This new year was in a place I could live with for sure.
Household was back together, loved ones were as safe or happy as possible since
I could do no more for them, DH and I had managed so far to avoid all the nasty
flu bugs in this community, my writing was energizing, and mother-in-law was
back in hospital but responding well to antibiotics. So Thursday night we
braved the cold and drove out to the Joplin Writers’ Guild, a first for many
months for me. It was exciting because the room was full of new and enthused
writers along with old members.
But then mother-in-law died early Friday morning. If I know
her, she woke up to the dawn realizing that despite antibiotics, a new hip
joint, cement in surrounding bones to combat the spongy condition of 95 year
old bones, a mind that no longer cooperated with her, a loss of hearing that
was beyond comfort, and she thought to herself, “Fudge on it all, it’s time to
go!” She was a woman who did things in exactly her own way and time no matter what.
The woman made a good part of my life miserable. She never
wanted me in her family, yet she liked me too. She told me once that she did.
Then she added that the mistake I made was marrying her son. She never got over
that. After nearly 50 years of knowing me, she finally told me in the nursing
home that she loved me. But then again
in the last visit her drugged grogginess allowed her an unchecked honesty to
take a verbal swipe at me. Inside
nothing had changed.
It was DH and I who cleaned out her house, burned her
private papers, and saved what paintings we could. It was I who found her
wedding ring and took it to her in the nursing home. And several months ago, it
was I who took her for ride to see the farm house and fields that she had
called home in what seemed like forever. She who allowed me to see her furious
but never crying, shed tears knowing it was probably the last trip by the beloved
scenes of her life. I cried too because I loved her for what she was and not for
who she was not. I felt her pain.
While she taught me tough lessons about human behavior, she
also taught me how to make a great pan of macaroni and cheese. She taught me
about color, about creativity. She tried to instill in me the ability to turn
my face to house clutter and just write. I never could, but she had mastered
the technique. She could leave a sink full of dirty dishes, pans on the stove,
a table uncleared so she could stand at the easel adding color and meaning to
her own life.
It is always painful to watch our parents age, to lose their
ability to move freely, to see their mind begin to fail, to see the shrinkage and
diminishing of who they are, but it is expected, a natural part of life. These
last few months were agonizing for me with my mother-in-law though. She was not
who she used to be and she hated it. Her memory was failing on top of all else,
yet she was still sharp enough to know it was happening and feel helpless.
Helpless was not a word she knew over her 95 years. Her 102 pound body was now
just a shell. The essence of this woman was gone. I think Thursday morning she
had had enough.
It was our job to go to the nursing home that afternoon to
tell her 98 year old husband that his wife had died. His legs won’t hold him
well anymore but his body is fairly hardy. Poor hearing but you can talk to
him. His mind comes and goes. A man of few words, you have to watch carefully
or you think he is just as sharp as ever saying the same phrases he has used
for nearly a century. He chatted up his son for a minute but when asked, had no
idea who DH was.
DH found this telling hardest of all. His dad seemed to
understand, show some remorse, and then in fifteen minutes he would ask, “Where
is Dorothy?” So he was told over and
over and over again. I took some turns and at one point he seemed to grasp it
more. He asked me her maiden name and then he began to verbalize their first
meeting years ago, 1935 maybe? For a few minutes, I stepped back with him and
saw these two young people, vibrant and daring, ready to meet life head on. Three
quarters of a century flashed by like a movie on fast forward.
Dismantling the farm house shredded my heart with each toss;
the farm sale hurt seeing others tote away my mother-in-law’s favorite things.
Putting them in assisted living was sad but necessary for them to continue to
live safely. Each lessening of their abilities was a hammer blow to the heart.
So when the call came Friday morning, I felt only a great sense of relief not
for me but for my mother-in-law. No more pain or dehumanizing procedures. She
was free, and I hoped she was at peace with a life she lived furiously,
independently, energetically, vibrantly, and long.
10 comments:
Your words about your mother in law are beautiful and honest. Her work is done.
Your mother-in-law was quite an artist.
I'm glad she is in a peaceful place now...
This is a beautiful and honest tribute. Thank you. And hugs.
Claudia, my condolences to you and DH. This is eloquent and heart felt and honest. Rest.
Bless your heart! Without having met her, I feel like I have a sense of her strong & unique personality. I'll be thinking of you and your husband as you continue to care for his father and the details that accompany that kind of responsibility. ♥
How beautiful and heartfelt! My prayers to you and DH as you find closure and serenity.
Oh Bookie. What a sad, bittersweet post but beautifully written. You did good things for your MIL even though she wasn't always that good to you. What a woman though. Imagine living all those years of life.
The getting older and being placed in assisted living, and so on broke my heart but I know it happens to the best of us.
May she now find peace that the world cannot give.
My dearest condolences to you and your hubs, dear Bookie. Susan
Bless your heart, Claudia, you have word-painted a rich and touching--and surprisingly balanced--portrait of your mother-in-law. It takes talent and a generous spirit to accomplish such a blend of difficulties and blessings, and this gives me an even greater appreciation for your heart and your writing abilities. Blessings, Claudia.
Your friends have said everything that I also feel, so accept my sympathy as well as my admiration for your insight and writing skills. Blessings on you and yours.
This is beautiful and honest, and heartbreaking. I'm so sorry for your loss.
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