Today is a special day, not so much in my collection of days, but in my mother-in-law’s collection. June 25 is the day that she and Pop were married, a long time ago in a faraway land. I don’t know all of the details of the wedding or the events leading up to it, but I’ve been given enough bits and pieces to spark my imagination and curiosity. Pop is now gone, and Mom is in the depths of senility and doesn’t communicate very well any more. What I don’t know about their story is lost to eternity, but oh! What a love story it is!
I went to visit Mom yesterday. She was sleeping as I slipped into her room and stood by her bed. I didn’t wake her at once, but gazed at her and said a prayer for her in the silence of the room. Her short, thin, white, wispy hair looked unwashed, and the overweight problem she had a couple of years ago is gone. Mom is slowly slipping away from us. After the third time of calling her name, she opened her eyes to see me standing there. She gave me a smile, not so much one of recognition, but one that made me know that she knew I was someone who loved her, even if she wasn’t sure who I was. She reached out her hand to mine and squeezed it, holding on instead of releasing it.
I began talking to her, mostly in an attempt to keep her awake for a little while. I told her about our garden and about the grape arbor that we’ve started. She and Pop had a wonderful scuppernong arbor, and every September I’d go over to their house to pick grapes for my jelly. I also described my triple bloom daylilies to her- she had given me a starter clump when Phil and I bought our first home, and I brought some of them with me to the country when we moved out here. They have multiplied into a gorgeous lily bed. I told her how I am fighting the deer, trying to keep them away from the lilies, since the blooms are a delicacy they can’t resist! She smiled as I told her about the stinky spray I’m using to repel the deer, which also repels Phil from me for several hours after I treat the garden.
I reminded her that her anniversary was coming up, and she smiled with a glimpse of understanding. I miss Pop, but I’m glad that he isn’t here to see his spunky Ginger - a nickname he gave her because of her ginger-colored hair - in the condition she now finds herself. I don’t think he’d be able to handle it.
They were young and madly in love back in the 1940s in World War II Europe. Pop was a paratrooper and Mom was in the Women’s Army Corp. They met in Paris in the spring, fell madly in love, and were married three weeks later in England. The marriage shouldn’t have lasted. Pop was a New Englander Jew and Mom was a southern Georgia Evangelical Methodist. Both had someone waiting for them to come home from the war. In fact, Pop told me shortly before he died that he was engaged to be married to a nice Jewish girl back home, and after he and Mom were released from the Army, he went home to Rhode Island, and Mom went home to Georgia. His family tried to get him to annul the marriage, but he was ready and willing to give up everything and convert to Christianity to be with his Ginger. Pop was disinherited from his Jewish family, and he and Mom found their way back into each other’s arms. I’m not sure how many years they were married when Pop died, but I’m sure it was at least sixty years . I remember celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary a couple of years after Phil and I married, which was fifteen years ago.
As I was talking to Mom about anything and everything I could think of to keep her engaged, her eyes slowly closed, and she returned to her dream world. I stood by her side for a few more minutes before slipping my hand out of her still strong grasp, giving her a little kiss on her forehead, whispering to her that I loved her, and tiptoeing from her room.
Today is their anniversary. She may not be aware of this special day, but I certainly am, and I’ll celebrate it for Mom and Pop.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment