Memories Casting Shadows

It was time. One year after my dad’s passing, the house that my parents had shared for the last 30 years was up at auction. The hand tools, the tons of specialized wood-working equipment, the scores of craftsmen magazines were all gone now. Some sold, some gifted, some junked. For nephews, nieces, children, and grandchildren, gifts too numerous to remember were crafted by hands that each year had become just a little bit stiffer, and eyes that had become just a little bit duller. Some of these gifts now fill my home, constant reminders of a man with an exceptional talent for working with all kinds of wood, and nails, and metal, and paint. A talent that clearly skipped a generation – or at least steered well clear of the younger of his two boys.

Mom has never known being on her own. Married at 20, the next 59 years were spent cooking, and cleaning, and worrying for others. In my dad’s final days, she never left his side. She watched as he took his last morphine-afflicted breath. She cried not so much for herself as for the vulnerable contender caught up in a lop-sided fight that he could never win.

There is nothing particularly extraordinary here. Just two ordinary people mindful of their promise to stick it out together, no matter what might come their way. A bond that would transcend whatever time, and money, and health was allotted them. And, all things considered, what was allotted was acceptable enough – even as we long for more.

From love to stability, from stability to boredom, from boredom to worry, from worry to love. A marriage that embraced two kids and their spouses, six grandchildren, and five collies – four of them named “Lassie.”

A man of modest needs, he had set and achieved one personal goal – to retire, leave Long Island, and re-settle in the Pennsylvania Dutch Country. Horses, and cows, and chickens, and hogs mere steps away. Quite a distance from the Bronx and Brooklyn tenements in which they were raised.

On second thought, yes, their life together was actually quite extraordinary.

Change comes slowly. But it comes.

Now she’s on her own, in an apartment at a retirement community not far from her old home. At 80, mom’s the youngest resident, the new kid on the block. She’s been learning how to spend time alone, especially during the endless nights. A time which once brought precious rest, and reprieve, and renewal, now promises mostly unbroken silence and extravagant darkness. No one calls out her name seeking her comfort, or her care, or her love.

She’s settled in now, but not yet settled down. She can still walk and clean and cook. And she mingles, and engages, and makes new friends. Her mind is still sharp – there she was closely questioning the details of the auction’s debit and credit settlement sheet, confidently pressing the point until receiving a satisfactory accounting.

Everyone – neighbors, and friends, and bankers, and realtors – said that we should be proud of all that she has managed to do in the past year, so much of it on her own. We are.

It’s a scary time. But it’s also a time of growth. A time of finding strength. A time of healing. And a time of second chances.

Yes, it’s truly all of those things.

Peace be with you

Photo Credit: Photos-Public-Domain.com