I’m back in my Collection of Days. I’d like to say that I’ve been suffering from a case of writer’s block for the past month, but if I am going to be honest in my writing, I have to admit that it’s been more a case of writer’s avoidance! It’s not that my days have not been interesting. On the contrary, my dilemma is that I haven’t found the words or the courage to honestly write about some recent special days.
Last month my mother-in-law died. It affected me profoundly, mainly from the perspective that it was a huge relief that she finally let go of her earthly body at the age of 89 and journeyed to her next place. I loved her dearly, and I wish I could say that she was a wonderful person, which she was in some ways. However, in reality, she was very difficult for me to love, and for many years I wasn’t sure how she felt about me. It wasn’t until her final three years of life that we became close, became confidants, and I finally let myself love her unconditionally.
I remember a comment she made to me early-on as I told her that Phil and I had married. Her response, “That’s wonderful, Jennie. We always hoped that Phil would marry Susan.” [a former girlfriend]. Then, one Christmas early in our marriage, she proudly presented everyone in the family with a new pair of bedroom slippers. When she got to me, she said, “Sorry, Jennie, they didn’t have any in your size on sale.” It was comments such at these that built the wall that separated us. I could see how she loved her family and was always helping out people in her church, but I wondered where I stood with her. I also knew that she was always trying to get me to influence Phil to do things that she thought he should do. When I refused to intervene, she didn’t like it one bit.
In spite of things like this, I grew to love Mom. After Pop died and she moved into an assisted-living apartment, we became fast friends. I shared my writing with her, which she seemed to enjoy reading and discussing. She also confided some of her deepest thoughts with me. Whenever I’d go to visit her, she wanted to know about my sons, and how they were doing. She was always interested in hearing about their lives and careers. Up until a few months before her death, when senility took more and more of her away from me, I knew that she was aware of who I was when I’d visit her in her nursing home room, because she never failed to ask me about Wade and Brian.
Her funeral was difficult. Phil and his sister haven’t spoken to each other in several years, and Mom’s death didn’t change anything. While the minister spoke of her love of her family and how much it meant to her, I felt a deep sadness that her family had splintered and was uncomfortably enduring having to sit together in the same pews for her service. I also admitted to myself that some of it was her fault. When something difficult came her way, she’d turn her head the other way, wouldn’t want to hear about it, and would pretend that everything was fine. She just never could admit that things were less than ideal in her family, even though she was always willing to add a critical comment about whatever the issue of the day happened to be. In contrast, she would always find excuses for everyone’s, including her own, behavior, as her way of forgiving herself for making such caustic comments and thinking such thoughts.
Mom was a World War II veteran, and she was buried in the National Cemetery in Canton, Georgia, with military honors, next to Pop, also a veteran. As the bugler blew Taps, something inside of me was released, and I finally let Mom and all of the Lazarus family conflicts drift away with the warm October breeze. I knew that Phil and his sister might never reconcile, and that the awkward times with the family were now a thing of the past for me. In a purely selfish thought, I realized that never again would I have to endure the strain of family get-togethers, when someone was always mad about something, and never have to dread coming face-to-face with Phil’s sister who openly despised us both. Instead, I thought of the good things that I knew about Mom, and cherished the special moments that we had together acting like girlfriends in her apartment, and later in her nursing home room. I remembered the way she would grip my hand, not wanting to let go, and how her eyes would sparkle when we’d share a private moment or joke. I remembered her smile when she’d spot me walking down the hall toward her room, and the delight in her face that I had come for a visit.
No, Mom was not perfect, and she had the ability to get under my skin and irritate me to no ends. But I miss her, and will miss my visits with her. I am happy that she is finally at peace and is exploring heaven with her beloved Trooper.
Good-bye, Mom. I love you. I am now ready to write again.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
A Memory of My Daddy
From my book, "A Collection of Days", this chapter is appropriate for Father's Day as I remember my father.
Two Phone Calls
It was a hot, summer, Florida evening. Mama, Daddy, and I had finished supper and were clearing up the dishes when the phone rang. It was my roommate from Mount Union College, Jackie. She was calling to tell me that she was in Fort Lauderdale visiting her grandmother, and would love it if I could drive over to spend a couple of days with her. Of course, I was delighted with the prospect of a little adventure on my own- driving my baby blue ’64 Cutlass across the state to have some beach time with my good friend. I saw no reason why I couldn’t go, but when I asked permission, Daddy stolidly said no. After I hung up the phone, I lashed into Daddy about all the reasons why I should be able to make this trip, but he had as many reasons why I could not go. Our argument culminated with my screaming at him, running to my bedroom, slamming the door, and flopping onto my bed in angry tears.
I lay there crying, feeling sorry for myself, and otherwise despising my father for being such a stick in the mud. I felt like I was an adult, and he was treating me like a child. It wasn’t fair, and I was angry and hurt.
While I was in the midst of my temper tantrum, the phone rang again. Several minutes later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Thinking the phone call was for me, and that Mama was on the other side of the door, I sobbingly responded, “Come in.” To my surprise, it was Daddy who walked over to my bed and sat down. Tears were streaming down his face. It was the first time I had ever seen my father cry, and I knew that something terrible had happened as my stomach turned a flip in anticipation of what I was about to hear. Daddy wrapped his arms around me and told me that my cousin, Madeline, who was nine months pregnant, had died suddenly. What about the baby? was the question that popped out of my mouth first. The baby, a little boy, was dead, too. My tears instantly turned from tears of a selfish teenager to those of grief, as the news sunk in deeper and deeper. Daddy didn’t know the details, only that she was gone. As I cried in my daddy’s arms, and felt his strong arms around me, I felt the love he had for me, and his thankfulness that I was alive and healthy. He was only looking out for my safety and well-being by prohibiting me from driving across Florida by myself, and maybe being a little selfish himself in an attempt to protect me from some unknown harm lurking out there on the Florida highways.
I have often thought back to that night. My emotions ran the gamut within about an hour’s time, and changed me forever. I never felt closer to my dad than I did that night, within a moment’s passing after thinking terrible and hateful thoughts about him. I never saw him shed tears again the way he did that night, and we never spoke again of that time we shared, wrapped in each other’s arms on the edge of my bed. We would continue to have our arguments and disagreements until the day he died, but we had a deep understanding of one another, which brought a more intimate daughter-father relationship, still alive even years after his death.
Two Phone Calls
It was a hot, summer, Florida evening. Mama, Daddy, and I had finished supper and were clearing up the dishes when the phone rang. It was my roommate from Mount Union College, Jackie. She was calling to tell me that she was in Fort Lauderdale visiting her grandmother, and would love it if I could drive over to spend a couple of days with her. Of course, I was delighted with the prospect of a little adventure on my own- driving my baby blue ’64 Cutlass across the state to have some beach time with my good friend. I saw no reason why I couldn’t go, but when I asked permission, Daddy stolidly said no. After I hung up the phone, I lashed into Daddy about all the reasons why I should be able to make this trip, but he had as many reasons why I could not go. Our argument culminated with my screaming at him, running to my bedroom, slamming the door, and flopping onto my bed in angry tears.
I lay there crying, feeling sorry for myself, and otherwise despising my father for being such a stick in the mud. I felt like I was an adult, and he was treating me like a child. It wasn’t fair, and I was angry and hurt.
While I was in the midst of my temper tantrum, the phone rang again. Several minutes later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Thinking the phone call was for me, and that Mama was on the other side of the door, I sobbingly responded, “Come in.” To my surprise, it was Daddy who walked over to my bed and sat down. Tears were streaming down his face. It was the first time I had ever seen my father cry, and I knew that something terrible had happened as my stomach turned a flip in anticipation of what I was about to hear. Daddy wrapped his arms around me and told me that my cousin, Madeline, who was nine months pregnant, had died suddenly. What about the baby? was the question that popped out of my mouth first. The baby, a little boy, was dead, too. My tears instantly turned from tears of a selfish teenager to those of grief, as the news sunk in deeper and deeper. Daddy didn’t know the details, only that she was gone. As I cried in my daddy’s arms, and felt his strong arms around me, I felt the love he had for me, and his thankfulness that I was alive and healthy. He was only looking out for my safety and well-being by prohibiting me from driving across Florida by myself, and maybe being a little selfish himself in an attempt to protect me from some unknown harm lurking out there on the Florida highways.
I have often thought back to that night. My emotions ran the gamut within about an hour’s time, and changed me forever. I never felt closer to my dad than I did that night, within a moment’s passing after thinking terrible and hateful thoughts about him. I never saw him shed tears again the way he did that night, and we never spoke again of that time we shared, wrapped in each other’s arms on the edge of my bed. We would continue to have our arguments and disagreements until the day he died, but we had a deep understanding of one another, which brought a more intimate daughter-father relationship, still alive even years after his death.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Mourning the End of Summer
The days are getting shorter. I’ve noticed it both in the mornings and evenings. All summer long I was out in my garden at 7:00 AM picking vegetables, weeding, and making sure no deer or other critters had made a salad bar visit during the night. And, in the evenings, Diamond and I would go for our long walks in sunshine and long shadows.
At 7:00 this morning it was still dark, with only the hint of the new day in the eastern sky. Last night Diamond and I got caught in twilight as we finished up our walk after dinner. I’ve decided that I am a sunshine kind of girl, and in voicing this fact, realize that I am mourning the end of summer. I tell myself that it won’t be long until Spring will be here again. But then I also remind myself that I have to make it through the long nights of winter. My one redeeming thought is that of hibernation, because it is in the winter that I nest down in my cozy home and feel the security and warm hugs of the walls around me.
With Autumn come cool, breezy days and bright blue skies, which I love, but they signal to me the end of another life cycle, that I find kind of sad. I can remember a childhood Sunday School teacher talking about the promise of new life as she showed us the seeds of summer flowers and vegetables. Even though this promise was reassuring, I had experienced the death of a brother and grandfather and beloved aunts and uncles, and I knew that no seed was left from their lives to bring them back the following April or May.
Fall reminds me of my mortality and the seasons of my own life. It also makes me begin to think about what is beyond Fall and Winter for me. I have been engaged in many conversations of the theories of whether there is something for us beyond the grave, and have heard many theories and promises on this subject. None of us know what welcomes us as our own life seasons come to an end. For myself, I have formed my own theory which is totally unscientific and not purely religious. As I told a friend one day when this topic came up, “I believe that there is something beyond this life because it is impossible for me not to believe it.” Not a logical statement, but it is the only one that I have, and I’m sticking to it!
I also look at the universe as I broach this topic in my mind. As I see specials on television about the universe and the theories of its creation, I always come back to one question, “What about origin?” I don’t have the answer, and the question goes unanswered for me by the scientific world. My one conclusion always comes back to God and a feeling that I will one day have the privilege of exploring the universe after leaving this world. There is so much out there to see!
But back to the thought of summer coming to an end. I don’t like it, and I am watching the sun and noting how its position in the sky is changing as my world readies itself for winter. I am already looking forward to the first warm and sunny day next Spring!
At 7:00 this morning it was still dark, with only the hint of the new day in the eastern sky. Last night Diamond and I got caught in twilight as we finished up our walk after dinner. I’ve decided that I am a sunshine kind of girl, and in voicing this fact, realize that I am mourning the end of summer. I tell myself that it won’t be long until Spring will be here again. But then I also remind myself that I have to make it through the long nights of winter. My one redeeming thought is that of hibernation, because it is in the winter that I nest down in my cozy home and feel the security and warm hugs of the walls around me.
With Autumn come cool, breezy days and bright blue skies, which I love, but they signal to me the end of another life cycle, that I find kind of sad. I can remember a childhood Sunday School teacher talking about the promise of new life as she showed us the seeds of summer flowers and vegetables. Even though this promise was reassuring, I had experienced the death of a brother and grandfather and beloved aunts and uncles, and I knew that no seed was left from their lives to bring them back the following April or May.
Fall reminds me of my mortality and the seasons of my own life. It also makes me begin to think about what is beyond Fall and Winter for me. I have been engaged in many conversations of the theories of whether there is something for us beyond the grave, and have heard many theories and promises on this subject. None of us know what welcomes us as our own life seasons come to an end. For myself, I have formed my own theory which is totally unscientific and not purely religious. As I told a friend one day when this topic came up, “I believe that there is something beyond this life because it is impossible for me not to believe it.” Not a logical statement, but it is the only one that I have, and I’m sticking to it!
I also look at the universe as I broach this topic in my mind. As I see specials on television about the universe and the theories of its creation, I always come back to one question, “What about origin?” I don’t have the answer, and the question goes unanswered for me by the scientific world. My one conclusion always comes back to God and a feeling that I will one day have the privilege of exploring the universe after leaving this world. There is so much out there to see!
But back to the thought of summer coming to an end. I don’t like it, and I am watching the sun and noting how its position in the sky is changing as my world readies itself for winter. I am already looking forward to the first warm and sunny day next Spring!
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