Errand running was a treat for my mom. She delighted in the fun the day would hold for her. She wanted to be on the go when she could. It was an adventure for her otherwise homebound life. She would try with all her might to stretch out time after doctor’s appointments. My work schedule didn’t always accommodate those plans. There was one thing we did without fail if we were in Terre Haute and that was going to Steak N Shake for some fries and a chocolate milkshake. If she got that milkshake, all was right with the world.

She would often want to discuss, in detail, her doctor’s appointments. We would have to go over everything we talked about in the doctor’s office at least three times. It was like a dog turning in circles to make his bedding comfortable before he lay down. Even when she was told everything was fine, It took several times to reiterate the information and make her comfortable. Inevitably, it would all come around to going to Steak N Shake before we went home.

The chocolate shake held magical powers for her. It possessed powers of calm, healing, and reassurance. It didn’t matter what kind of news we had gotten, the shake made it better. No matter what the problem, the shake made it better. Every. Single. Time.

One particularly trying time for her was when I began to get in touch with my birth mother. I understand, as best as I can, that this can leave an adoptive mother feeling insecure. At first, she was all for it. We then started talking about my birth mother traveling to Illinois to meet us all. It became a little too real for her and I know she felt anxiety. I reassured her she was my mom, always. I would never think of her any other way. I knew while it was exciting to me, it was disconcerting to her. I did the best I could to let her know my birth mom was not now, nor ever, a threat to our relationship. She wanted to talk about it often. She even went so far as to try and emotionally blackmail me by telling me she didn’t think my dad would like this one bit. She knew that was below the belt. I was beginning to feel like I should call the whole thing off and arrange another time.

Things changed.

An errand day was coming up. Her ultimate treat! Days in advance she would let me know where she wanted to go, and what coupons she had and show me her nearly endless lists. This time, she told me she wanted to talk about my birth mom coming. She said she had things she wanted to say and we would discuss it on the way to Terre Haute. I was dreading what was to come. It left a hole the size of a La Brea tar pit in my stomach for a couple of days. When Mama said she wanted to discuss something later, it was never good. It was akin to, “Wait until your dad gets home!” I had the anxiety of a person about to get caught doing, well I don’t know what but you understand the anxiety I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like when you’re driving on the highway, following the rules of the road and a police officer pulls in behind you. Your immediate thought is, “What have I done wrong?” That’s how I felt.

The day came. I went to pick her up. I tried to emotionally prepare myself for “the talk”. I got her purse, her cane, her bag of notes and coupons, and, of course, I got her. We started out talking about what was going on with my kiddos, her friends, work, and all the normal things. I finally brought it up. I said, “You said you wanted to talk about my birth mom coming to visit. What did you want to talk about.” Her response was, “I don’t know but can we stop at Steak N Shake before we come home?” Yes Mama. Yes, we can.

The power of the shake!

The first picture is of an errand day. The second is of her college modeling. Wow, right?

I write a lot about my memories with Mama,  but I haven’t said much about my memories my Daddy.  I was 25 when I lost him.  I was a grown up,  but not really.  It was a huge shock to be talking to him in the morning and finding out he’s gone in the evening.

After some time had passed,  Mama and I were able to reminisce about the good and the bad and the ugly.   I had a slanted view of my dad and seriously thought he hung the moon.  He was an Elizabeth whisperer. He always seemed to know what to say and when to say it.  Sometimes he just listened,  which was needed too.  However, there were a few times he missed the mark so completely I had to wonder if this was really the same man I called Daddy. 

One such time had to do with a car.  When I turned 16, I got my parents 1978 Pontiac Bonneville.  I considered myself lucky to have a car.  When i say they have it to me,  it wasn’t really free.  There was a hitch to it.  The transmission needed replaced.  I worked to get that new transmission, got it replaced, and was thrilled to have a working car.  It was my first real lesson delayed gratification.  I drove the heck out of that car and really loved it.  It had air conditioning,  an AM/FM radio, electric windows and an electric adjustable drivers seat. I thought I was pretty lucky. 

I graduated high school and went away to college.  As a freshman,  I wasn’t allowed to have a car on campus,  so I left my beloved car at home.  I had a stellar freshman year.  I had a 4.0 in social life and it got me a ticket back home.  I got a job and enrolled in community college. I was still driving the Bonneville.  It began to develop issues,  as older cars do and my dad went on the hunt for a car for me.

He had a theory about buying used cars.  He thought the best used cars came from people who were selling them themselves. You know when people have cars setting in their yards with for sale signs in the car window?  Thus the term yard car.  He was determined to get a deal on a yard car.  He searched high and low for months until he found the perfect car.  It had low miles and one owner. 

During his search, I requested two things.  I asked that this new to me car have air conditioning and FM on the radio.  Oh! I guess I requested a third item.  I did not want vinyl seats.  They burn your legs in the summer and feel like your sitting on an ice rink in the winter. 

All the time he was hunting,  I was working and going to school.  I trusted him to find the right car while I worked hard to rectify my previous year of school.

One night,  after a long day of classes and working the evening shift, I pulled up to my house and saw an unfamiliar car.  These next thoughts were twirling through my head much faster than you will read them.  I thought,  who’s visiting at this time of night? I thought they must be good friends because the house wasn’t all lit up.  As I approached the house,  I saw my mom walking through the kitchen in her robe and thought what the heck is going on.  Who are these people? I entered the house and saw there were no visitors.  I asked mama who’s car was in the drive.  She said,  “Go talk to your father. ” That sounded ominous.  She said father,  not dad or daddy.  I went back to his bedroom where he was watching TV. I said,  Daddy,  Mama told me to ask you who’s car is in the drive.” He told me the car was mine. 

It had been dark when I got home,  so I couldn’t really see what the car was.  I just knew it wasn’t one I’d seen before.  I think he then gave me the keys to go take a look.  There was only so much I could see at night,  but I got the gist of it quickly.  I opened the driver’s side door to check it out. The first thing that caught my eye was the bright blue vinyl seating.  Yes,  vinyl. The second thing I saw was a radio with AM on it.  No FM. I then cruised my eyes over to the rest of the dash. There was not air conditioning. I didn’t feel I’d been unreasonable in my requests. I thought they were all standard things at the time. Somehow, I failed to communicate. I went back in the house and cried. I told mama my woes and she had a look on her face. She said, I told him you wouldn’t like it. ” That was the end of that conversation. I went back to my dad and asked him why. He was less than pleased with me. I think he was most irritated that my mom was right.

Yes, I sound like a brat, but gosh darn it, I hadn’t asked for a new car. He had cut me out of the searching process and at the time, I trusted his judgment.

I wondered if it would all look different to me in the morning. When I got up and out the door the next day, it didn’t look a bit different. I found a 1976 metallic blue Dodge Aspen in the drive. I felt defeated. I’d gone from a souped up Bonneville with creature comforts to a stripped down car that was 2 years older than the one I already had. I cried to mama all over again. Nobody talked to each other for a couple of days. None of us spoke about it again.

Mama and I laughed about it later, over and over. He was mad at me because I didn’t like it and mad at mama because she was right. She told me later that they got into an argument about it before I got home that night and he told her he knew better and that I’d be pleased as punch. I was not. It was he that was pleased to find such a deal on a yard car.

I had that car for not quite a year. It was a sturdy Gerdy. It served me well. It was a conversation piece. After all, not many people had seen a 1976 metallic blue Dodge Aspen. I don’t think they even saw many in 1976. At least it had heat.

The following summer I was gifted a little red hatchback. Thank you Daddy. I loved that car right up to when I totalled it. These things happen, right?

Truly, I was blessed to have a dad that cared about what I drove. And doubly blessed he went out to find car that pleased me. He really did know me.

PS Daddy got to model a bit in college too. I think he looks a little like a gangster here, but I like it.

Yesterday my mom would have celebrated her 87th birthday. Years ago, I quit buying her gifts and gave her a day with just the two of us for Christmas, Mother’s Day, and her birthday. It was time well spent.

We got into a routine and I have continued it now that she’s gone. It’s my way to still celebrate her.We would not start out too early in the morning, but the day was mapped out weeks in advance. As she became less mobile, she was almost giddy to get out of the house and go for a ride. It was always a good time.

Her list consisted of the same places and that was always fine with me. We would start out at TJ Maxx, move on to Hobby Lobby and Sally’s Beauty Supply (they were next to each other), grab lunch from various places, and end with Fresh Thyme for groceries.

Along the way, she would end up gifting me some goodies too. There was usually a pair of shoes acquired for me at TJ Maxx. She always got herself a new purse, the same body butter – as much as they had – and enough lavender bar soap to keep her until Jesus returns. We both went crazy over holiday foliage and greenery at Hobby Lobby. Every year we picked up something for me to make for her house. I also loved looking at the jewelry section. At Sally’s, there was a new pair of tweezers and nail files to be gotten to last a year…..even though there were some left at her house from the year before.

A lunch break was well deserved and enjoyed after the first three stops. One of her favorite places was Ginger Snaps in the Christian bookstore. They had wonderful chicken salad sandwiches on a large, fresh croissant. Yum! It was a good place to sit down and assess our accomplishments of the day. It was also a good place to get the Fresh Thyme grocery list in order. This included fresh fruit, quiche, and some mint-flavored toothpicks. She always added something to pick up that she thought my boys would enjoy as well.

Through the years we went from me parking and us both walking in, to me pulling up and her using her rollator, to me just parking and running in. The last place she was able to get around was Fresh Thyme because they had mobile scooters. The mobile scooter phase terrified me. It made me a nervous wreck yet I had to keep my cool. Her depth perception was horrible. There are many people walking around but for the grace of God from those trips. I’m sure some of them saw their life flash before their eyes and some, thank goodness, were happily oblivious.

The year she passed away meant she missed her birthday by 1 month and 1 day. I still wanted to celebrate her so I asked a friend if she would take a “Jackie Day” with me to remember. She took me up on it. Later that evening we gathered with family and some friends and celebrated her. I made ‘Jackie Gifts” that included lavender soap, her favorite nail files, and her mint toothpicks. We all had stories and it was a precious time. My sweet friend still takes the day off with me and we enjoy all the things she did. Thank you, Wendy!

Happy Birthday Mama! May your celebration in Heaven include fresh fruit, lavender soap and a day filled with all the good memories you left behind.

PS…I like posting young pictures of her because she was simply stunning. She modeled during college and this is one of her pictures.

If you’ve been following along, I’ve spoken about how my mom was an important part of all our holidays. You may remember that poor Seth had a breakdown and thought Christmas would be canceled after my mom’s stroke. She was that important. (Side note – I asked Seth if he remembered visiting Grandma in the hospital. He said he remembered. He remembered the fit and frustration she displayed. In his mind though, amidst the fit, he thought she told him and Aaron to go to H _ ll instead of everybody else she was talking to. I corrected him. Poor guy had been carrying that around for years. I knew that visit had rocked his world. I just didn’t realize how he had internalized it.) For me, holidays consisted of making the day work for my mom. I enlisted the help of my boys to pick her up and bring her contributions to the family meal. It became about how to make it easiest and most enjoyable for her. Everyone else was just a player in the day. I was always wound up because I wanted her to be at ease and feel good about the day. I’m afraid I left casualties behind every single celebration.

Holidays can be tricky. We become focused on making the holidays memorable. We want perfection. We want love to abound. We want our children and husband to behave and help without being asked. We want the food to all be done at the same time. We want it to look and feel like a Norman Rockwell picture. We want a lot. What generally happens, at my house anyway, is far from Norman’s portrayal of family feasts. I’m the only one in the morning up and going – because I choose to do so. Only so many people can fit in my kitchen to “help”. My table is never big enough to decorate and use serving dishes. No one gets dressed up – it’s come as you are. My children can’t help themselves from being onery with each other. I end up having fits that vary in size depending on the year and the pressure I’m feeling. Our holidays are memorable, but I’m not sure I like what makes up all the memories. While I feel we are sometimes lacking, I hope my children saw how important it is to love and honor our family members even when it’s less than convenient.

When Mama was with us, I was amped up a tad bit more than I am now. I had to coordinate when to pick her up. She always had things to bring. Getting her into the house was a chore. Thankfully, my children would usually handle the picking-up duty once they had their licenses. Once she was in the house, we had to carefully guide her around our large dog into a seat that was comfortable for her. We would be ready to eat about 30 minutes after she arrived. I would get her plate for her. Everyone else could handle their own plate, thank goodness. We would all be seated. Bill or I would pray over the meal and we would begin to eat. That’s when she would bring out her traditional holiday conversation. She would insert it in the middle of normal conversation. It came around like clockwork. We could not have a meal together without it. Here is how it went. “When I go to my reward……….” Yes, we could not have a holiday meal, be it Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter without talking about what she wanted to happen when she died. That was her nice way of saying, “When I die, I want” – insert multiple random things.

“When I go to my reward, I sure hope you keep that crock on the hutch. Your dad gave that to me.”

“When I go to my reward, I want the kids to have those figurines divided between them.”

“When I go to my reward, please do not get rid of the vase by my front door. I got it at a garage sale and have always loved it.”

Before she was gone, she was trying to control things from the grave. It was the teacher in her. She liked being in control. All of her things were precious to her.

At one point during a holiday meal, she started in, “When I go to my reward….” I felt exasperated. I interrupted her and asked her if we could please have a meal together without discussing what was going to happen to her things when she died. Please Mama, please! The kids looked at me and started to snicker. It became a whole other conversation now. She told me she needed to say what she was thinking while she was thinking it. OK. By all means, let’s define our meals together as a family by discussing your death. Good memories. Really, it became a joke.

She was a fan of labeling everything too. That habit I have appreciated. If it was some sort of container, there was a note or description about where or who it was from. There are notes on the backs of some framed items, too.

I have loved all her things – I just can’t keep them all in my home. I now have storage with most of the beloved items. They all have a story. They are good stories that are close to my heart.

The Christmas after she passed, I wanted to put up certain pictures she always had up that time of year. I went to storage and brought them home. As I was putting them up on a shelf, I noticed writing on the back of a couple of them. One was framed postcards. One of the postcards was from her Grandmother Trover in the 1930’s. She explained a couple of others on the back. I love that her handwriting is on these things. There are 2 antique German die-cut Santas she had framed. She got those with her dear friend Julie once at a garage sale. She bought one and Julie gave her the other one as a gift. Then there was a magazine cover from 1924 with Santa. There were instructions on the back. “When I go to my reward, this goes to Aunt Martha.” That was crossed out and there were more instructions beneath it. “Dec 2006 Since Martha is now in the nursing home & wouldn’t remember this or me – do with it as you wish.” My wish was to keep it. I like it because it reminds me of her and that she always had it up. I laughed out loud as I read it for the first time and put it up for display. I love it because of the back notes. This was my reward.

Death is hard. I am sure there is a more eloquent way to say that, but plain and simple, it is hard. It’s a difficult pill to swallow whether a loved one dies suddenly or if it’s a prolonged death. I lost my dad in a moment and the instant loss was an immediate void for those of us left behind. No words brought closure to his chapter of life here on earth. I am forever thankful that I spoke with my dad on the day of his passing. The last thing we said to each other was, “I love you.” Of course, had I known, I would have said so many other things. But I did not know, so I don’t think I could have asked for more. There was no unfinished business. I just wanted more time. I still grieve for what he’s missed with my family and long for his presence. However, I’m grateful and blessed, more than others might be, with the relationship we had. It was so very special.

Mama was a different story. Our relationship was up and down and all around. She was always there for me as long as her bridge game wasn’t interrupted. I respected that. It took us a while to appreciate each other. She was fiercely independent before her stroke. She had to rely on me more after her stroke but was able to remain fairly independent until about 9 months before she passed. We knew her body was failing and had no idea she was riddled with cancer until a little over 2 weeks before her death. I don’t know how she kept going as long as she did. That little bit of time we had left together was precious. We all got to say what we wanted her to know. It was a gift. I found that what she wanted to know most from me was if she had been a good mom. She was always a good mom. There may have been a few times she wanted to put me back up for adoption – and I would have welcomed it – but she kept me anyway. I told her that I often felt like my childhood was magical. I still feel that way. There are so many wonderful memories I carry with me. I told her of the best ones and it seemed to comfort us both.

My mind wandered back to one of my most cherished memories. It was a summer trip we took to the New England states. The summer was truly magical for me. We ended up there via a continuing education class my mom and dad had taken. There was always learning going on, in and around my home. The professor’s name was Jackie Jackson. Yes, another Jackie. She was an author. It was a creative writing class. My parents became close to her throughout the semester. Daddy always loved writing and creative writing was his gift. In the summers, the other Jackie went to Vermont. She taught at the University of Vermont in Burlington. She invited us to all stay with her and allow Daddy to take another one of her classes. That was just what we did.

I was 6 years old at the time. One would think I couldn’t possibly remember that much, but I do. The memories of that trip are indelible. My Grandma Kitchen was with us and it made it that much more special for me. She was one of my special people.

We started out at Niagara Falls. We went on the Maid of the Mist to see the falls up close and personal. There were rubber ponchos they handed out to each of us. They were supposed to help keep us from getting drenched. I specifically remember the smell. It was a strong musty smell. Sharing ponchos among thousands of people daily was clearly pre-covid. I also remember my Grandma’s glasses becoming splattered with water from the falls.

We then moved on to Vermont and Jackie’s cabin. It was situated on a pond in the woods right outside of Burlington. It did not look like a pond to me. It looked like a lake. Her cabin was primitive and perfect. There was room for us all. I loved being surrounded by the woods. There were so many things to do right there at the cabin. We went walking on trails. She had a dock that could float out into the pond, so we did that. Every morning Jackie would take a swim to a small island-type piece of land and we rowed beside her in a boat for safety.

Her daughter Elspeth (no typo here) was with us for a period of time. She taught me how to make fairy houses around the trunks of trees. There were many flat, shale stones around the pond and we used those for furniture. We would use moss to make the furniture comfortable for the fairies. We would decorate our rooms with leaves and feathers and anything else we could find. Elspeth also taught how to make paper clip jewelry. I spent hours coloring and cutting paper in which to wrap the paper clips. Perhaps this is where my interest in making jewelry began.

I didn’t do everything with Elspeth. I was read books during the summer too. Daddy started reading Charlotte’s Webb to me on the University of Vermont campus. We read books at the cabin too. Jackie had written some children’s stories and we read one of them called Julie’s Secret Sloth. We felt like the whole place was magical so he found a book about a little witch called Jennifer, Hecate, William McKinley and Me, Elizabeth. Only he could have found a book with my name in it to make it so much more meaningful. It was a perfect book for that summer. I was enraptured and enthralled with every day there.

One day we went to Lake Champlain in Burlington. The rocks along the lake are smoothed grey shale with white mineral calcite striped through them. They are unique. Mama liked collecting rocks from places we visited. We picked up rocks along the shore and brought them home. I still have them sitting on my kitchen counter.

We went to Montreal, Canada. What I remember there is that I got some neat looking Canadian money. I had a Holly Hobby purse I carried it in. Mama told me to be very careful not to lose it. Of course I wasn’t. I promptly lost it at the Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe , Vermont. That was an early anniversary side trip for my mom. It was a short stay but I remember larger than life paintings of Maria and Baron VonTrapp in the dining room. I remember I got my picture taken with Maria at a book signing along with an autographed book.

There was one part of the trip that wasn’t so great. We went into Maine and saw the beautiful rugged coast. Aunt Martha and Uncle Dale joined us in Maine. Evidently my parents were told you must eat at the Nubble Light House. They were told it was fantastic! There was a restaurant right by it. We did. Daddy and Grandma has clams and got food poisoning. They ended up in the hospital. Grandma was there for several days. I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle in a hotel. I do remember being afraid they might die. That was scary for me, but all ended well.

Somewhere along the trip in Vermont we got the most amazing ice cream and it wasn’t Ben & Jerry’s. It was at a country store along the road. I wish I could remember where it was, but I don’t.

All in all, the summer was the most memorable summer I have.

After Mama passed, I wanted to do something where I felt connected to her. Being an only child has just as many disadvantages as it does advantages. When your parents are gone, there is no one else that shares your childhood experiences. I decided I wanted to go back to Vermont. I knew I would only have a fraction of the time I’d spent as a child, but it was just so special. So I did. I packed up a friend that I knew would indulge me and my trip down memory lane. I told her all the stories and she relived each one with me. We started out at Niagra Falls and rode the Maid of the Mist. This time, my glasses were speckled with water. We moved on to Burlington and stayed there the rest of the time. I collected new rocks from along the Lake Champlain shore. We went to the Trapp Family Lodge for a day and toured the grounds. It’s nestled among beautiful lush mountains. We did one other thing not done on the original trip, but it certainly honored Mama. We went to Mark Twain’s house in Hartford Connecticut. I didn’t make paper clip jewelry or go to the pond, but I felt connected. Several nights we went to Burlington’s Lake Champlain pier to see the sunset. It was, again with this word, magical. I could feel the presence of Mama and Daddy. It felt like they were right there with me and I’m sure they were.

The Beat Goes On

Sometimes mother/daughter relationships can be complicated. It is like a carefully choreographed dance of pulling close and letting go. If there is a misstep, it can throw the balance of the relationship off. However, there is room for forgiveness to figure out new steps to create a whole new and beautiful dance.

Growing up, my mom and I could not have been more different. She was methodical. There was a right way and a wrong way to do things. The right way was her way, always. I was not methodical. I might do the same thing differently every time. I was also a bit pokey. She wanted things done right away and I was a procrastinator. It took us a while to find our rhythm. Maybe longer than most mother/daughter relationships, but we did.

Some of the things that distressed me growing up now give me a good laugh. Chores were a bone of contention. I, naturally, did not want to do them. I would have rather read books or created something with my hands. Chores were a four-letter word in my mind before I knew what four-letter words were. I was willing to go along with working around the house, but I felt her chores were above and beyond.

One of my jobs was to clean the vents. There were no Swiffer’s to save me. I had a damp rag placed over a knife to run between each space in the vent. I think there were one thousand spaces in each vent. It was tedious and unrewarding in my world. It was a necessary evil and I thought my mom worshipped the cleaning gods. I was the sacrifice. I was sure she was against me. Cleaning was therapy for her and torture for me. If I’d been tasked with general dusting, sweeping, and dishes, I may have been more willing. I may not have too. My tasks were the baseboards, vents and washing the entryway on my hands and knees. No, I wasn’t Cinderella with an evil stepmom. She was very particular. There is nothing wrong with that. I was not.

She once had a money-making opportunity for my friend Bobbie and me. In front of our house was decorative rock for landscaping. My dad had the mower turned the wrong way when he was mowing. Grass got into the rock. Our job to make the money was to pick the grass out of the landscaping with tweezers. I am not exaggerating. Yes, Bobbie is still my friend, and we laugh about it now. We laughed about it at her funeral. It was just the way she was and I love this memory. I sure didn’t love it at the time. Bobbie never took her up on a money-making opportunity again.

Fast forward to her picking up my kiddos after school for snacks, homework, and playtime. There were sweet gumball trees in front of her house. They became her four-letter word. Sweet gum balls were all over the yard. My mom saw an opportunity for my children. They could each pick up a bucket full after snacks and homework and before playtime. She was to pay them a nickel for each gumball. They all thought it sounded like a great idea. My mom then realized what kind of money she was talking about for each of the kids. A lot of gumballs could fit into a 5 gallon bucket. The kids were thrilled at the prospect of what they could earn. Their hopes were dashed because she immediately recanted her decision and told the kids it was a maximum of $5.00 a bucket. They weren’t nearly as eager then. They did it anyway. We all laugh about this. I told them I could relate to the task. I lived through worse. I had to pick grass out of rocks with tweezers. At least the sweet gum balls could be picked up with their hands.

Despite our differences, we found our dance and it did turn out to be beautiful. As I grew, I found out she wasn’t against me at all. She always wanted what was best for me and did things the best way she knew how. Isn’t this how we all are as parents? We do the best we can with what we have. She did an amazing job. I was blessed beyond measure to have her be my mom.

I’m going to pick up where we left off in the hospital. The next day I decided to take 2 of my boys up to see her. She missed them. They missed her. It seemed like a good thing to do to lift her spirits and to show the boys she was OK. Seth was in 4th grade and Aaron was in 5th. We hopped in the car and took off to visit grandma.

When we arrived, I found her to be about as amped as she was the previous day. I knew this could go south. She was trying to read aloud, and it wasn’t making sense. I believe she knew what she was reading, it just wasn’t coming out in an understandable manner. She/we had been told that she shouldn’t try to force things in the healing this early. My mom was not a woman that could just sit and let things be. She made things happen. I reminded her she was told not to force things. I suggested we just visit with the boys. She really was happy to see them. She visited for about a minute but became a bit obsessed with trying to read again. I was now firm in telling her to just stop and put it down. I don’t remember if she had a magazine or paper, but I do remember it went sailing across the room from her chair to the bed. She said, “Then what the Heck (insert another word) am I supposed to do! They won’t let me do anything!”

My boys eyes were as big as saucers. They had never heard that kind of language from their grandmother and had never seen her behave in such a manor. They were transported to another dimension as they watched the following unfold.

I told her for the time being she could just sit and rest and visit. Wrong answer. She told me, “This is a bunch of sh_t.” Oh my. I had really gotten her agitated. It may have scarred my boys for life. She then crossed her arms and mumbled, “This is bullsh_t.” Again, my mother did not say these words, for the most part, and definitely not in front of her grandchildren.

I didn’t keep the boys there very long. She was in a mood that was not going to change. We said our goodbyes and loaded up in the car. On the way home I tried to explain her understandable frustration with communicating and reading. Although she had no trouble communicating her disdain for the situation she was in. I didn’t think she would remain in this mood. I hoped it would pass quickly.

The boys were very quiet until we were about halfway home. Seth burst into tears. I asked him what was wrong. Through his sobs he asked, “Are we even going to have Christmas?” ( She had her stroke in December) The whole experience had rocked his little world that much. Of grandma was acting out, would life go on? We had all of our holidays together and he must have thought it was all over now. I assured him Christmas, and every other holiday, would still happen in our house.

The next day she was to be released to rehab. She seemed excited to be moving on. We had a heck of time finding a place because of her insurance. Dang insurance. We found a place in Terre Haute that I felt would serve her well. She insisted on going to the local nursing home. She told me how she wanted to be near her friends. She had great friends. Her friends were great to me too. In fact, they brought me the biggest bottle of wine I’ve ever seen to “help” me through this. I understood the want to be near, but she needed to be where she could get the best therapy for her rehabilitation. Our local nursing home does a great job, however I felt she needed more. Since we were under the gun, we went local. This was the same day Aaron had a Christmas concert, so I was trying to be efficient because I didn’t want to miss out on it. We did not get released until late afternoon. She got to the nursing home and I gathered up some clothes for her from her house. I knew I could take her back to the house the next day to get more of what she wanted for rehab. After she somewhat settled in, I told her I was going to go to the concert and I would come back afterwards to talk some more. On my way out the door she asked when I thought she would be able to drive again. I told her we would discuss that later too. Oh boy. That was a bombshell I hadn’t considered yet.

I ran home to get my family so we could take off to the concert. As we were getting ready, I told my husband that she had wanted to know about driving. Aaron piped up and said, “You are not going to let her drive are you?” I assured him she wouldn’t be on the road anytime soon if at all. He said, “Good!” Apparently the 5th grade boy did not find her fit for the road after what he had experienced the day before.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. I went back to the nursing home after the concert an we talked about what we would need to do in her house the next day. She was settled for the moment and that was an accomplishment.

Today marks two years without her. It seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time.

I grew up a daddy’s girl. He was my person. I wasn’t sure what I would do without my person. He was my go to. Honestly, Mama and I weren’t super close. After his death, we started over. It took awhile after his passing.

I separated from my first husband and moved my daughter and I in with my mom shortly after my dad’s death. This did not bring us closer together. I think we were both still dealing with mourning and there was far too much togetherness. In fact, I decided to move 2 hours away after”The Great Underwear Drawer Throw Down of 1998″ I didn’t keep my underwear drawer up to her standards in her house. It really was a thing. I took it as a sign that we had been together too long. I needed a break and thought she would welcome the break. She followed me about a year later. She used to tell me it was because she knew I would need her. I was skeptical. The underwear drawer was still fresh in my mind. We never spoke of it again. 😉

I did need her. But she needed me too. We grew in our relationship. She delighted in my children and was such a huge help. She would pick them after school each day and they would have a snack and do homework at her house. They looked forward to their routine and the special snacks she had planned. Of course dealing with 4 instead of the 1 she was used to, sometimes posed for challenging situations.

My husband and I would do things for her as well. Like, he replaced all her windows. He did other odd jobs around the house. There were yearly honey do’s like change the clock times and batteries in the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. My job was to be on call 24/7That was a chore. Anyway, it worked to both our advantage.

When she had her stroke, our relationship changed. I became the care giver. The more I did to help her, the closer we became. By this time, she had become my person. Oh, we still drove each other batty, but we were tied at the hip. Sometimes I wanted to cut that tie for a few days, but never did I want to give it up all together.

I miss you daily Mama. I believe the kids do too. Happy Heavenly Birthday! Thank you for loving us fiercely. I’m so blessed to know we will see each other again someday.

Elizabeth, something’s not right.  There’s something wrong.  I need you to come over.  I woke up and something’s wrong.” This was the call that would change my life more profoundly than I could have possibly realized. 

It was the end of the school day, time for my mom to pick up my boys, and I was at work.  My cell phone rang with my mom’s number.  She always called me on my work phone if she needed me.  Well, sometimes she didn’t really need me, but she’d call anyway.  I felt there was something off before I even answered the phone.  When I did answer, I felt a pit in my stomach. She could not tell me what specifically was wrong, and I was on my way to her house immediately. I called my husband on the way there to have him pick up our boys from school because it was evident that she would not be making her normal pick up.

I went into her house unsure of what I was going to find.  She was pacing, talking and not making much sense.  The more she talked, the more nonsense words were strung together as she desperately tried to communicate with me.  I was afraid she was having a stroke, so we immediately loaded up in the car and took off to the emergency room.  (In retrospect, I believe I should have called an ambulance, but I was in a state of my own at this point.) On our way, she continued to speak nonsense words.  I could tell she thought she was making perfect sense.  She could tell I wasn’t understanding and became upset and frustrated.

Once we got to the emergency room, they took her blood pressure and it was through the roof.  They initially said it wasn’t a stroke.  I was not convinced.  They continued to examine her.  She continued to be unable to communicate.  It was scary and unsettling for us both.  We would look at each other and I could see the fear in her eyes. After hours of testing and examining we got to a real room.  Her blood pressure spiked again.  The nurses were unable to get it back down so they moved her to ICU.  Once the medicine started to work on her blood pressure, I went home for the evening knowing the next few days would be long and full of decisions. 

The next day seemed worse than the previous.  I got to the hospital early that morning to catch the doctor before he went to his office.  He told me she had a stroke and it was affecting her left side and her speech.  I went into the room and she was sleeping.  The nurse that came on that morning told me she would be sleeping a lot because that is how her brain would heal.  She also told me that she was struggling with her speech and could not read.  I was devastated for her.  What did this mean for both of us?

My mom had been a 5^th grade teacher for over 30 years. She prided herself on her mind. It was a beautiful mind She loved reading.  She had an appetite for learning. In her classroom, she was able to pass along her love books while introducing her students to new worlds and ideas.  Now I was told she was unable to read. I knew this would be a blow to her now fragile existence.

I let her sleep.  I slipped out to the waiting room and knew I needed to phone a friend to process all of this.  I cried my eyes out to her.  I couldn’t believe everything that was happening to her.  Her whole life had been wrapped up in teaching and learning long after she left the classroom.  I did not know how to handle it. It felt as though my world was collapsing around me and I was helpless to do anything but watch it all play out.   

Later in the day I had a good talk with another doctor.  He explained to me this would be a long road, but not impossible.  More than likely she would get her speech back through therapy.  She would probably be able to read again through therapy.  She would regain strength to her left side through therapy.  In the meantime, she needed rest.  Lots of rest.  She rested for several days. I slowly started to see glimmers of my mom return. 

I knew she had arrived back to our world on the 5^th day.  It had been a long 5 days and like flowers in the spring, she was beginning to bloom.  I went back to the hospital and the nurse stopped me before I got to her room.  She was no longer in ICU, but on the neurological floor.  She asked me if my mom was always amped.  I said she was usually wound a little tight and asked why.  She had given my mom a couple of doses of Xanax and it didn’t do a thing for her. She was not blooming gradually. It was more like she burst through the ground with the force of a Category 4 hurricane.  I laughed as I imagined what the morning had been like already. She was a force.  I don’t think the nurse thought it was funny and wondered why I found it amusing. Mama tended to look at the world like it was her classroom.  She was in charge……always.  She had certain expectations that would be met by each person she encountered, and the poor nurse didn’t get the memo.  There would be many more moments to come as we navigated these bold new waters together.

I have decided to share some more stories about my mom so I can have them later.  I told you how much I loved my mom and how much I miss her, but I don’t want to leave the impression that it was all roses and rainbows.  We had our moments too.  She drove me just about as batty as I did her when I was a teenager.

One such moment happened 9 months after her stroke.  She wanted to move back home. She was in assisted living. She had an intervention of sorts set up to convince me with the speech therapist she had at the time.  She had talked to the speech therapist about it.  Of course, the speech therapist knew all that was going on…….she did not.   Thank you, speech therapist.  I went to her apartment because she wanted to talk to me. When I walked in, the speech therapist was there to tell me all the reasons why she thought Mama should be allowed to move back home.  I didn’t completely disagree. I did not, however, like feeling ambushed.  We stopped seeing the speech therapist after this encounter.  We went other routes.  I told my mom I thought this was something the two of us should discuss privately.  She agreed.  She had an upcoming appointment and we decided to talk about it then.

(Point of reference for later….. if you are unaware, I’m adopted. )

This is what took place in the prior months.  She went from the hospital to the local nursing home for therapy.  I wanted to place her in a different facility because I knew she would not in any way shape or form like the local place.  She was insistent.  She told me she wanted to be there and near her friends.  She had a great friend group, but I felt she would be more comfortable elsewhere.  I succumbed and let her be. She was not in the facility for two weeks before she wanted me to move her someplace else.  OK. 

I looked and found an assisted living facility in Terre Haute I thought would be a better fit.  She was gung ho.  It was a heck of a move.  I took off work, as I would find myself doing for many things in the future, and orchastrated the move. Mama was placed in the memory care part of the facility.  She had her own apartment.  I got over there as often as I could to try and help her feel comfortable.  My boys were in 4^th, 5^th and 7^th grades. They were busy so time was at a premium.  She really liked it at first but grew weary of it.  She did have friends come visit but I think she just didn’t like not being in the same town as her family and friends.  She was not ready to live in her home again. We were clear on that. As I said in my previous post, she was unable to use her phone, work a microwave, stove, etc. She was getting better, but not there yet. It was still a bit of a struggle

A new assisted living facility was opened in Marshall about this time.  We talked about moving her there.  I took her to check it out and she liked it.  We moved again. The entire apartment and some other things from her house.  I was hopeful that she would like it so much that she would stay there.  I liked knowing there were other people around to keep watch. 

This brings us up to September and the “intervention”

We discussed her moving back to her house on the way to her appointment.  I know she missed it terribly.  I was concerned about her being on her own. We decided to give it a try anyway.  She wanted to know how soon – like the next week was what she wanted.  I told her that I didn’t feel I could take off more time to move again and my next 3 weekends were taken up with kid things.  The last weekend in September was when I could rally the troops to move her again.  Please hear me …….this makes 4 moves in 9 months. 

When I told her it would be 3 more weeks before the move, she threw her hands up in the air and flopped them loudly on her lap.  She said the words “Three Weeks!” like I had told her never, ever again are you going home.  It was rather dramatic.  I told her I was sorry but that was the best I could do this time.  Mama let out a big sigh, turned her head to look out the passenger window and said not too softly, “I should have adopted another child.”  Oh yes she did say that.  I called her on it and told her if she had adopted another child, they would have run for the hills by now and she would still be stuck with me. 

Did it hurt my feelings?  No.  I knew she was extra passionate about things after the stroke.  Did we laugh about it later?  Yes we did.  It’s been one of my favorite stories to share since. Boy was she mad.  She got over it and moved home 3 weeks later.

Thanks for indulging me by joining in my walk down memory lane!

Hugs and blessings, Elizabeth