Chapter 31: Summer of Sorrow

Foreshadowing

That spring marked a turn for the worse in our family.

I noticed that Mom’s letters arrived not in her usual but now-shaky script, but in Dad’s neat handwriting. There was no denying that my mother’s situation was deteriorating.

Psalm 23
My mother’s favorite Bible verse

Early one Friday afternoon in late April, I received an emergency page at Towers and ran to the front desk. I was informed that Mom, now paralyzed on her left side, was in the hospital and wanted me home as soon as possible.

Trying to swallow back the panic, I said I’d see what I could do. I told John about the call, and he immediately said to pack my things, that he was going to blow off his afternoon classes and bring me right home.

We were in his AMC coupe within the hour. John drove the entire 8-hour stretch to St. Peter’s Medical Center in New Brunswick. Once we got to Mom’s hospital room, it was well after dark, the family was there and as soon as we appeared in the doorway, Mom and I began to cry.

At that point, her seeing John with me was proof that this boyfriend of mine would do anything for me, anytime … no matter what. We crowded around her bed and she tearfully gave John and me her blessing to get married some day. John took her hand and kissed it, thanking her. The rift was healed, leaving in its wake abiding trust and love.

The situation was dire. My father spoke with Dr. Wu and Mom’s attending physician at length regarding arrangements that must be made, as her prognosis at this point was grim.

They strongly suggested placing her in a care facility nearby. Dad adamantly refused. He wanted her home with him, where she wanted to be. The medical staff cautioned him as to the demands of 24/7 care of a terminally-ill patient. Dad could not be swayed. He arranged for a hospital bed rental and visiting nurse, acquired a battery of medications and their administration schedule, and made sure hospice care was in place.

“Vin, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dr. Wu cautioned. Dr. Simeone expressed similar concerns.

I had to return to school the following Monday, to prepare for final exams. My mind was muddled with studies and the worsening crisis at home. Meanwhile, Dad daily drove an eighteen-wheeler with a terrible emotional burden.

One day he was so distracted by thoughts of my mother that it was only raw skill and instinct with which he narrowly avoided a serious traffic infraction. Dad knew then that he would not be able to continue to work for the time being under those circumstances. His boss, Steve Ferro, urged him to “take as much time as you need; we’ll cover you.” Dad’s years of faithful service were of real benefit now.

Angel Mom

In May, when I returned home from sophomore year at WVU, Mom was confined to a hospital bed in the living room. While her body was no longer able, her mind remained razor sharp. If I were to close my eyes while listening to her speaking, I could imagine her as she always was, perhaps doing a crossword puzzle and sitting in her favorite leather recliner watching Hill Street Blues.

I sat by her bed and tried to be helpful by bringing her food and drink and keeping her company. My brother, steadily exposed to this situation for several months, had by that time dropped out of high school to stay home with her. (Years later, he would receive his GED, and earn his Class A commercial driver’s license.)

musicnotes-tiny“Rumors” by Timex Social Club always takes me back to this very somber summer.

Timex Social Club – Rumors

I met the nurses and the hospice workers, who befriended me, this teenager who was about to lose her mother. I remember Helga, who taught me “Good Day, How Are You?” in German. She was so sweet.

Mom and I talked about all those girl-things including when to visit the Gyno and other health matters, including breast cancer screenings. We chatted about my eventually planning a wedding, compiling a listing of family members for the guest roster, which I would save for future reference. Her eyes were bright with imagining the bridal party’s finery and planning the ceremony at our church, as well as possible banquet locations.

I could now freely talk about John, as she realized and accepted that he would most likely become my husband some day, and the Gyno conversation confirmed the obvious.

Though John and I would eventually handle these details on our own, I could always consider that Mom was somewhat involved with helping me in planning my big day.

Dad was on-call through the night for several weeks. If Mom needed help, she would reluctantly ring the little “Liberty Bell” and Dad would dash downstairs, half-asleep. He was tireless in his love and devotion, administering the sort of care only a spouse could. He assumed tasks normally reserved for nursing staff. He did it with a smile, without complaint, though his heart was breaking.

There was a day sometime in July when Mom told Dad, “I never dreamed what a man I married.” Their bond was complete, and they were closer than ever since marrying 23 years before.

John visited a couple of times during that summer, as I desperately needed his support and to spend time with him. He played TV’s Jeopardy with Mom, holding his own pretty well, considering Mom practically knew every one of the questions.

They got to know each other more in that several weeks than the entire previous year and a half. I recall Mom saying one day in reference to John, “I like that he can hold an intelligent conversation.” That was no small affirmation on Mom’s part.

Nana also came to stay a couple of times to support Dad in his struggle. The summer would grow progressively difficult. Toward the end of Mom’s life, the quick, brilliant mind we knew and so loved would inevitably fade as the black shadow of cancer strengthened its grip.

Eventually, Mom could no longer speak. There came a day when Dad bent down beside her and gave her a gentle kiss. Her lips moved, just barely— and Dad knew she was “still with him”. It took great strength for Dad to let Mom go— he assured her that we would all be fine, and we loved her, but to go with God if she was ready.

"The Lost Lamb" by Del ParsonFarewell to my best friend

The time came when John was visiting for a few days, on July 24.

We were planning to go to a toy store just to try and clear our minds. Dad was outside, doing some work on the Eldorado.

We went down the steps, and hesitated by Mom’s bed, we froze … and then we knew. I stood by the bed, feeling numb and shaken. I just couldn’t believe it.

John quickly went out to summon Dad. It hit us like a runaway Conrail. In recollection, this is a blur. Rezem Funeral Home was contacted, and I called my friend Anne who came right over. I’ll always appreciate that she took the time to comfort us.

Following Rezem’s arrival, Dad took Steve out of the house and John, Anne and I went for a short walk. None of us could stand being present as the funeral staff attended to their business.

I was numb. Peanut butter clogged my thought processes. We stopped at the local diner if only to unwind a bit. I couldn’t believe it; this wasn’t real. And yet it WAS real. There was no denial, just emptiness. It was over, but a new, glum and empty time was just beginning.

Later that evening we and some other mourners gathered at our house to talk and console one another. Clearly, everyone was in a state of shock, calm in our actions and rational in our words, but not really feeling it.

Dad mixed a few rum drinks to ease things somewhat. We went through the motions of reminiscing and reinforcing our knowledge that Mom was in heaven now, a much better place, and out of her constant misery.

"Lift High The Cross"
Mom’s favorite hymn, played at her funeral.

There was a one-day “viewing” (closed casket with Mom’s proud nursing graduation portrait on top). The line of mourners seemed endless. The funeral the next day was at Christ Memorial Lutheran Church, where Mom had faithfully served for so many years. John, along with my cousins, was a pallbearer.

musicnotes-tiny“Lift High the Cross” (Ward Evangelical Presbyterian Church)

Ward Evangelical Presbyterian Church – Lift High the Cross

I again took that ride in a black Cadillac on the way to Washington Monumental Cemetery, where Grandmommy was laid to rest eight years prior.

I was grateful to have John with me; we stuck like glue. In retrospect, I feel I should have lent more support to Dad and Steve. However, who thinks clearly in these situations anyhow, and at 19 all I wanted was my boyfriend near me.

The gathering back at the house was the final event in the hazy blur of formalities. I functioned as if believing that Mom had just gone away but would be back, as she always had been, a constant presence in my life.

Family and friends approached me cautiously, not knowing exactly what they should say, but offered their sincere condolences and I gratefully accepted their sympathy. When John brought me back to his hometown the next day, I knew she would not be there when I returned.

Chapter 32: Moving On

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9 Replies to “Chapter 31: Summer of Sorrow”

  1. Very touching and moving story. I am so sorry you endured that pain at such a young age. You are a great writer.

  2. Sally Kacar says:

    Agree….you are a great writer! Such a touching tribute to your mother and family and the love of your life, John. Thanks for sharing.

  3. Mary Kilcomins says:

    Beautifully written Lori!

  4. Robbie Beyer says:

    Such a well-written, touching story. As you know my friend, I can relate. Both your parents were extremely lucky to have such a wonderful daughter❤. May they rest in peace.

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