that’s what my mother said as she walked back into her house at 5:30 AM from the hospital after my father died. It also happened to be their 59th wedding anniversary, and I was tempted to highjack the anniversary cards from the mailbox that afternoon, but for some reason decided against it.
This kitchen is closed! Mine, that is.
For five days I was in charge of feeding and transporting a 15 ½ year old young man. I started to say boy, but he really is a young man. After five days, I can’t even begin to imagine what is was like for my mother (and so many millions of others, especially those who work outside of the home.)
And taking care of my father for 59 years! He would have died years before if she hadn’t counted out his pills very morning, leaving the evening doses in the little red plastic measuring cup on the counter. That little cup was a fixture in our lives for years.
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I just now took a break from writing this to call a friend who I haven’t spoken to since last November. Her partner told me that her mother died this morning in
Toledo, Ohio. I was thinking of my friend all day. Now I know why.
(Now I get this sandwich generation concept; raising children, and taking care of and burying aging parents.)
My friend’s mother was afraid to fly, and rarely came to California. I met her mother years ago, when she came on the train, and we went to Townsend Restaurant for Sunday brunch. I didn’t see her again until a few years ago when she flew out here for her daughter’s lesbian wedding. She was so excited that she had flown, and was planning all the trips she could now take. I’ll have to find out if she ever did. I am sending much love and many blessings for her journey.
1 comment:
I so relate to your words of your mom placing your dad's pills in tray--day after day, year after year. My mother certainly kept my dad going--both physically and emotionally.
My dad's been gone for 20 years and I still have the little silver "pill" tray.
Daddy died when I was 23 (heart disease) and I was just a young mother. My mother lived another 17 years--14 of those "independently." (family, friends, church, me, my family), and then I cared for her (while raising teenagers)and gave her a home passing.
I grieved and kept on going. Mothers have to. Every day, life goes on.
As hard as it is on sandwich generation-ers, I'm grateful that I had to go on--for my marriage, my kids, myself. I had to get dressed, keep moving.
I wish you and your famiy well.
~Carol D. O'Dell
author of MOTHERING MOTHER: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,
available on Amazon and in most bookstore.
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