Little Boxes

 Little Boxes tied with ribbons 

Filled with memories and love 

Stacked in the back of my closet

.

One box has Cousin memories 

Filled with laughter and tears of frustration:  

My height was no match for the boys.  

I would taunt them to chase me.  

I was short and cleared the table.. .

they were tall.  

I outsmarted them—-haha!  

I label this box “Satisfied with Revenge”

Another box has Daughter memories filled with laughter and anxiety: 

it was difficult watching them grow up----

 Independent women who no longer needed me.  

I had given them wings. 

I am learning to fly again, too.

I label  this box “Satisfied and Content”

Here’s a large box with Dave's memories

Filled with laughter and concern:  

Half our married life was so good 

I never appreciated what we had.

So much joy and peace biking the KATY trail together.

The other half of our life was daily concerns for his health—

I did the best I could, sparing no cost financially or emotionally. 

I labeled this one “Satisfied and Managed”

I found a dusty small box with a frayed ribbon: Germany memories.

 I wouldn’t open it, couldn’t open it,  but kept sliding it to the back of the closet . 

One day the ribbon tore and it opened without my help. 

I had packed away my feelings with the letters and photos.  

They all escaped when I least expected. .. .with the death of my dear husband. 

I haven’t labeled this one . . . . .yet

Transitions

 

Transitions are hard for me.  I can recall envying Peter Pan because he didn’t have to “grow up”.  I even still remember the lyrics to “I Won’t Grow up”, a song from a Peter Pan musical on TV by Mary Martin (who played Peter Pan).  I would sing it and stomp around the house pretending to be Peter Pan. Junior high was especially difficult with my mother expecting me to go to school dances.  I’d cry that I didn’t want to go, but she would just drive me there and sit with me in the car until I could get my courage up. Most of the time I stood in the girl’s restroom trying to avoid dancing with anyone.  I liked to dance, but none of the boys could dance very well and that embarrassed me.

Coming out of the rest room one night, Steve String, pounced on me to be in a dance contest . There was nothing worse than dancing with the tallest, lankiest boy in the class in a dance contest.  I became more and more frustrated and agitated that we weren’t eliminated. We were doing a simple box step, not a waltz or cha-cha.  We just looked so silly together because I was one of the smallest girls and he was so tall and skinny he had the nickname “String Bean”.  We were finally eliminated in third place.  I RAN from the dance floor to the rest room so embarrassed that we had been spotlighted when we clearly looked weird together.

The next transition was from teen-ager to adult which was also difficult.  Most of that transition happened while I was in Germany when I started dating a 26 year old man.  While I professed to love him, I couldn’t stop flirting with and socializing with some of my students who were basically my age between 19 and 21.  I went with a class  to Venice, Italy on a school trip.  We had a great time having spaghetti eating contests as well as seeing the sights.  Most of my sight-seeing was done with Dieter whom I was attracted to.  I kept pumping my emotional brakes and made it through the week without crossing any boundaries.  But I did write about it in my journal.  I told my 26 year old boyfriend about it when I got back. He just smiled in his beautifully mature way, giving me a hug, telling me he understood.

After I returned from Germany and was a full-time teacher, I dated a man who was a bit on the wild side.  He was a Viet Nam vet who hadn’t attended college, drove a motor cycle, had long hair and a short beard.  We got along great until he took me to a party that reeked of marijuana and I saw drugs being used.  I didn’t panic until I saw several of my students across the room.  I had unintentionally crossed over that border..  I left immediately and told him we couldn’t go out if he was going to take me to parties like that. We stopped dating shortly after that.  I fully transitioned at 25 when I started dating Dave.

I have now reached another transition from a middle aged married woman to being an elderly widow.  I wonder about old boyfriends and have come to the realization they might be dead.  I sleep alone in my bed and wonder if I’ll ever wake up to a man beside me smiling. Will I ever go dancing on a moon-light cruise again? Will I ever be able to stay up until 9 PM again? What’s it like traveling solo these days? One of my friends vows she’ll never marry again.  She says in her sweet Mississippi accent,” I won’t be any man’s nurse or purse”. I laughed but a little part of me also cried.

I have a high school reunion coming up.  I wonder if I’m going to be one of those pathetic widows who grabs another widow to dance the cha-cha.  Or, will I grab Steve String (the Bean) to dance and hope he’s moved on from the box step.

"I Want to Go Home"

 For several years, Dave struggled physically and often expressed to me his need for a “new body”. But if a health or legal professional asked him if he was depressed or wanted to go on hospice, he would deny it and even insisted he wanted to be

resuscitated and put on a feeding tube. This was all contrary to his wishes 20 years ago.  It has just dawned on me that he was trying to protect me.  He didn’t want me to know how much he was suffering.

Despite his failing body, he still had a powerful need to protect me, to comfort me. After I had to put him in a nursing home, I visited several times a day often just to change the channels on his television. To an observer, he needed me, but in fact I needed him, too.  He provided me with comfort but he also provided me a reason to get out of bed each day.  Caregiving can be addictive.  I didn’t really want to do anything but attend to his needs. I had gradually put my life on hold to care for him.

After he was in the nursing home,I could see he was getting good care, but he was getting weaker.  He could hardly talk or eat—he didn’t have the energy to be very social. I finally decided the time was right to get my knee replaced.  I talked to him about my needing to go to the hospital and the months of healing I would need. 

So, on December 8th I went to the hospital, had surgery, spent a night in there while they monitored my blood pressure.  They released me the next day and we stopped at the nursing home before I even came home.  Rachel wheeled me in to see Dave to assure him that I was OK and to tell him that Rebecca and Rachel would be staying with me for a few weeks until I could manage on my own.

Daily for almost two weeks, our daughters put me in a wheel chair to visit Dave.  With Christmas approaching and Rebecca with a new job, I told them to stay home on Dec. 21. As I was settling in, I heard a knock on the door—-our grandsons Davis and Roman were there. Rachel had messaged Davis and Roman to come visit me and take me over to see Grandpa.

As they wheeled me in, I pretended to be driving a race car as we entered the “living room” of Dave’s nursing home, hoping to see him smile.  His neighbor Alice laughed at our antics, but Dave just looked up at me and said very seriously, “I want to go home.”  I didn’t know what he meant and was pretty impressed he could say a whole sentence. Roman pushed his wheel chair and Davis pushed mine back to his room.  Just when we were going to talk with him, a nurse came to the room to get him ready for dinner.  That was the signal that we needed to leave since they needed to check his vitals and clean him up.

So, we came back to my apartment and the boys left.  Later that night, after I was in bed, I heard the land line phone ring.  I knew I could never get out of bed and get to the phone on time so I let it ring and went back to sleep.  Next I heard Rebecca’s voice, “Mom, Dad has died.”  All I could think was, “That’s impossible—-I just saw him this afternoon.”  She helped me get dressed and we went over to his nursing home to say our good-byes.

I later pondered, “Why did he die NOW when I was recovering from surgery”  I think in retrospect, he saw that I was being cared for by daughters and grandchildren and he could let go. He’d been ready to let go for several years, but had been holding on to make sure I would be all right after he passed.

A Theme from a Summer Place

Photo by Laura Fuhrman on Unsplash

“A Theme from a Summer Place”

Playing on Alexa

Makes me remember

That gawky 14 year old girl

Slow dancing with a pillow:

Her future ahead of her,

Dreaming of the day when 

She would dance with her “love”.

I laugh: my “loves”  

Wouldn’t dance with me.

I wanted dips and twirls 

and they only gave me stiff legged two-steps.

They gave me so much, 

but not dancing. . .

Halfway through the song, 

I see him

Sitting in the corner of the sofa.

Why not dance with my best partner?

Like a commercial with a young dreamy-eyed 14-year-old

Fading into a world-weary widow, 

Seeking joy in the unknown tomorrow---

Dipping and twirling, 

We dance away: my pillow and me to 

“A Theme from a Summer Place”.

Dave's Song

 I feel you 

in the warmth of the sun.

I hear you

when I hear a tenor’s song.

I see you

with our daughters’ smiles. 

You live in my memories

And in every sense of my world.

I feel you

when a breeze caresses my cheek.

I hear you

cheering with the crack of a bat.

I see you

in our grandchildren’s eyes.

You haven’t left, 

But are with me

Forever and always.

In an Alpine Meadow

 Sitting on a blanket

in an Alpine meadow.

“Grass greener than green 

And the sky bluer than blue”

On a sunny afternoon.

What was it we talked about?

Was it politics, music?

Or did I read a book?

on a blanket in an Alpine meadow 

on a sunny Afternoon.

Maybe we just enjoyed the moment:

Listening to the jingle of cow bells

With someone to love

On a blanket in an Alpine meadow

on a sunny Afternoon

The twinkle of your eyes

Glancing over at me,

The big grin:

Not politics,music or reading

On a blanket in an Alpine meadow

On a sunny Afternoon.

Pride and Prejudice

 

You grandchildren never knew your Grandpa before his accident.  Your mothers can tell you all about that but I want to tell you about Grandpa and I meeting and falling in love.

We did not fall in love at first, second, third, fourth or fifth sight. I can see Grandpa getting all fidgety in heaven because he knows what’s coming.  He never defended himself or explained, so you just have my word that the story is true. If you have read Pride and Prejudice at a slow speed, you will soon recognize a theme.

My friend Hilda and I were at church Easter Sunday 65 years ago.We were 14 years old.  She spotted Dave across the parking lot. He was class president at her high school and he was gorgeous. Hilda grabbed my hand to go over and “meet” him.   She giggled and squealed “I’m Hilda—-I go to high school with you.  Just wanted to say Happy Easter.”  I saw how arrogantly he reacted to us like we were beneath his recognition, so I just said ” Happy Easter” and turned to his brother Tom for conversation to hide my embarrassment.  For years, I never forgave his 17 year old self  for his reaction of superiority to Hilda and me. 

A few years later, I started picking Tom up for youth fellowship.  On at least one occasion, Dave was sitting in the living room and looked out the door.  Years later, I asked him about this and he said, “Did you drive a Studebaker?”  “Why, yes I did.”  “I don’t remember you but I remember that car.”   

Fast forward to our mid twenties.  He was dating my friend Mary.  We attended parties together and even doubled on one occasion, but he never acted like he  knew me so I stopped introducing myself and just ignored him.

One Friday I asked Mary if she wanted to go to Collegiate Club with me—-a huge city-wide dance party.  It was a place to meet other single people..  She said she couldn’t go because she was going out with Dave. I nodded and went with other friends.  After we got there, I saw Dave walking in with his best friend Elliott. I looked at Dave, my eyes widened and I was so angry I was actually shaking.  His friend picked up on my “interest” and urged him to ask me to dance.

Trying to collect my thoughts, I agreed to dance with him.  He did not recognize me or pick up my anger vibes.  After the music stopped, I looked up at him and said, “I thought you were going out with Mary tonight.” He LOOKED at me and said, “Please don’t tell her you saw me here.”  “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t”  And I held my head high and walked away. They left.

After that we continued to go to parties together knowing of each other but keeping our distance.  He and Mary drifted apart. Other friends of mine had expressed interest in Dave but I discouraged them telling them he was “stuck on himself”. He with his Pride and I with my Prejudice based on my 14-year-old opinion of him.

This group of friends that we partied with also went on float trips together. One September, I arrived at a float trip a day late..  When I got there, everyone was sitting around the campfire and they were remarkably glum—-not the usual lively crowd.  I saw that two of my friends were bedraggled and drying their clothes over the fire on sticks. When I asked, they told me they’d been in Dave’s canoe. They’d hit a rock and capsized in frigid water. They’d given him a tongue lashing which is why the party was so quiet upon my arrival. I thought, “And for this you’re ostracizing him?”He looked so pitiful..  I didn’t like him, but this was harsh.

The next morning we got up bright and early, were choosing who we’d canoe with for the day.  No one wanted to be with Dave. I found my opinion of him starting to change—-I felt sorry for him, so I volunteered to  paddle with him.

He later told me that is when he started falling in love with me.  After the float trip, we started hanging out together at parties more.  My friend Mary noticed and said, “I think you should go out with Dave.”  We started dating in November and married in June—-more than ten years after we first met. And i loved being married to him every single day: for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and that doesn’t change with his death. He was well worth waiting 10 years for—-my Mr. Darcy.