Mother

She brought me into this world. She raised me to be the person I am, and I love her. Now she sits languishing in an "assisted living facility" about an hour away from us. Alzheimer's is taking its morbidly progressive toll.

As we entered the room though, her face lit up with pure joy making the entire visit so worthwhile. It was only after a few moments that I realized that she thought I was my father (Husband #2) and my son was the teenage version of me. (Son #3) Reality finally eased in, I think, and we spoke of plans and family and friends. She smiled and laughed and helped us remember when the smiles and laughter were more knowing and more intentional.

She's traveled a bumpy path. Her battles with ill health have drug on for more than 40 years. I don't know anyone who thought she would make it this far- she'll turn 80 in two months. I remember as a teenager serving her as she lay in bed for months, recovering from the first of a long string of "we can fix this" surgeries. Two knee replacements, two hip replacements, and a heart valve replacement later, she is quasi-living proof of the miracles of medicine. Her three marriages, flood of family deaths and drama, and a personal life rife with tumult and pain led to an existence of always trying to scrape by and a find a way. So many skeletons in so many closets. I'm sure there are many that will come out only after her passing. Now her way is simply sitting there, quietly staring out the window.

I wonder what she sees in her mind's eye. A bit absent- a bit gone. But you can see the wheels slowly turning. Realities blend to suit her current mode and mood, as it was with my being my father.

There are times I think they should call them "assisted dying facilities."

Two Chairs

In the fuzzy edge of my memory, where oft-told stories now ingrained co-mingle with true recollections, I see them there. In the chairs. They didn't LIVE there, like so many immobile couples, but they retired there each evening, to review the day's happenings, entertain whichever fortunate family member happened by, or just to hold hands and visit. The chairs sat as thrones for an everyman king and queen. I remember still the first time I sat in HIS chair; it felt so big and comfortable, as if it would completely envelope the small boy who deigned to take upon him that seat . But the envelopment was not one of fear, but one of love. It was as if the love my grandfather oozed every day of his life had somehow been transferred into that old chair, and then to me as my body sat where he had rested and my mind played over what I imagined were his thoughts. My curious hands couldn't help but touch his assorted necessities of life on the shelves next to the chair. A pipe, some tobacco, an ash tray, the obligatory assortment of pocket knives and the cornucopia of prizes bequeathed to and from the treasured grandchildren, one of whom I was so very happy to be.

He loved me- this I never doubted. Whether it was his incredible patience as I putzed around his workshop, or the truly admiring glances he shot my way as I out shot the relatives -even him sometimes- on the rifle, or just the stories he would tell- just to me, as if I were the only one who would ever hear or ever care to hear. He loved me. I know that, and I treasure that knowledge. But just as I know he loved me, I know that, with a depth I do not know, he loved her. Oh how he loved her.

They were together more than 60 years. How many evenings were spent in those chairs?! Reaching out- holding hands- but more importantly, reaching out emotionally. He would tell one of his stories- oh he was a story teller. She, his rudder in so many things, would remind him who he was. "Amos, you're not as funny as you think you are." Yet the loving twinkle in her eye shone through with a light only 60 plus years can produce. He'd throw his head back and laugh- that silent laugh we all adored- head back, mouth agape, and no sound whatsoever. He loved to laugh. And she with him- but hers were always closed mouthed, and a bit shorter- more proper for a southern grandma. That IS how it should be, after all. Then the warning, "Amos....." And his eyes would reciprocate the twinkle.

Today, though, tears etch grooves on his marble face. No head back in silent laughter. A different silence fills the air and acts to suck it from the room. No twinkling eyes and soft edicts. No stories told and stretched and re-stretched into the funniest and tallest of tales. Today, she is gone. He reaches to her chair as he has so very many times before, but his companion cannot reach back, cannot issue her warnings. We hear no "Amos..." She cannot touch his hand or call his name now. The sweet silent laugh is replaced by sad silent tears. Her chair is empty.

But there is hope, for their souls are united, and deep, deep in his heart, he can still hear her call, feel her touch, and know that their love still burns. Her chair is empty, but their hearts are full.

The Airport

Our eldest daughter finished her summer term teaching duties and decided to come out for a visit. She rode to Virginia from Utah with a friend who was beginning medical school at MCV, and then had a week or so to be with us. We stayed up late talking, rehashed old times, visited the relatives, went out to dinner, and just had a glorious time.

When the time came to head back to Utah, we had arranged for her to fly out of the Raleigh airport, the closest to her grandparents who live in Fayetteville, North Carolina, so she could have a chance to see them before heading back out for the fall semester. (Yes, the obligatory grandparent visit....)

We arrived at the airport uncharacteristically early, got Elizabeth checked in, and called the grandparents on their cell to see where they were. They were an hour away! As we walked back to the main terminal to wait, we saw a police lady on on of those two wheeled people movers. Granger, the eight year old, thought that was very exciting!

So we get back to the baggage claim/lobby area, and I have everyone sit down, while Elizabeth and I went to scout out where exactly she would be going through security, etc. Just as Elizabeth and I walked through the airport concourse, we saw the police lady again, having just arrived at her destination. She was saying, "Sir! Sir?" And then we saw him. The older gentleman had obviously arrested. His gray face contorted in an open-mouthed grimace. His left hand and fingers were similarly contorted. And he was quite obviously dead. No doubt. We must have been among the first on the scene, because there was no other security or other people around. We moved along and let the police officer do her morbid chore.

We found the security gate and then went to walk back to where the rest of our family was sitting. As we reached the scene again, they were just beginning to ask people to go around and not have any pedestrian traffic in the area. I sat down with my family, and, in a few minutes, saw a nice middle aged lady run in the doors of the terminal, obviously, or so I thought, late for a flight. She ran to the left and right, and then I heard her wail as she found her father. My heart rent in her sheer and utter agony.

Her sister had met their father just earlier that day in the airport. The family was meeting there to go down to the Outer Banks for a week at the beach. Her sister had said to their father, who was fine at the time, "You sit here, and I'll go get the luggage." While she did that, he quickly and quietly passed away. The only reason we know that, is that we offered to help the family- in particular the sister who had gone to get the luggage. Her sobs filled the airport, and, for some reason, the two sisters kept missing each other. One would be taken to an ambulance, one to a chapel, etc.. So she had been left alone. She was quite distraught, and no one seemed to be helping. My kind wife just went over and offered a hug, and which she readily and completely accepted.

Emotions ran high as the afternoon wore on. Finally the grandparents arrived and we had our obligatory visit, strained as it was by the circumstance. In due time, Elizabeth went through security and to her gate, as the terminal- even the word took on a whole new significance- returned to a more subdued normalcy. Crowds dissipated, officers moved on, families found solace in one another, and a solitary body was finally wheeled in to the airport chapel.

I learned three things from this experience. First, I learned that no beach trip, or day in the country or even a sacrosanct round of golf will stand in the way when it's time. We can't choose the time we leave this earth, and it may not always be the most convenient. Frankly, we'd better be ready and grab life with the gusto of an young man driving his first car while we can.

The second thing I learned has to do with the previous post. What was initially disappointment gave way as my anger rose towards the crowds that gathered to gawk and whisper and stare and point. Parents led their children and got as close to the cordoned off barrier as they could, as if Tiger was getting ready to tee off and they might miss the opportunity. I came very close to asking everyone to disperse, but my children urged me to remain quiet. We had retaken our seats waiting for the grandparents, and were facing the other way. It truly does seem that, for some people, life is just one big reality show- one more chance to catch people at their worst or most vulnerable. "Come see the dead guy!" "Watch the grief flow freely!" "Today only in the Raleigh Airport!" My heart ached to see this horrible time for this family made a cheap sideshow by the gapers and intrusive onlookers.

The third thing I learned was another testament of the tender mercies that so often surround us. Had my family not sat down to wait for the late grandparents, all of my children, including our 8 year old Granger who may not have the capacity to deal with this sort of trauma, would have been first hand witnesses to the event. As it was, it was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen a dead person. I had before, but his contorted visage was discomforting even for me. I am so grateful that they were spared that. I am also grateful that they could learn a lesson about how NOT to act at the hands of the crowd and how TO act at the hands of their loving mother.

When we were first dating, we used to go to the local mall or airport, just to hang out and watch people. That has taken on a whole new meaning.... Life comes at you in ebbs and flows, at various times and in various ways, and you need to be ready to deal with it yourself or to help others deal with it. Whatever you do, don't be one of the gawkers.