It does not seem like it was that long ago. Sometimes it feels like it was yesterday. There are two constants that help to keep this particular reality in check. One, a birthday and two, the youngest grandson. The youngest grandson is 12, born two months before the deportation, for lack of a better substitute word.
Mother has been gone for a little over 12 years. She decided to die on my birthday. My 51st birthday. Keeping track of how long she has been gone is so easy. Living with that, not so much.
I remind myself that Mother went many years without her own mother. Mother was in her late twenties when her mom died. They said she died from a broken heart. Mother's dad had died about six months before her mom. The joys of being a late in life child. So, yeah, she went without seeing her parents for over 60 years. Being a late in life child, Mother's parents were long gone before I came around and I do not ever recall asking Mother about them. There were no grandparents from either Mother or Dad, at least not for me.
What was she doing when she was the age I am now? After a few mental calculations, she was in the beginning stages of taking care of Dad. He had been given 3 years to live. Wonder what would have happened if they had given him 10 years....or 20....or 30? Guess we will never know the answer to that one. Mother took that job of caretaker with the help of no one else. Not that there was not help offered from time to time, it was part of her nature and part of her place as his wife. It wasn't a real job, it was an act of love. Part of the deal, the package, the good with the bad, the better or worse stuff. One day, when she had wrestled Dad into a nearby wheel chair she looked up to see him gazing longingly at her. She asked, "What?" He said he was just wondering about how it would be if the roles had been reversed. She snorted and said, "Let's not go there." She moved him every single day from the time he could not do it without her help. She never let him lay for very long at a time. She cared for his body as best she could, even though it was wasting away before her eyes. Dad always said Mother was never happy unless she had something torn up or remodeling some part of the house. That same description went hand in hand with the care she gave him.
Mother was the glue. The glue that kept things together. She liked to entertain, have family over for whatever holiday might be at hand. She was happy with neighbors that had no need to knock, they were always welcome. Things have been so different since she left. Some days it is hard not to be melancholy....or simply put, feel sorry for oneself.
Looking at the water pot on the counter, the memory of when it was purchased was as fresh in my mind as if it had been yesterday. We, Mother, Lela, Blanche, myself and my two daughters, were on our annual shopping trip. Something we did every Mother's Day weekend for many years. Mother was with me in the store and when I picked up the box from the shelf, to take a closer look, she said to me, "That will be the best thing you ever buy." My response was, "Really?"
"Yes!", she answered. "You will absolutely love it!"
She was right. It was an electric water pot and it has boiled more water than flows down the Mississippi. That might be an exaggeration, but not much of one. It has gone on trips and was one of the first kitchen gadgets to be packed for the move to the south east. In the last couple of years, it had started to malfunction. It would not shut off when the water started to boil. Eventually, it would shut off, but not until it had bubbled, gurgled and spewed boiling water all over the counter. It's been another constant, for 15 years, maybe longer, but it was time to be replaced.
The new model is a sporty little number with a ring of blue LED lights at the bottom....to let the user know the power is on. I carried the old one out to the dumpster. I wanted to make its passing as symbolic as possible. I stood back a few feet and tried to punt the water pot through the hole in the dumpster. That didn't work. I picked it up, took a step back, tossed it into the air and with my best overhand volleyball serve, I spiked that pot to the far right corner of the dumpster. As I walked away, I laughed out loud, knowing Mother enjoyed the show. It was very reminiscent of the time she chucked the bare and bony Thanksgiving turkey carcass right out of the kitchen window.
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