in pain. I  wondered if she might be septic, infected somewhere and hoped there would be a simple fix for this problem. In my heart, I obviously knew there was not going to be a simple solution.

How did I know? I just re-read my blog post from that day; that's how.

I felt so bad for my Dad that day. He knew things augured  badly for Mom even if he couldn't verbalize to anyone what he felt inside. His face told the story.

I remember  one of the paramedics who attended Mom at the house and escorted her on to the gurney and into the ambulance came back into the house after they got her situated. She wanted to find out "if there was anything else" she should know about Mom. She found Dad and me in Mom's room both of us in tears, trying to comfort each other. She remarked that she could tell we were worried and that our love for her showed. "Here, let me give you a hug", she said. This sweet gesture from someone none of us knew was the best thing she could have done in that moment. She knew as well as we did that this was the beginning of the end and none of us was really ready to face it.

Mom spent just over a week in the hospital. There was nothing "fixable". She wouldn't eat; she was confused and restless much of the time, calling out endlessly for people who were long gone from this world. Was she making her way to a new place even then?  These questions are among the great mysteries of our worldly existence.

I'm beginning the process of anniversary grieving. I feel the loss of my Mom but worse, as I felt that Sunday night last year, I am overwhelmed with concern for my Dad. He's aged so much in the last twelve months.  Today he could barely walk from the living room to his bedroom; so short of breath and frail looking, each step an enormous effort. As I sat with him, I read the newspaper and he stared solemnly ahead and at last nodded off for a bit. He was glad to see me but had little to say.  By the time I left an hour later, he looked better, smiling and thanking me for visiting. "I'll be back tomorrow, Dad", I reminded him. 

Mom died on October 12th last year. What I'd like to do in the coming days is remember not not only what happened over those sixteen days leading up to her death but also reflect on the memories of the better times, the times when Mom was Mom, full of life and love.

I'm hoping to tease out from the thousands of memories I have of my Mom, pivotal lessons she passed on, funny, quirky comments she made, and thoughts I've had about her life that have came to me more in retrospect as I've looked back on her life and influence.

We'll see what comes up for me in these early days of fall when leaves are turning and we move into a time of reflection.

Saturday Adventures

Today was a great fun all around.

Denny and I drove up to see my Dad and take him for a spin in D's new car. The high tech stuff was of little interest to Dad but he definitely applauded the smooth ride and powerful pick-up. Who doesn't like to show off a new car?  Watching men pour over the chrome and guts of a new vehicle brings a smile to my face. They're such guys at times like these. I much prefer the "new car smell" which, so evanescent, is gone within a week.

Dad rides shotgun

That which hides under the hood mesmerizes....

We spent much of the day in Gig Harbor. Chris and Heather's new house looks more like a home every time we visit. I'm so happy for them; owing a home in one's mid twenties is commendable in these hard economic times. Good for you guys!

Tina and I joke that we have a new "grand-cat"; little Gus is just three months old and winning the hearts of all who enter Chris and Heather's door.  I remember back to our first home. Well before children, we parented cats Pearl and Bubba (the cat who refused to ever die; he lived for 21 years) and dogs Toby and Spike.

Gus in Heather's arms

We gals (and Shaun) slipped out of the house mid afternoon while the guys watched the Husky's game. We caught the first fall showing of the Northwest Glass Pumpkin Patch. What's that you ask?
An amazing display of hand blown decorative glass pumpkins in all shapes, sizes, colors and designs created by local glass artisans  lined tables under an all weather tent. All were for sale. I thought they were beautiful and bought two. I've got my two pumpkins displayed on the family room mantel for now.  Check these out....

Pumpkins can be blue, can't they?

Orange anyone?

Tina and I wandered around the shops a bit; loved to learn that some of the clothing for sale at Coldwater Creek is "made in the USA"; the proud tags still hanging next to clothing similarly priced (I was glad to see made in the USA was no more expensive) sporting tags: "made in China". We may be making some slow, steady progress after all.

What's not to like about a day resplendent with family, friends, my best friend and his new car, pets, and an evening of television?  Very little.