I entered the hospital room with great trepidation. She’d been in and out of consciousness for days. They had warned me, my siblings had, that she looked bad. “Be prepared,” they told me. I saw my father standing next to the bed, slightly bent over, and heard him speaking to my mother, his voice soft and low. He looked up and acknowledged my presence, then turned back to my mother and leaned close. “Jackie, Mary Ann is here. Open your eyes.” Then he stepped out of the way and into the hall, thoughtfully allowing for a moment of privacy between me and Mom. I gingerly approached the bed and could barely believe what I beheld. Bending down, I looked her in the eyes and held my gaze for a moment without saying a word. I wanted to be sure she was with me on this, and I could always tell by her eyes. Then I reached a hand out toward her head and gently tugged at her hair while I put on a face of disgust. Her eyes were locked on to mine, penetrating and questioning. I groaned and started to snicker at the absolute wreck she’d become during…
Category: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
Jackie’s Rules
Jackie’s Rules Mother had rules to live by and she was very diligent in keeping them. One of the most important rules was: if you, as the mother, came down with the flu or any other illness, you were allowed only one and a half days in bed. The first day and night you were to sleep as much as possible. The second day was to be spent in bed until about mid afternoon. Then, the rule was, get up, get a shower, get dressed and be ready to go out to dinner the minute your husband walked through the door. The theory was, follow those direction and you would be completely recovered by the next morning. There was no way on God’s green earth that Jackie was going to miss Thursday night date night. If she was deathly ill on Wednesday, she was somehow recovered enough by Thursday. Thursday night date night was not to be missed under any circumstances. It didn’t matter how long it took to drag herself out of bed, how sick she was, how severe her migraine, she was going out to dinner and nothing short of death would keep her from it. Mother firmly…
Helmet Head
Mother’s humor could be downright troubling and troublesome. She often got the snickers at the wrong time and in the wrong place, landing herself in embarrassing situations. She liked to blame her dad because he was English and as everyone knows, the English have a rather odd sense of humor. Mom and Dad raised us in the Catholic Church and although they weren’t particularly religious people, they were good Catholics and good practicing Catholics never missed mass on Sunday. This held true even in the summers when we were on vacation at the lake cabin which sat on the far side of our treasured mountain lake, the side without a road. The cabin was (and still is) accessed either by boat or by hiking over the mountain by way of a well worn trail. Imagine getting seven children ready for church on Sunday mornings, piling nine people into a sixteen foot ski boat and crossing a lake to get into the family station wagon to drive into the local town to attend church. Now, that was dedication. That was devoutness. That was nuts. Our summertime church was a small rock structure in Rathdrum, Idaho. Often, not a single one of…
Thursday Night Date Night
When my parents were to be married, my Grandmother didn’t want her daughter marrying my father, a Catholic Italian. Grandma insisted her daughter would end up barefoot and pregnant all the years of her life, a life filed with nothing but drudgery. For the most part, Grandma was right. Mother had eight babies, seven of which survived and needed to be raised. Grandma was never happy about this and consequently never showed any affection for her grandchildren. She did, however, care enough to insist that I not wear a sleeveless dress one Easter because, according to Grandma, one needed to have “nice arms” to get away with that. Apparently, in her critical point of view, I didn’t have particularly nice arms. This put Mother in the sticky position of having to either defend her daughter or acquiesce to her mother, the latter of which would guarantee a pleasant visit with her mother yet hurt her daughter’s feelings. I was always surprised by Mothers unfailing defense and support of her children. Grandma’s presence was so intimidating I knew it would have been easiest for Mother to just go along with whatever she said, yet she always chose to stand up…
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun – My Mothers Closet
My Mother’s Closet When I was a child, my father’s business took him and my mother away on a trip every year to somewhere like Las Vegas, somewhere glitzy and glamorous. A place where they could enjoy sitting poolside or playing golf in the afternoons, then dress up like movie stars and go out on the town in the evenings. Many of the same people attended the convention from year to year, eventually becoming good friends, relishing each others’ company in the absence of their combined millions of children. I know my mom looked forward to that one week a year more than most inmates look forward to getting out of prison. And it’s no wonder; after all, she spent every day of her life listening to the constant squabbles and complaints of her seven children. All she ever did was referee, clean, cook, do laundry, and buy groceries; until the annual week of the convention, that is. For that blessed week, she got to be herself, Jackie. A person without a child growing on her hip, without a mountain of laundry stinking up the basement, without an enormous evening meal to cook, serve, and clean up after. On…
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!
The Beginning of The End I hold her balled up fist in my hands, one hand cradling the tightly clenched fist, the other gingerly prying her fingers loose, hoping to clip the fingernails that are cutting into the palm of her hand. It isn’t working very well. “Ouch!” she flinched and pulls back. “I’m sorry Mom, but I can’t clip your nails unless we free up your fingers.” I cautiously pull her hand closer once again and very slowly pry loose each finger, one at a time, and clip the long nails. I can see where they have been digging into her palm. I know Dad would have gotten to it before long, yet this will be one less thing for him to do. “Smells,” Mother declares with a wrinkle of her nose. She is embarrassed the stroke has left her with such a gnarled appendage, so useless and offensive. It’s clenched so tight the small amount of water that manages to seep in from a shower ends up stinking as no air gets in to dry things out. I have a weak stomach and at that moment I hate myself for it. I breathe deeply, slowly, not allowing…