Tribute to a Mother

We take the miraculous as commonplace because it happens every day. And then you find yourself cutting the first piece of hospital chicken for your mother, and you realize that you cannot even begin to repay the debt.

An amazing story of tribute, James Lileks remembers his mother in the days after her passing...

Three Cousins Chat

Trishymouse says:
hey you guys - how is everyone?
bettyboop says:
doing good here too
Trishymouse says:
I'd be better if it was 70 outside
bettyboop says:
me too, its very cold out here
dellee@zianet.com says:
Well it has been that here for most of the winter. Really had a mild one here this year. ad a few 40 and 50 degree days but mostly short sleeve. I was out raking today to get some pine needles out of the yard.
dellee@zianet.com says:
Well i Betty got both of you. How neat.
bettyboop says:
yes Kool
bettyboop says:
We visited Mom last Thursday night
dellee@zianet.com says:
How is your Mom doing?
Trishymouse says:
Mom was shakey when she woke up at first, but as the visit progressed she was more and more coherent except for saying Laverne Wood was holding the Olympics...I think she meant to say something about hosting a party or something...a memory...
dellee@zianet.com says:
It eally blew my mind when Mom thought 2 weeks ago that grandma was still alive.
dellee@zianet.com says:
She was with grandma when she died.
Trishymouse says:
Did she tell you anything about that?
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes she use to talk about it a lot. Grandmas diabetes had gotten out of control so why Mom returned her to the nursing home. Mom was with her and I guess grandma had a bad head ache. SAnd had gotten real bad with the diabetis. Grandma went into a convulsion and Mom held her head and hands as she died.
Trishymouse says:
Was Grandma conscious at the time?
Trishymouse says:
Did she say anything before?
dellee@zianet.com says:
Up until she went into the convulsion yes.
dellee@zianet.com says:
I think she was telling Mom about the headache. Mom always sort of blamed the nursing home as Grandma had the headache for several days I guess but noone seemed to do anything about it.
Trishymouse says:
I don't blame her. That's definitely a sign of something. Nowadays they'd probably scan her and there are meds available today that might help that weren't available in 1974...but at least she went fast...
dellee@zianet.com says:
Mom always felt if they had had the Dr. at her and find out why her head hurt so bad they maybe could have done something.
Trishymouse says:
Could have been another stroke, or as you said related to diabetes...
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes I am sure that is what it was. I know a friend in Bemidji also had strokes and then when he had the final one that killed him he too went into convulsions.
Trishymouse says:
I don't know about you, but when looking at our Mom, it's like the clock is winding down, her body is slowly stopping. When I mentioned that to Mom and Thursday, she motioned like she was winding, and said, "Wind it back up then!" We laughed and said, that would be nice...
Trishymouse says:
Poor brain goes kafooey
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes Mom too. Slowly things are working less and less. e mind gets foggier and foggier and legs are getting so weak. I have a call in to talk to the Dr. but he won't be in til next week.
Trishymouse says:
We've at least been able to make her as comfortable as possible. All her dental work has been caught up so no more pain or discomfort there. She has good reading glasses - and this pair have NOT been lost, knock on wood!

Struggling to Stay "Here"

Our Mom is about the same as yours, i.e., sometimes totally 'here', and other times the mind wanders. I can tell that Mom is working hard at keeping things straight sometimes. She has said more than once getting old stinks. I believe her...

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. It's quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Assn. for Mental Health.

A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent poem.

And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking,
When you're looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes.

Who dribbles her food,
And makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice,
The things that you do,
And forever is losing,
A stocking or shoe

Who, resisting or not
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am,
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.


I'm a small child of ten,
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen,
With wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now,
A lover she'll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows,
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide,
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other,
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons,
Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me,
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing,
Young of their own,
And I think of the years,
And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman,
And nature is cruel,
'Tis jest to make old age,
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone,
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass,
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living,
Life over again.

I think of the years,
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact,
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer - see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

The 'Not So Golden Years'

I just read an article in a local paper where they compare TV shows about professions, as well as the institutions they involve, and how it stacks up to the actual real life jobs.

It got me thinking - when are TV executives going to do a real life drama about nursing homes, or even about aging in general?

Oh sure, there was the old show THE GOLDEN GIRLS, and bless them, they touched nicely on some topics, but I'd like something more visceral, more real, more deep. I don't mean it couldn't have some humour here and there, but I'd like it to touch on the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff - the 'activites of daily living' that must be faced, grace or no grace. I'd love to have the show have great writing, and be cast well. I'm not asking for much, am I?!

Granddaughter

Eva came to visit in November around the Veterans' Day holiday. One of the things we did that weekend was visit Mom. Eva, Daniel, and I lived with Mom and Dad for a year and a half from early 1985 to the fall of 1986. Eva was in first grade at Humboldt school for the one school year. During that time, my kids and my parents really bonded. There was something special between them ever after. Mom lights up when she sees Eva, even to this day despite her brain being a bit fuzzier than it used to be. Mom also got to visit Eva a couple of times in Nashville, the last time when Mu'min was born. She thought Mu'min was such a sweetie. It's always wonderful to be there to see them visit with one another...

It's really strange how a person can notice coincidences (or whatever word it is that would describe this...) about the most mundane things, and you really wonder if it matters or if you're just making something out of nothing, but...

I've been reading a book lately called "Charlotte", about the acclaimed actress Charlotte Charke ne Cibber, an 18th century London actress of certain renown. During a period of her career, she worked with Henry Fielding, who at that time was writing many satiric plays, many of which she starred in. Fielding later went on to write "Tom Jones", of which there is a character I discovered today, when Googling my mother's name, named Harriet Fitzpatrick. Harriet is my mother's first or Christian name. Fitzpatrick was her maiden surname.

I found it a bit strange to find out that while reading this book at this moment, and also thinking about my mother and the holidays coming up, that I find out her namesake is a character created by a real-life character in the very book I am reading.

Strange, indeed.

Background

She knew that he was not willing to fork over $20,000 for her education and she didn't ask, afterall, he had given her a good life. He had bought her a nice house only 8 miles from the beach. She had nice things even if she didn't have independence, her smile faded and she steeled herself, stomping out the hope that had been there and biting back tears of sadness and rage. She saw, flashing before her mind, another 20 years of washing dishes, ironing clothes and cleaning hash marks out of toilets. She bit back the tears, steadied her hand and replied, "Yes honey, that might be nice"

An amazing story about another mother, as told by the daughter; the end has yet to be written.

Pink Peppermints

'Uncle Mark Miller' brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his 'generous purpose' horse. He is a nice old man and gave me a handful of pink peppermints. Peppermints always seem to me such a religious sort of candy -- I suppose because when I was a little girl Grandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, 'Is that the odor of sanctity?' I didn't like to eat Uncle Mark's peppermints because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty nails and other things from among them before he gave them to me. But I wouldn't hurt his dear old feelings for anything, so I carefully sowed them along the road at intervals. When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a little rebukingly, 'Ye shouldn't a'et all them candies to onct, Miss Phil. You'll likely have the stummick-ache.'

- from Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of the Island

The 'pink peppermint', or the English mint as it's sometimes called, is actually flavored with wintergreen. It was a favorite of mine and it seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth now.

I will forever associate them with my Grandpa Fitzpatrick (Mom's father, who she dearly loved...), and how he fed them to me...along with whisker rubs and sloppy kisses, calling me his 'little girl'...

"I'm so tired of gray worsted and sensible things. Of course I can't have a tree, an' I don't suppose I really want it; but I'd like somethin' all pretty an' sparkly an'--an' silly, you know. An' there's another thing I want--ice cream. An' I want to make myself sick eatin' it, too,--if I want to; an' I want little pink-an'-white sugar pep'mints hung in bags. Samuel, can't you see how pretty a bag o' pink pep'mints 'd be on that green tree? An'--dearie me!" broke off the little old woman breathlessly, falling back in her chair.

Ella was the first to speak. "It's too bad, of course, but never mind. Mother'll see the joke of it just as we do. You know she never seems to care what we give her. Old people don't have many wants, I fancy."

Frank stirred suddenly and walked the length of the room. Then he wheeled about.

"Do you know," he said, a little unsteadily, "I believe that's a mistake?"

"A mistake? What's a mistake?"

"The notion that old people don't have any--wants. See here. They're having a party down there--a party, and they must have got it up themselves. Such being the case, of course they had what they wanted for entertainment--and they aren't drinking tea or knitting socks. They're dancing jigs and eating pink peppermints and ice cream! Their eyes are like stars, and Mother's cheeks are like a girl's; and if you think I'm going to offer those spry young things a brown neckerchief and a pair of bed-slippers you're much mistaken--because I'm not!"

- From Eleanor H. Porter's When Father & Mother Rebelled

I found this link today on a Canadian site I will try. I am abound and determined to track them down...

I like that last quote quite a bit. I have always firmly believed that just because our bodies get infirm doesn't mean we suddenly don't want or need to have fun or have love. I plan on getting up to mischief as much as possible the older I get!

An Old Man & His Mouse

A story, about an old man, and his mouse...