Family continues on

            My Brother #1 texted me. “Can Cathy come out to play?” Only he would be able to make me chuckle over a remark like that. Brother #1 has always been a Goodtime Charlie.

            I didn’t get that message right away. When I found it and texted back, “Hahahahahahahaha!” he asked why it was funny. Well, he was back home sitting on his front porch. Earlier he and his daughter were riding their bikes and were at my front door—which we NEVER use. Either I was in the kitchen putting groceries away or I hadn’t arrived home yet. He told me they might come around again later. And they did.

            We sat at the table on the patio. It used to be Mom’s glass top table. I brought it to my house. Eventually we got around to talking about Mom.

            “It’s hard to believe it was two years, five months and five days between when Dad died and when Mom passed away,” he said. “And in the same hour of the night!” He said he still hasn’t been up to her grave. He didn’t say why. I didn’t ask. It hasn’t been quite 10 months since Mom died. I know everyone grieves differently, takes different lengths of time. So, I don’t want to intrude on his feelings as he comes to grips with Mom’s passing. I guess I just want him to know he’s not alone. None of us who loved “Honey” is alone.

            I said, “Derf said as long as I’m alive Dad will never be dead,” I said.

            Brother #1 looked at me, appearing pretty doubtful about that. “No, you look like Mom. You act like Mom. As long as you are alive, Mom will never be dead. The older you get, the more like her you look!”

            That’s what my children said. Then another thought occurred to me and I nearly cried.

            “Does that upset anyone? That I look so much like Mom? Does it hurt everyone?” When I look in the mirror I often see Mom’s face looking back at me.

            “No,” Brother #1 answered. “It doesn’t.”

            We are our parents’ children, products of their union. Half of our genes come from our dad and half from our mom. And sometimes I say, “I hope I got Mom’s smart genes, but not her Alzheimer’s genes, and I hope I have Dad’s sharp brain to the end genes but not his chronic lung disease genes. I hope I got the best of both of them.” Well, I hope my brothers got the best, too. Brother #1 is two years younger than me. Brother #2 is seven-and-a-half years younger than me. Brother #2 said to me a number of years ago, “You have to live to 107-1/2 so you can attend my 100^th birthday party. Then we can die together.” That will be January 1, 2061. I don’t know why he even thought of it, but it meant a lot to me that he said it. It still does.

            I remember when Brother #2 was born. Dad came to Aunt Mary’s to get Brother #1 and me and bring us home. I saw that beautiful baby sleeping on a receiving blanket spread over the sofa. I claimed him immediately. I was 7-1/2 years old, a grown-up little person.

            I didn’t grow up with sisters. I always was protective of my brothers until Mom told me I needed to step back and not put my brothers in a position where they had to choose between their sister and their love interests, later their wives.

            It’s true. When we grow up we are still brothers and sisters, but we must respect our siblings and step out of their business. If they need our help, our siblings will ask for it.

            We’re older now. In two years, five months and five days, at the same wee hour, we lost both of our parents. Now there are the three of us and our families, and we strive to maintain the close ties, the close family ties, Mom inspired. Mom…the hummingbird.

(c) 2012 Cathy Thomas Brownfield


If you enjoyed reading this entry, please leave a comment. Come back to visit my family again as we work our way through our journey after Mom's Alzheimer's journey.

A Letter from My Heart

Dear Mom and Dad,

It’s hard to believe how quickly time passes. In 12 days, Dad, you will be gone three years. Did you listen to that nurse make the call to me? How I made sure everyone in the family was called to get there? Did you watch my speedometer as I pushed past 80 mph on Route 45? And you were already gone. I should have stayed with you that night.

And did you gather with Ashley, Beth, Christie and me as we sat in Beth’s living room drinking French vanilla cappuccino so none of us would be alone? And Leslie had taken off on foot to walk across Salem to her apartment. Richard and Dawn made sure she got there. And I wished she was with us at Beth’s house.

I was looking for a place to watch the sunrise with you that morning. The fairgrounds was not the highest point to watch the sun crack the horizon open. But I looked at the hillside. At the top, in the distance, was a row of trees. From one of the branches a single bird took wing. It traveled alone. I watched until it disappeared from sight, and I knew you were gone.

Ah, Dad. There were so many things I still wanted to talk about with you. I guess those things will have to wait…or maybe they don’t really matter all that much. There are only two things important: You loved me and I loved you…because you were Dad.

Mom, you’ve been gone 6-1/2 months. There are still moments when I think, “I should go see Mom today.” Or, “Mom would get a kick out of that.” Oh, how could it have slipped my mind that you were ready to move on to your next adventure.

Adventure. Do you remember telling me you woke up every morning and before you did anything else you talked to God and asked, “Lord, what wonderful adventure are we going to have today?”

It was my privilege and honor to be your daughter. I hope I have never ever caused either of you a moment’s humiliation, embarrassment or shame. Your respect for me was one of the most valuable gifts I ever earned.

Love,
Cathy

(c) 2012 Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ All Rights Reserved

Missing Mom

I miss Mom. She's been gone almost six months. I could talk to her about anything. She wasn't domineering. We just got along very well, like best friends after I grew up, married and started my family. If I got in a jam, Mom was there to help me. If I wanted to go somewhere, she always said she just needed time enough to pack a bag and we could be on the way. We quilted our first quilts together. I don't think I could have done it without her. We made "cabbage patch" dolls for my daughters, Beth and Christie, and for ourselves. We did a lot of things together. If I was upset about something between my husband and me, I used Mom as a sounding board to make sure I was being fair to him. After all, my goals in marriage were to ALWAYS be a good wife.

In less than two hours time the world seems to have fallen apart. My world. It's been happening for a while. Mom and her two living brothers passed away in 2011: Uncle Ed at the end of February, Mom in August and Uncle Dale in early October. One of my adult children walked out of her marriage, nuf said. Now, another broken romance, my paycheck that for nearly 12 years has been direct deposited is no longer being direct deposited and nobody bothered to tell me about it so I don't get a payday today...and my husband gets his back up because I asked why he didn't do a menial task here and he's going to pack his stuff and leave. "Ya do what you have to do," I said. He's downstairs playing pool. I guess I'll have to fix the stupid window myself. Then I can go to Home Depot and find out how to run new water lines from the source to the water heater to the taps so I can have hot water in my kitchen after a year of living in the early 19th century instead of the 21st. And when the weather is warm enough I can get the materials and reroof the garage so it doesn't rain inside the garage as if it were outside. At this point I'm not sure why I have a man in my life.

My attitude needs a great adjustment. I am uncertain how to make that happen. And Mom is six months gone. I can go to her grave site and talk to her, but she isn't going to talk back to me. I am the matriarch now. And I don't have the answers we all need. Geez. How do I fix this?

Clarity

There are statements my mother made that struck me at the time she spoke them and now, months or years later those things still strike me. Perhaps I should write my mother's story for posterity, that is, for future generations. (I wish you could see the whiteout on the other side of my window as I type this.)

When I went back to college (2007-2009) I learned that "history" was the story more of "mankind" than "womankind." Often women have not been important enough to be mentioned by name, perhaps because of the shame of her actions that is being told? Or because someone is intimidated by her intelligence? Who knows for sure why women are less likely to be named in history? Of course, Cokie Roberts got my attention with her book, Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation.

Remember Lot's wife? She's the one who looked back and was turned to a pillar of salt. She didn't have a name. At least, she was not named in those scriptures.

And when you took history in public school, what did you learn about Benjamin Franklin? Did you know his wife's name was Debra? Did you know he went to Europe and lived as a diplomat for 12 years, never visiting Debra in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania USA where she oversaw his business ventures? That the only reason he returned then was because she was dead? You can read it in Cokie's book.

Women's stories DO need to be recorded for the generations of women who follow those women. How did women arrive at this modern moment in time? What did they have to suffer through simply to survive? What sacrifices did they make--have to make--to enable today's women to enjoy the opportunities that are available?

I don't know everything about Mom's life, but with my knowledge and with the assistance of recorded history, recorded herstory, perhaps I can create a composite of the chutzpah of women who have been dominated by patriarchy and rose above it. (My doctor tells me that "we don't live that way any more." I didn't say I agree with him.)

My mother did a lot of things, but she never realized the dreams she aspired to, was born to. Perhaps through me (her daughter), her granddaughters, the women who knew her, her dreams may be realized to some degree, to inspire the Self to strive for the greatest potential regardless of the biology of the body.

"You can do anything you want, achieve what you want, if you're willing to work hard to achieve it."

When did Mom become so tired? When did she realize there was no point in fighting any more because she wasn't ever going to win?

How can it be a complete white-out one moment, and just less than a second later the sun be shining and the red brick of the house across the street so sharply defined?

(c)2012 Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ All rights reserved.