I Didn't Know, I Just Didn't Know

My grandmother used to say that. And I'm feeling it right now. I didn't know how hard Christmas would be this year. My mama is in the grocery store in the stacks of canned tart cherries, she's in the fudge I will make tomorrow, and she's in Walgreens in the candy and gum aisle. And then there's my dad who I could  knock things around with.  And he's no longer a phone call away. I know having parents into their 90s is a blessing, but I just miss them. And I suspect that the other big losses I had this year in two close friends dying and the loss of sweet Ellie have compounded my somber attitude. And then there's other stuff that is just too pitiful to mention. Heck, yeah, I have a million things to be thankful for.  And my kids and grandkids are the best. Then there's Clark who is really special.  But I can still be a little bummed out at this time of year, right? And did I mention that I miss mom? When Hattie was with us two weeks ago, we talked about her "Mamaw".  She said, " Mimi, heaven is far far away."  Yes it is, Hattie. Yes it is.  

"And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been
poured out within our hearts through the Holy spirit who was given to us"
Romans 5:5

One of a Kind

Ellie, you're killing me.Your first road trip with us when we picked you up from your foster family was a foreshadow of life with you, our new baby. You never poked your head out of the window like other dogs. You were two years old. What Golden Retriever doesn't like the wind in her face? You stayed in the floorboard from Chattanooga to Montgomery. And you made the car smelly all the way home.  
You wouldn't get near us when we brought you home but stayed in our closet only to come out when we coaxed you with pieces of steak we kept in our pockets. When our neighbors came to welcome you to the street, you were not in the greeting mood. 
You would run off when you could and when we called you, you would look over your shoulder and keep going with that over the top donkey kick of yours. 
 You refused to get into your crate no matter what kind of food we threw in there.  You even convinced me to get in there first to show you it wasn't so bad, but you didn't hold up your end of the bargain. I ended up giving it to our neighbors whose dog knew how to follow commands. 
 I had to literally drag you into obedience school because you would not get out of the car.  We had to have help to get you in the door every time. You did not enjoy school like the other dogs seemed to. But we finished the course and you were at the top of the class. Your only break was when a man with a booming voice interrupted our final exam.  All of our practice paid off even though you didn't seem to want to go like the other dogs. 
When Jetta and Ford would come to get you for a walk with their mom, Kathy, you would run off with them and not pay attention when we pleaded with you to come home.   We hunted you down in the country more times than I can count. You didn't come when Clark whistled or called like the other two dogs.  
You were a Golden Retriever!!  But you would slink into the other room if we threw a ball. You refused to fetch a ball even when I put it in my mouth to show you how retrieving works. And when we went to the huge dog park at Shelby Farms, you would not go in the water after a stick. You would wallow like crazy in the hot and sticky mud on the edge of the lake until you got ear fungus from all the gook in your ears.  You never learned to swim like the other dogs. You just sat on the edge and watched the others frolicking in the water.  
After your first year with us, you began to approach people with a waggy tail and you followed me around like a shadow attached to my heels.You busted into the bathroom while I sat on the toilet. You would peek into the closet to make sure I was in there when I was getting dressed. You alarmed us of oncoming storms long before they arrived by helping yourself to our shower floor. You loved your walks, chasing squirrels, and wallowing---always the wallowing.  Every few feet you would throw yourself onto the ground, kick your feet skyward, and begin to writhe on the grass. I would tell you to wait and hold the leash tight so that you wouldn't wallow in the dirt before we made it to a better place to scratch your back.  Our walks were not like the other dogs'. 
And you know what?  I loved that you were not like other dogs. You made our lives interesting and funny and memorable.  I would not have traded you for any of the other dogs that were predictable and obedient and compliant.  I will always  remember your sweet disposition, your quiet demeanor, your stubborn streak, and your constant attentiveness to me, down to your kisses for me this morning. You were not like the other dogs.  You were perfect.  

The Deepest Privilege

My cute little mama passed away at 91 earlier this week.  And I am crushed. She was not really ill until a week or two before her death, but I could see it coming.  She was tired and lonely and when she would forget an event, a visit with someone or talking with someone on the phone, of course it made her sad. My Mama was a "doer".  I don't think I have ever known anyone who was in constant motion like her. She was a pioneer of multitasking. And when she could no longer "do", she felt like she had no purpose. And it was impossible to pretend with her.  She was on to you in a minute. So I began in the last months to make my visits at the assisted living longer. I spent most afternoons just hanging out and talking.  We discussed everything from mothers-in-law and ex-husbands ( we had that in common) to her days during the Depression.  She would always tell me at the end of the visit how appreciative she was of the time I had spent with her and say her usual " thank you thank you thank you I love you love you love you." She would say she knew I had things to do rather than visit her, and she would thank me over and over---and want to buy me something or do something for me. I bet I will be the same way with my girls if I am ever in that position. You just want to do something and you no longer have the means. And it hurt me to watch. 
My mom was a cute little clown. She would kick up her legs, dance a jig and stop and pat the other residents when we would walk down the hall to get her mail or to go to an activity. The staff loved being around her because she was feisty and complimentary. She was fun to be around . You never knew what she was going to come out with or ask, so sometimes she would catch you off guard or even create an awkward moment.    
When I was a child, I thought she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.  She had a flair for fashion and knew how to rock those 50s clothes. I would beg her to let me brush her hair in the evenings, just wanting to get at those silky dark curls. Surely she knew how cute she was.  
And she was also one of the most complicated and frustrating people I have ever known.  She had an unpredictable temper and at the same time was a champion for the underdog. I have gotten phone calls, emails and texts from people she had touched by her just listening to them during a hard time. She had such a mixture of sweetness and vinegar. She loved to do things for everybody putting herself last most of the time. She was a longtime caregiver to her husband for eight years, and also nursed her mother and father, her aunt, and her mother-in-law. She loved attention but shunned it at times.  She was cooperative unless she thought you were not on her side..... then she became impossible. And you just had to keep reassuring her that she was OK just like she was.  
  He strong will served her well most of the time and those of us watching would sometimes just shake our heads, because things were going to be done her way.  Sometimes her strong will was not working for her and intervention was necessary. Then there was trouble. But there was usually a way around her---it just took creativity!
One of my sweetest memories will be when she was in the hospital about three weeks ago and was about to be discharged. This just sums up the kind of impact my mom had on people. We opened the shade to the window in the hall and she would wave and speak to every single person who walked down the hall. When it was time to leave, the nurses came in and told us how they were going to miss her after a week's visit....that she was so much fun and such a joy to treat.  Even the lady who cleaned the room came back to give her a hug.  And my Mama's standard reply was "Bless your heart, honey...bless your heart." 
I will not have the same life I have been leading now that she is gone. These last events were life changing.  I will have more time for myself--something she was always worried about but something that I was fine to give up. She was in my every day. And I was in her leaving this world. She was strong and feisty even in the end.  I told her not to hang on for me but when she was ready she should go.  I didn't want her to continue to struggle because she was worried about leaving me--something she had told me lots of times before. The room was quiet and dark--just the way she liked it--I told her I loved her and she told me she loved me.  
And a few minutes later she was gone. Even though I knew she was dying I was still shocked in a way. Death is hard to acknowledge even when it is right smack in front of you and you know it is coming.  But being there in such a personal moment is worth that terrible final realization of what just happened.  Because loving your mother to the end is the deepest privilege of all.

                                          Loving her granddaughters

Another Man's Treasure

I have been washing dishes and pots and pans for the bulk of the morning.  It was not a chore, but a time travel experience. My mother's house is being sold in the next few days and the appraiser said that there was nothing valuable in the kitchen, but that did not hold true for me. After building that house and living in it for 50 years, my mother is in every room in that house.  I put some kitchen gadgets, pots and pans, and other odd items from the kitchen in a box. The cake pans still had some crusted cake along the edges as Mom could not see as well toward the end of her baking career. Believe me, she would have had that pan sparkling had she known there was even a crumb left. 

 I grabbed a couple of those cake pans that  also doubled for her rolls.  Mom's rolls were infamous--for a lot of reasons. She would take them to friends, doctors, her CPA, families who had experienced a death, and of course, us. She served them often when we were growing up, and then later when we would visit.  She would sprinkle them with brown sugar and cinnamon for breakfast when my girls would come to visit. Sometimes she would use the same recipe for doughnuts and stick them in hot oil. YUM. And they were delicious--most of the time. But sometimes the yeast would have fermented just a bit in the process of rising and they would taste a bit alcoholic--what you want in a drink but not really in bread.  And she would, of course, not know it  (she rarely ate any) and when we refused the second or third helping, it would hurt her feelings. I don't remember anyone ever telling her that they weren't the same wonderful rolls when that happened.  She always had a package or two in her freezer for us to take back home after we had visited her, and I almost always had a package in my freezer ready to pull out for a special occasion. If you tried to turn her down and tell her that you were on a diet, or you weren't eating bread at that time, she would still insist, and you could see the hurt in her eyes if you didn't take a package or two. After all, they were a lot of trouble to make, and she was proud she was able to make them.  And when my mom insisted......well........
I also found the muffin tin in which she baked popovers.  I can still remember looking forward to those on the rare occasion she baked them before school.  When we lived on Ash Street, Don Langley would stop by our breakfast room which faced the sidewalk, and Mom would hand him a popover through the window. I wonder what happened to Don. He made it quite a habit to stop by on his bike on his way to school, and Mom always shared whatever we had with him.  
Mom no longer cooks, but we still talk about her pies, cakes, breads and candy.  She was a Home Economics major (is that even offered anymore?) and was happiest in the kitchen and at the sewing machine. For me, Sister Schubert's will have to do, but I may have to find that popover recipe soon. I want to get it right for my grandkids.