Holiday Clips

The year is a month old. It has been a fabulous winter unless you are addicted to snow. Festivities of Christmas and New Year have long been added to our memory bank. There were many memorable moments clamoring to be captured in print. Tiredness provided a constant excuse for neglecting to journal. Now, my need to write has overcome my ambivalence about what to write about. So I’ll start with Christmas. My cousin spent Christmas with her sister in Illinois with my family, We last met more than forty years ago. The girl has morphed into a confident, vivacious grandmother. I was really surprised when my cousins’ picture of my mother was so fun-loving, funny, teasing and playful. Her eyes lit up as they recalled their stories of her so I think that mom missed that part of herself too. Children sometimes forget that their parents play other roles, showing different parts of themselves to others. My father’s absence (his second christmas away) was not paralyzing. No one cried but there was no forced hilarity either. We found happiness in being together creating new rituals in the process
On New Year’s Day, my brothers, except Wilt in Atlanta, and their spouses came to dinner in West Virginia. We had a long very pleasant evening with digestible food and great company.
On Saturday, January 28th, I returned to Illinois with my brother Emanuel, who was so very ill last year, for our father’s memorial service two days before his ninety fifth birthday. It was Emanuel’s longest ride and he drove for almost four hours of the journey. God protected us and kept us safe through the detours in heavy rain to mom’s house in Illinois. I am in awe of my sister, Esther who cares for my mother. The youngest of nine, and daddy’s princess, she is indeed living up to her name. Although sick, she remains patient and uncomplaining as she runs the home and organizes mom’s care. To welcome us, she managed to find time and energy to create a feast.

On Sunday, after the main service, we lunched with my oldest sister, Verna before the cemetery visit. As if on cue, the preachers amongst us started “in the sweet Bye and Bye”. I wished they hadn’t. However, I had my own special tribute as I poured on dad’s grave the rosemary leaves taken from my herb pot in remembrance. The service that followed was very evocative of his life. As the little church filled up, with folk who knew him, I thought what a life, what a legacy to leave something positive of yourself in the hearts of people. I have been so blessed with two unselfish and warm parents. They loved people and tried to help. These were the witnesses that they were there for the dispossessed and the marginalized. My ailing mother who rarely speaks enjoyed the service too. Despite the effort she insisted on standing with the congregation and there were many such moments. Later, at Ruth’s house where we were having dinner, we asked about the service. She said that she enjoyed the singing but insisted that she enjoyed the sermon best. Of course, the preacher was her son and despite her eighty seven years, he still had her support.

Thousands of miles away, across the sea, Dad’s forbears lay buried. He sleeps alone for now in a quiet corner of St Joseph’s garden: yet in a foreign land, he made a difference and the world is better and smaller because of him.

Junctions in the Journey

Over the last six weeks, my mind chased countless stories like a greedy child bewildered by many choices. I know that some stories would remain to warm my heart for some time yet. The glow of Thanksgiving cheer lingers amidst the hustle of Christmas preparations. The shock of seeing my mother looking aged has left me with a hunger for more visits with her. I watched my youngest sister, Esther, as she cared for Mom with tenderness, kindness and firm encouragement underlined by a passionate love and commitment. I worry about my sister exchanging her career to join so many millions of middle-aged women in care-giving but she has applied the same attention to detail in her new role and ensures that my mother’s physical, environmental, social and emotional needs are addressed. I am in awe of her quick grasp of all the issues of elderly care as it relates to mom and her approach to problem solving. As I visited, I realized that the family baby so sheltered and cushioned has been transformed into a skilful, unselfish and confident carer.

My mother stays in the kitchen when we cook or hangs out in the living room and when she goes to bed, she watches television with company. Sometimes, she will straighten a table-cloth or a cushion. She may even take a glass to the kitchen. Although she hardly speaks, she remains the center of life at home. As I fumble to find meaningful words to thank Esther, I could not help wishing that all the elderly folk could enjoy the care my mother enjoys in her own home around the familiar if only for this Season. That I have peace despite my mom’s obvious failing is largely due to Esther, lovingly supported by my two other sisters as well as a pair of helpers.

Last Saturday, while celebrating a couple’s 50th anniversary, I could not shake off the memories of my mom's 50th anniversary celebration. The joy of this occasion evoked vivid memories of another time when my parents were vibrant and death was in a far off country. We were all so young in mind and body. It was for my family a defining moment. I still have my bridesmaid dress and remembered the helium balloons floating skywards, their golden ribbons reluctant trailers. I remembered the cars honking through the streets. I remembered and in the midst of so much joy, cried; knowing things will never be the same. Dad, so handsome on that day is dead| As I chatted with the youngest daughter, I encouraged her to make the most of every minute, savor it and hold on to the joy. It is such a precious celebration in an age when long marriages cannot be taken for granted.

I am still house hunting and am about to make an offer but have an open mind. While I will never have a 50th anniversary, I want to live with passionate enjoyment and I’m looking at a place that frees me up to do that: minimum house-keeping, affordable rates and utilities. I’m from the “life is too short to stuff a mushroom” school and I want to make time to smell the roses for ever. Buying a house in late life can raise all sorts of existential questions e.g what is my real purpose in living? How do I want to spend the rest of my life? It’s even a value thing? What type of neighborhood to choose and what does it say about me? Well, you get the drift. So prayers are needed for patience and strength. Waking up at 4.30am to talk to British officialdom before their lunch requires lots of both. Hopefully, a few more calls should do it.