It's interesting to me how very different siblings can be. Even though we share the same DNA and we grew up in the same household...we are as different as we can be. I didn't notice it when we were younger...but I certainly do now. Actually, as I child, the only difference I noticed about me and my brother and sister, was that they were both skinny red heads...and I was a "plump" or "chunky" brunette. My sister Amy and I used to pretend that I was a cousin from Kentucky (where I had my own horse...as all people in Kentucky do...) who came to live with my "Uncle Fred and Aunt Lois." We also had a long running family joke about why I wasn't a skinny red head...and that was, that I was actually a Korean war orphan. I know...it was an odd joke...but it was our family's joke. That joke was so ingrained in my head, that about 15 years ago, I was training this new waitress at the Oyster Bar...and she was Korean. We were chatting as we were working and she mentioned that her family had a small farm. I pictured an older Korean couple working their land...and I asked her if they grew vegetables and then used them to make their own Kim Chee. She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "No...my parents are white...I'm a Korean war orphan." Without giving it a second thought, I blurted out, "Hey! So am I!" Then she really looked at me like I was nuts...and that was the beginning of our friendship.
Now...back to the differences between me and my siblings...
Mom was the one who pointed out to me how different each of us kids were. She said that it never was more obvious than the day President Kennedy was shot. I was in the third grade, Amy was in first and David was in fifth. The secretary went to each of the classrooms and with tears streaming down her face, she whispered something to the teachers. Our teachers told us that our president had been shot. We were told to quickly gather our things and we were all instructed to go straight home.
It was a little over a half mile walk to our house. Some of our neighborhood kids were running ahead, jumping and celebrating getting out of school early. I thought they were horrible. David, Amy and I were not a part of that. We simply made our way past the Dominican Convent, down Locust Ave...heading straight home. I don't remember that we spoke much...we were all just trying to process what had happened. I cried the whole way.
When we got home, David grabbed several of the World Book Encyclopedias. He went in his room with them, closed the door and began his research. He looked up everything he could about presidents. Who was next in line for the job? What if he were to die? How many presidents died in office? How many were assassinated? What would happen next? Amy didn't care about any of that. She was furious. She was so mad at the guy who shot our president, she was going to get a gun and shoot him herself! And I was still sobbing. All I could think about was that Caroline and John John's father was dead...and who would take care of them now? How could they grow up without their dad?
Same DNA, same environment...and yet we were as different as we could be. Each one different and each one special. The same holds true today. David still is more comfortable researching things...gathering all the information he can...especially before making any decisions. Amy sees a problem and wants to take action. Handle the situation...right now. And I operate straight from my heart.
Being aware of these differences and knowing that it is just how each of us are (for whatever reason) adds dimension to our family.
I think that when people become aware of, accept and respect the differences in those around them, they have the opportunity to accomplish great things. And to enjoy each other 's company along the way. I see this in my family...I see this in my church.
We have each been given gifts from God that make us special individuals. And when we get together and pool our resources/gifts...the possibilities are endless. That...to me...is incredible.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Go In Peace
It's been a while since I last sat down to write. It's been a while since I've done much of anything for that matter. The house and the yard are both out of control once again. I've been doing a lot of napping...though not really sleeping. And I've been doing a lot of crying. Things are getting much harder for me here. Mom is so withdrawn, which I expected would happen. And she's not eating much anymore, which I also expected would happen. Getting pills down her is a huge struggle for both of us.
I've been calling the hospice line on a regular basis...even though we have hospice people here five days a week. Maybe I'm just letting go in my own way. Handing things over to them. It would be easier for me if I knew exactly what to expect...but I know that people don't all die the same way...even when they have the same disease. As best I can tell...we're in for more of the same. Mom will sleep more, eat less and withdraw even more...though at this point I can't see how that could happen.
I'm in a strange place right now...because I can see where I am and what I'm doing...and it's not where I want to be. I know what I'm doing is not going to help either mom's situation or mine at all...so how do I stop and move on to where I need to be? And the weirdest thing is...I was here before! How did I end up back in the same place?
When mom first started to lose strength in her legs, I took her in for physical therapy. They said the more I had her walk on her own...the longer she would be able to walk and stand. Realizing that it would be harder on both of us if she were confined to a wheel chair...I had her walking a lot. I helped her stand and had her stand as long as she could. And when she said, "I can't." I pushed her to try. It was terribly frustrating to us both. That was several years ago.
Now, here we are...me trying my hardest to get mom to swallow her blood pressure, water and potassium pills. Saying "Open your mouth." and showing her how to do it, prying her pursed lips apart and trying to poke the pills in, pulling on her chin trying to get her to unclench her teeth. I've tried breaking the pills in half, putting them in yogurt or applesauce, stroking her neck trying to encourage her to swallow (like you do when you pill dogs and cats)...pleading with her..."You can do it." If I do get them in there, she stores them in her cheek until they dissolve. Or she spits them out if I turn my head. It's the same type of battle as we went through before. I want her to do it...and she can't.
Last week I realized that I am going to have to be the one to change. Mom's not going to. I am going to have to accept that mom is where she is...and that she's not able to do the things I so desperately want her to do. When I called hospice to give them my update, I told the nurse that. She corrected me..."Your mom is changing. And she will change even more...just not in a way that will suit you." She added, "The hardest time on family members is when the patient refuses to eat. We nourish the people we love...in many ways. And when the patient stops eating, the family suffers more than the patient does." Putting that together with what the chaplain told me a week ago..."The last two months of a dementia-affected patient's life are the hardest on the caregiver. The patient withdraws so much it's hard for the caregiver...because they have put so much energy into that person...and now there's no response." I can tell that this is likely to be one very rough road ahead of us.
I am so thankful that I'm not traveling this road alone. I can't express adequately my gratitude towards family and friends for their support. I am thankful that I know when God decides the time is right to bring mom home...He will. When I hear her moaning and mumbling I climb in bed with her and lay across the head of the bed...rubbing her back and shoulders or stroking her head with one hand and holding her hand with the other. Each time I do that I pray, "Lord, You know that it is going to be hard on me whenever she goes...I don't know when the right time is...only You do. I simply ask that You let her leave this earth in peace. Amen."
I've been calling the hospice line on a regular basis...even though we have hospice people here five days a week. Maybe I'm just letting go in my own way. Handing things over to them. It would be easier for me if I knew exactly what to expect...but I know that people don't all die the same way...even when they have the same disease. As best I can tell...we're in for more of the same. Mom will sleep more, eat less and withdraw even more...though at this point I can't see how that could happen.
I'm in a strange place right now...because I can see where I am and what I'm doing...and it's not where I want to be. I know what I'm doing is not going to help either mom's situation or mine at all...so how do I stop and move on to where I need to be? And the weirdest thing is...I was here before! How did I end up back in the same place?
When mom first started to lose strength in her legs, I took her in for physical therapy. They said the more I had her walk on her own...the longer she would be able to walk and stand. Realizing that it would be harder on both of us if she were confined to a wheel chair...I had her walking a lot. I helped her stand and had her stand as long as she could. And when she said, "I can't." I pushed her to try. It was terribly frustrating to us both. That was several years ago.
Now, here we are...me trying my hardest to get mom to swallow her blood pressure, water and potassium pills. Saying "Open your mouth." and showing her how to do it, prying her pursed lips apart and trying to poke the pills in, pulling on her chin trying to get her to unclench her teeth. I've tried breaking the pills in half, putting them in yogurt or applesauce, stroking her neck trying to encourage her to swallow (like you do when you pill dogs and cats)...pleading with her..."You can do it." If I do get them in there, she stores them in her cheek until they dissolve. Or she spits them out if I turn my head. It's the same type of battle as we went through before. I want her to do it...and she can't.
Last week I realized that I am going to have to be the one to change. Mom's not going to. I am going to have to accept that mom is where she is...and that she's not able to do the things I so desperately want her to do. When I called hospice to give them my update, I told the nurse that. She corrected me..."Your mom is changing. And she will change even more...just not in a way that will suit you." She added, "The hardest time on family members is when the patient refuses to eat. We nourish the people we love...in many ways. And when the patient stops eating, the family suffers more than the patient does." Putting that together with what the chaplain told me a week ago..."The last two months of a dementia-affected patient's life are the hardest on the caregiver. The patient withdraws so much it's hard for the caregiver...because they have put so much energy into that person...and now there's no response." I can tell that this is likely to be one very rough road ahead of us.
I am so thankful that I'm not traveling this road alone. I can't express adequately my gratitude towards family and friends for their support. I am thankful that I know when God decides the time is right to bring mom home...He will. When I hear her moaning and mumbling I climb in bed with her and lay across the head of the bed...rubbing her back and shoulders or stroking her head with one hand and holding her hand with the other. Each time I do that I pray, "Lord, You know that it is going to be hard on me whenever she goes...I don't know when the right time is...only You do. I simply ask that You let her leave this earth in peace. Amen."
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Party Time
Celebrate life. A thousand years ago, my dad gave me a little yellow lapel pin with a red flower on it and in red printing were the words: Celebrate Life. What great advice!
Last week as our social worker and I were looking through old photographs together, I noticed how many pictures were taken at parties. Both the traditional birthday parties and the lesser known variety parties. Looking back, I am glad to say that in this household...we have truly enjoyed the time we have spent together.
Birthday celebrations quickly grew to such extremes, that we had to switch from holding a birthday party...to celebrating a birthday weekend. A kid party on a Friday or Saturday (often involving pizza, bowling, 10-20 girls overnight) and then a family party Sunday night. The kids are now on their own partying with their friends...and we still host the family dinner party on Sunday night. The birthday person still chooses the menu and dessert...and after the table is cleared, someone turns out the lights in the dining room and everyone waits in the dark, for the lighted cake to be brought in to be set in front of the honored guest. We all sing and as the celebrated person blows out the candles, we take a "fish face" photo of them. (Puckered lips.) There are a bunch of "Vanna White" pictures of birthday boys and girls posing with their new gifts...as we are a family of photo-hams.
The lesser known parties we have celebrated include; Tupperware Bingo, Bunko and Pajama Parties...yes, all Tupperware Parties. We have celebrated St. Patrick's Day by wearing only green clothing, eating green banquets (all food dyed green) and playing bingo...with green Dollar Store prizes. Not to mention a grand prize of a pile o' green one dollar bills! One of my favorite photos at a St. Patrick's Day party is of mom after she won a salad shaker basket. It was a green plastic mesh ball that was split in half with a hinge at the bottom and a handle on the top. You're supposed to put a washed head of lettuce in there and then swing it around to dry it off. Mom had not seen one before and asked "What is it?" When she opened it up...it resembled a Madonna style bra and as she held it up to her chest...posing like a pin-up...we got the picture!
Thanks to Mary, we also have Barbie's wedding photos. Everyone brought their own Barbie or Ken and we had to fill out interview cards so that Bride Barbie (Mary's Barbie) could choose one of us (well our Barbie) to be her maid of honor. Mary had made a real three tiered wedding cake and we all were part of the ceremony...I'm afraid the reception got out of hand though. Sometimes that happens. Mary has also hosted many tea parties for us. They always had a theme. There was the Queen's tea party which was served by a butler, a Sushi-Rollerskating Tea party where Mary and her co-hostess wore kimonos and full white face make-up and then we all went roller skating at Oaks Park after tea and sushi...and there was the Royal Cheesearian tea party/treasure hunt. (Mary's version of the Royal Rosarian tea and Rose Festival treasure hunt rolled into one...with a cheezy twist.) That was my favorite. We all dressed formally, Stephanie wearing my high shool orange homecoming dress...in honor of cheddar. Needless to say, she was drowning in it...which made it even funnier in the pictures. After tea, we divided into two teams. Mary gave us clues and the hunt was on. Each clue lead us to another...until we found the treasure. (A large trophy covered with jewels, and an orange cheese wedge on top. I'm not sure what that cheese wedge was made of...but it was a treasure to be sure!) Whoever found the trophy would be crowned (yes there was a real crown...also with jewels and a chunk of cheese on it) Queen of Cheesearia! The clues took us all over the neighborhood. Into parks, little neighborhood grocery stores, school play grounds...all over the neighborhood. Each team had a designated driver and then we were off. The last clue brought us back to the front yard of Mary's apartment building. We were looking all around for the treasure...when Steph decided to crawl into the bushes and search there...in my 20 year old homecoming dress! Shortly after entering the bushes, she emerged with the trophy! Mary wrapped her in an orange serape (courtesy of mom) and crowned her Queen of Cheesearia.
Another annual party was the First Day Of School Party. Mary dreamed it up one night as we were cleaning up after work. I had told her that Jennifer was dreading going back to school the next morning, because she was going to have a man teacher for the first time. It was scary to her...and Steph was feeding on that fear and decided she didn't want to go either. Not that she was going to have a man teacher...but she was going into the 2nd grade...and that's when they really crack down on the kids and make them work all day long. (So she heard.) I was not looking forward to getting them up in the morning. Mary decided that we should make a midnight run to Winco and buy them first day of school gifts, candy and a cake...balloons and streamers, party hats and noise makers. It was a lot of fun. We loaded up on non-essential school supplies (locker mirrors, new hair clips, funny pencils, fruit snacks etc.) and got all the party food and decorations. We went all out with the balloons and streamers, tossed confetti everywhere and spent several hours wrapping all of the little gifts. At 5:00 in the morning, we covered the table with the gifts and individually wrapped pieces of bulk candy. We woke mom and the girls at 6:00 and brought them into the kitchen to be greeted by the best breakfast ever. Cake and ice cream! After presents were opened and breakfast was enjoyed, the girls put on their new school outfits and their first day of school was a great success. That party was held every year...until a few years ago. The last one was when Stephanie began her last year of Beauty School. It evolved a little over time. But the celebrating continued.
There are photos of beach parties and birthday picnics...sometimes in the rain. No one looks unhappy about the weather...we just huddled up under blankets...turning them into makeshift tents.
I guess the lesson here is: Enjoy the people you are with while you have the chance, celebrate both the big and the little moments. Life doesn't always go the way we hope...but it always should be celebrated. Oh...and take lots of pictures!
Last week as our social worker and I were looking through old photographs together, I noticed how many pictures were taken at parties. Both the traditional birthday parties and the lesser known variety parties. Looking back, I am glad to say that in this household...we have truly enjoyed the time we have spent together.
Birthday celebrations quickly grew to such extremes, that we had to switch from holding a birthday party...to celebrating a birthday weekend. A kid party on a Friday or Saturday (often involving pizza, bowling, 10-20 girls overnight) and then a family party Sunday night. The kids are now on their own partying with their friends...and we still host the family dinner party on Sunday night. The birthday person still chooses the menu and dessert...and after the table is cleared, someone turns out the lights in the dining room and everyone waits in the dark, for the lighted cake to be brought in to be set in front of the honored guest. We all sing and as the celebrated person blows out the candles, we take a "fish face" photo of them. (Puckered lips.) There are a bunch of "Vanna White" pictures of birthday boys and girls posing with their new gifts...as we are a family of photo-hams.
The lesser known parties we have celebrated include; Tupperware Bingo, Bunko and Pajama Parties...yes, all Tupperware Parties. We have celebrated St. Patrick's Day by wearing only green clothing, eating green banquets (all food dyed green) and playing bingo...with green Dollar Store prizes. Not to mention a grand prize of a pile o' green one dollar bills! One of my favorite photos at a St. Patrick's Day party is of mom after she won a salad shaker basket. It was a green plastic mesh ball that was split in half with a hinge at the bottom and a handle on the top. You're supposed to put a washed head of lettuce in there and then swing it around to dry it off. Mom had not seen one before and asked "What is it?" When she opened it up...it resembled a Madonna style bra and as she held it up to her chest...posing like a pin-up...we got the picture!
Thanks to Mary, we also have Barbie's wedding photos. Everyone brought their own Barbie or Ken and we had to fill out interview cards so that Bride Barbie (Mary's Barbie) could choose one of us (well our Barbie) to be her maid of honor. Mary had made a real three tiered wedding cake and we all were part of the ceremony...I'm afraid the reception got out of hand though. Sometimes that happens. Mary has also hosted many tea parties for us. They always had a theme. There was the Queen's tea party which was served by a butler, a Sushi-Rollerskating Tea party where Mary and her co-hostess wore kimonos and full white face make-up and then we all went roller skating at Oaks Park after tea and sushi...and there was the Royal Cheesearian tea party/treasure hunt. (Mary's version of the Royal Rosarian tea and Rose Festival treasure hunt rolled into one...with a cheezy twist.) That was my favorite. We all dressed formally, Stephanie wearing my high shool orange homecoming dress...in honor of cheddar. Needless to say, she was drowning in it...which made it even funnier in the pictures. After tea, we divided into two teams. Mary gave us clues and the hunt was on. Each clue lead us to another...until we found the treasure. (A large trophy covered with jewels, and an orange cheese wedge on top. I'm not sure what that cheese wedge was made of...but it was a treasure to be sure!) Whoever found the trophy would be crowned (yes there was a real crown...also with jewels and a chunk of cheese on it) Queen of Cheesearia! The clues took us all over the neighborhood. Into parks, little neighborhood grocery stores, school play grounds...all over the neighborhood. Each team had a designated driver and then we were off. The last clue brought us back to the front yard of Mary's apartment building. We were looking all around for the treasure...when Steph decided to crawl into the bushes and search there...in my 20 year old homecoming dress! Shortly after entering the bushes, she emerged with the trophy! Mary wrapped her in an orange serape (courtesy of mom) and crowned her Queen of Cheesearia.
Another annual party was the First Day Of School Party. Mary dreamed it up one night as we were cleaning up after work. I had told her that Jennifer was dreading going back to school the next morning, because she was going to have a man teacher for the first time. It was scary to her...and Steph was feeding on that fear and decided she didn't want to go either. Not that she was going to have a man teacher...but she was going into the 2nd grade...and that's when they really crack down on the kids and make them work all day long. (So she heard.) I was not looking forward to getting them up in the morning. Mary decided that we should make a midnight run to Winco and buy them first day of school gifts, candy and a cake...balloons and streamers, party hats and noise makers. It was a lot of fun. We loaded up on non-essential school supplies (locker mirrors, new hair clips, funny pencils, fruit snacks etc.) and got all the party food and decorations. We went all out with the balloons and streamers, tossed confetti everywhere and spent several hours wrapping all of the little gifts. At 5:00 in the morning, we covered the table with the gifts and individually wrapped pieces of bulk candy. We woke mom and the girls at 6:00 and brought them into the kitchen to be greeted by the best breakfast ever. Cake and ice cream! After presents were opened and breakfast was enjoyed, the girls put on their new school outfits and their first day of school was a great success. That party was held every year...until a few years ago. The last one was when Stephanie began her last year of Beauty School. It evolved a little over time. But the celebrating continued.
There are photos of beach parties and birthday picnics...sometimes in the rain. No one looks unhappy about the weather...we just huddled up under blankets...turning them into makeshift tents.
I guess the lesson here is: Enjoy the people you are with while you have the chance, celebrate both the big and the little moments. Life doesn't always go the way we hope...but it always should be celebrated. Oh...and take lots of pictures!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Using My Sadness
Things in my life are getting tougher. Mom's health continues to decline and soon her time here...our time together...will be over. That's a lot to work through. Letting go of someone you love is a very hard thing to do. Knowing that I am letting her go, to be with our Father in heaven is comforting. It is still hard though. I will miss her terribly.
Keeping that in mind...I must say that overall, I am happier in my life now, than I ever have been. I am fortunate to be in a loving marriage, my daughters are growing up and becoming women who I am proud of and enjoy spending time with. I have several close, long time friends who are very supportive of me. My siblings and I get along great. My relationship with God is solid. And yet...I am always aware that at any moment, I could (and I often do) begin crying. Not the crumbling to the ground sobbing...but the quivering chin, tears streaming down my cheeks weeping.
I see this as being a very normal reaction to what I am going through. As I think about this, I picture myself being on a rocking horse. The best rides involve rocking forward and backward, forward and backward. And stopping in the middle now and again. Then forward and backward some more. Not too far in either direction...or else I'll tip over. That's how I see happiness and sorrow. To make my life-ride complete...I need both.
This got me thinking, if they are both equal in importance...is there anything else about them that is the same? I can't keep either inside for very long. I can't keep them to myself...or I feel like I'll burst. So...I snicker, giggle or laugh out loud...and I cry openly. And...when I am open and honest with people about my feelings (not hiding them) it is as if I am inviting them in. And if they choose to do so, we connect.
My sadness tells me I'm human. It tells me I have been blessed with a wonderful mother. My sadness is being a teacher to me. My tears ease my pain, and they speak to others when my voice fails. I marvel over how wonderfully made we are. It is good.
Keeping that in mind...I must say that overall, I am happier in my life now, than I ever have been. I am fortunate to be in a loving marriage, my daughters are growing up and becoming women who I am proud of and enjoy spending time with. I have several close, long time friends who are very supportive of me. My siblings and I get along great. My relationship with God is solid. And yet...I am always aware that at any moment, I could (and I often do) begin crying. Not the crumbling to the ground sobbing...but the quivering chin, tears streaming down my cheeks weeping.
I see this as being a very normal reaction to what I am going through. As I think about this, I picture myself being on a rocking horse. The best rides involve rocking forward and backward, forward and backward. And stopping in the middle now and again. Then forward and backward some more. Not too far in either direction...or else I'll tip over. That's how I see happiness and sorrow. To make my life-ride complete...I need both.
This got me thinking, if they are both equal in importance...is there anything else about them that is the same? I can't keep either inside for very long. I can't keep them to myself...or I feel like I'll burst. So...I snicker, giggle or laugh out loud...and I cry openly. And...when I am open and honest with people about my feelings (not hiding them) it is as if I am inviting them in. And if they choose to do so, we connect.
My sadness tells me I'm human. It tells me I have been blessed with a wonderful mother. My sadness is being a teacher to me. My tears ease my pain, and they speak to others when my voice fails. I marvel over how wonderfully made we are. It is good.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Thirty Photos
When I made mom's funeral arrangements, one of the benefits of the "package" that I chose was an Everlasting Memorial. I was instructed to gather up some photos of mom throughout the years, label them and bring them into the funeral parlor where they would make a DVD for us. They would also put it online, so that family and friends who weren't able to come to her memorial service could enjoy the photos along with some of my memories of her. (Folks who view it online will also have the opportunity to add their own memories to it.)
I must say...I loved looking through the old pictures. It was fun to see how much she and her brother both resemble their mom. And how much my sister looks like mom. And how much my oldest daughter looks like mom too! (Me...I take after my dad.) Lucky for me, most of the pictures were already marked with the year and who was in the photo.
I went through boxes and boxes of pictures, setting aside my favorites. I even pulled a few out of some albums. The earliest ones were from the 1920's. They're pretty odd I must say. Her baby picture is sweet...but I'm afraid that after that...well...let's just say that it was obvious that mom grew up in the Great Depression. She and her brother Bob looked like street urchins. Their stockings were always sagging revealing their dirty, skinny little legs. Through most of her childhood, mom had that "Dutch boy" haircut. A bob with bangs. There were a lot of pictures of her late teenage years...usually she was posing with her girlfriends or with fellows in uniform. There's one I particularly liked that was signed "To my favorite sailor - Love, Lois" I figured it was for her brother who had joined the navy...most of her beaus seemed to be in the Army or Air Force. There were several pictures of mom with dad before they were married. She was wearing pants rolled up mid calf, anklets and saddle shoes. Dad had long trousers, a tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and he always had a cigarette in his right hand. There were lots of photos from the fifties...just not of mom. (Those are the years that my brother, sister and I were born...so we are in most of those pictures...mom must have been on the other end of the camera.) There are a lot of family photos from the sixties...great clothes and glamorous hairstyles. In the seventies, there were even more family shots. Seventy-nine is when my dad died and we were lucky to have taken a great family photo at mom's birthday party, two weeks before dad died. In the eighties, I had my girls...and mom was their only grandparent...so you know that we have a lot of pictures with the three of them. By the end of the eighties, we had moved in with mom...and have been here ever since. That means that from then on...there are more pictures than all of the other years put together. Holidays, special events, parties, vacations, cookie baking, tea parties...even just hanging out...we took pictures.
Once I had collected all of my favorites, I started sorting through them. Picking out the ones where mom looked her best...and ones that really captured the moment. I had it really narrowed down. Or so I thought. I called the funeral parlor and asked them how many would make a good DVD. I was shocked when the answer was "Thirty. Well...maybe a few more would be okay." I started counting the ones I really liked...I was close to one hundred and fifty. Thirty. Mom is eighty-seven. Thirty photos to cover eight decades?
I have spent the last couple of weeks going through them again. The joy I felt going through them the first time is gone. Having to eliminate so many snapshots of mom's life has been really hard on me. I have a grocery bag labeled "Mom's photos we're not using." I've put so many in there already...I had to quit for a while because it was making me so sad. It feels like I'm putting away the memories...and it's depressing...it makes me cry. I think I've got it down to about forty-seven...and there are three on the computer that I for sure want in the DVD but I haven't printed them yet.
Tomorrow I'm going to make an appointment with the funeral director again. Maybe he can cut me some slack...and make an exception in the "thirty photo" rule. I hope so. If not...I'll wait a few days and tackle it again. I sure don't know how I'm going to set aside close to another twenty pictures though.
I must say...I loved looking through the old pictures. It was fun to see how much she and her brother both resemble their mom. And how much my sister looks like mom. And how much my oldest daughter looks like mom too! (Me...I take after my dad.) Lucky for me, most of the pictures were already marked with the year and who was in the photo.
I went through boxes and boxes of pictures, setting aside my favorites. I even pulled a few out of some albums. The earliest ones were from the 1920's. They're pretty odd I must say. Her baby picture is sweet...but I'm afraid that after that...well...let's just say that it was obvious that mom grew up in the Great Depression. She and her brother Bob looked like street urchins. Their stockings were always sagging revealing their dirty, skinny little legs. Through most of her childhood, mom had that "Dutch boy" haircut. A bob with bangs. There were a lot of pictures of her late teenage years...usually she was posing with her girlfriends or with fellows in uniform. There's one I particularly liked that was signed "To my favorite sailor - Love, Lois" I figured it was for her brother who had joined the navy...most of her beaus seemed to be in the Army or Air Force. There were several pictures of mom with dad before they were married. She was wearing pants rolled up mid calf, anklets and saddle shoes. Dad had long trousers, a tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and he always had a cigarette in his right hand. There were lots of photos from the fifties...just not of mom. (Those are the years that my brother, sister and I were born...so we are in most of those pictures...mom must have been on the other end of the camera.) There are a lot of family photos from the sixties...great clothes and glamorous hairstyles. In the seventies, there were even more family shots. Seventy-nine is when my dad died and we were lucky to have taken a great family photo at mom's birthday party, two weeks before dad died. In the eighties, I had my girls...and mom was their only grandparent...so you know that we have a lot of pictures with the three of them. By the end of the eighties, we had moved in with mom...and have been here ever since. That means that from then on...there are more pictures than all of the other years put together. Holidays, special events, parties, vacations, cookie baking, tea parties...even just hanging out...we took pictures.
Once I had collected all of my favorites, I started sorting through them. Picking out the ones where mom looked her best...and ones that really captured the moment. I had it really narrowed down. Or so I thought. I called the funeral parlor and asked them how many would make a good DVD. I was shocked when the answer was "Thirty. Well...maybe a few more would be okay." I started counting the ones I really liked...I was close to one hundred and fifty. Thirty. Mom is eighty-seven. Thirty photos to cover eight decades?
I have spent the last couple of weeks going through them again. The joy I felt going through them the first time is gone. Having to eliminate so many snapshots of mom's life has been really hard on me. I have a grocery bag labeled "Mom's photos we're not using." I've put so many in there already...I had to quit for a while because it was making me so sad. It feels like I'm putting away the memories...and it's depressing...it makes me cry. I think I've got it down to about forty-seven...and there are three on the computer that I for sure want in the DVD but I haven't printed them yet.
Tomorrow I'm going to make an appointment with the funeral director again. Maybe he can cut me some slack...and make an exception in the "thirty photo" rule. I hope so. If not...I'll wait a few days and tackle it again. I sure don't know how I'm going to set aside close to another twenty pictures though.
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