Blooming Joy
Birds of a feather laugh together
My mother was a nonsmoker and teetotaler for 99 years. She took her roles as a daughter, wife, mother, sister, grandmother, aunt, friend, and Sunday School teacher seriously. She worked hard to assure that every task she accepted was completed to the best of her ability with wisdom, grace and polish.
Mom held my sister Carol and me to the high 1950’s standard of behaving like ladies. One lady-speak word was tummy button since ladies had neither bellies nor belly buttons. We were given special names for bodily functions but none for body parts. Mom told us her mother’s instructions for bathing: “Wash down as far as possible, up as far as possible, then wash possible.”
Breaking house rules meant mouths washed out with soap or a spanking. I was a rebel. Mom chased me around the basement furnace with a flyswatter. I tried valiantly but could not outrun her, then surrendered and took my punishment screaming like a banshee…rather unladylike. Mom spent countless hours chauffeuring us to lessons, practices, concerts and church. She encouraged excellence in every endeavor.
Carol was in college when our parents divorced. I was a senior in high school. Mom went to work for a local nonprofit agency. She was their only employee, working in a rented garage with an annual budget of $2,000 to serve 200 children with disabilities in our county. She was clearly an overachiever. When she retired as Executive Director 22 years later, the agency provided life-spanning services to five-thousand people of all ages in three counties on a budget of $250,000 per year; owned its own building; and was debt-free. Her accomplishments were lauded by the Governor, the Statehouse, as well as local newspapers and groups.
It was good to see Mom unwind, relax and enjoy life after retirement. She became a professional storyteller who told tales in schools, churches, nursing homes, cruise ships. She also taught storytelling to give children an incentive to read, and help them overcome fear of public speaking.
Mom had met and married our Stepdad (aka Dad) two years after the divorce. At that point Dad had two daughters, two sons-in-law and seven grandchildren. Mom had two daughters, two sons-in-law and six grandchildren. The grandkids looked forward to spending time at their house. Grandma told stories while teaching them gardening and baking. Grandpa taught drawing and painting. He took them on walks to the lake where they waded and hunted for shells.
Mom and Dad rented a house at a lake resort where the family could gather for a week during the summer. Carol had moved to Florida so this was when our children bonded as cousins, happily playing charades, Putt-Putt golf, fishing and swimming together.
Mom and Dad bought a home in a retirement community in Florida where they wintered for 25 years. They loved the ocean, escaping northern snow and spending time with Carol’s family. They made new friends who traveled the world with them.
Our kids and grandkids looked forward to Grandma and Grandpa’s return each spring. Mom’s birthday fell within the same week as three of our grandchildren. We celebrated their four birthdays together with varying themes each year: Shrek, Cowboys, Sports, Superheroes, etc. Mom & Dad participated in party activities into their 90s: demonstrating baseball and football skills; galloping like horses, roping cattle; target shooting with slingshots; batting pinatas ; squirting Silly String — still young at heart.
At age 94, Mom and Dad sold their homes and car and moved closer to my husband and me. They refused the offer to live with us. They wanted to remain independent and moved to a nearby retirement community. We enjoyed taking them shopping, picnicking at local parks, watching the seasons change, and learning surprising highlights of their lives.
Dad shared how at age 14, he often snuck into the Roxy Theater with his friends to watch the strippers. He noted that back then the daytime dancers were not totally naked — their dance routines ended with tasseled nipples and tiny bikini-type bottoms. Dad entertained us by demonstrating the moment he and his friends waited impatiently for — the Grand Finale. He shimmied and wiggled his hips, exclaiming “And zee Mama and zee Papa and zee Ooh-la-la!” At Ooh-la-la! he put his hands behind his head, elbows out, and thrust his hips forward with a loud grunt. This was a whole new side of our conservative stepdad.
Dad was a decorated WWII Veteran. My husband pushed his wheelchair when he traveled to Washington, D.C. with Honor Flight. Upon arrival in D.C. they were chauffeured to all of the war memorials plus the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and Arlington National Cemetery. Mom & I waited in the airport hangar with family and friends to surprise Dad after he deplaned. Uniformed soldiers saluted the Veterans as they paraded in while a military band played The Stars and Stripes Forever. Friends and loved ones waved flags, signs, balloons thanking them for their service. Not a dry eye in the house.
Dad was a devoted husband who constantly praised Mom. He’d say, “I’m the luckiest man in the world being married to Mom. Isn’t she beautiful?” She smirked and quickly responded, “Don’t change your glasses.” He sang love songs to her. Sometimes they sang together. Their favorite silly song was “Barnacle Bill the Sailor.” Dad sang the woman’s part in a high voice while Mom sang the man’s part in a deep voice.
Mom’s memory was slipping. I was with her at the doctor’s office when the nurse asked her to remove her clothes and put on a hospital gown for the exam. Mom did not hear the request. She looked at me and asked what the nurse said. I repeated the nurse’s words.
Mom put her hand to her ear, “What??”
I spoke louder, “The nurse wants you to STRIP, Mom.”
Mom turned to the nurse with a poker face and asked, “Will there be MUSIC?”
The nurse laughed out loud, then covered her mouth and ran from the room. Mom looked at me, rolled her eyes and giggled. It was clear that the lady who raised me had left the building.
Mom’s standards continued to loosen. While checking out at a restaurant, Dad thanked our server for doing a great job. The server thanked him for the compliment. As we walked away, Mom told Dad, “You are such a bullshitter.” I felt honored to witness her first hardcore swear at age 96.
Dad tried to take care of Mom after her stroke. She could not stand, walk or speak clearly. Mom was moving to Memory Care in their building in order to access professional help. Dad could have stayed in their apartment, visited Mom every day and had time to socialize with the friends he’d made, knowing she would be taken care of. Instead, he said, “I can’t leave my sweetie there alone. What would I do without her? I’m going too.” They shared a room in Memory Care from then on.
Dad’s attitude was invariably positive. He was in failing health with considerable pain, but continued to smile and be grateful. Although he looked forward to meeting his Maker, he vowed to hang on as long as possible to watch over Mom. He refused pain medication for fear he would fall asleep and not be able to hear her. He humbly requested no obituary other than He came and he went; and no funeral until after Mom died. He agreed to scheduling a dual service then to celebrate their reunion.
Mom passed on a year-and-a-half after Dad. Dementia was a blessing. She never realized he had gone. Family and friends gathered to celebrate their reunion that Spring in a gazebo at a park by the lake. Mom and Dad watched many sunsets there. We suspect the two of them instigated the entertainment that day. They loved birds. Birdbaths, birdhouses and elaborate bird feeders decorated their backyard. They watched for the first robin to appear each Spring and reported bird sightings while traveling.
The mood was solemn as we anticipated saying our final goodbyes. The minister, a much-loved family member, drove 12 hours to lead the service. She began to speak when a bird flew up her liturgical stole causing her to jump and shriek in shock. Everyone chuckled as she chased the dirty bird away and continued the service. We had just regained composure when bird couples in the rafters above began making noisy, avian love. Giggles turned to guffaws. We were all overcome with laughter.
So much for etiquette. Sorrow released. JOY in full bloom. Life goes on here…and hereafter.
