My Mom and Dad were married for 54 years. They were 18 when they got married in a small California town during the Depression. They spent their time together until Daddy got drafted into World War II. When he came home, they were closer than ever. They spent years together active in the Veterans of Foreign Wars, including Daddy being in leadership in the State of California including being State Commander. This required visits all over California, and they drove everywhere they went. On so many long trips, they saw many accidents on the road, and Mom would report them to me in detail, always saying that she knew that she and Daddy would someday be in one of those accidents and die together on the road. I hated when she said that, but I knew that she said it out of deep love. She couldn’t imagine living without him.
On the Sunday before Veteran’s Day in 1989, Daddy was the keynote speaker at the big community event held annually to honor all the Veterans from our town. Much beloved, he had a warm reception to his talk. The next evening, Mom called to say Daddy had been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but they told her to go home and get some rest and to visit him in the morning. I assured her that I would join her in the morning as I lived an hour away. An hour later, she called to tell me that he had died.
I don’t think we are ever really ready for a death, but when it comes so suddenly, it is a shock. The rest of the week what a big celebration of his life and service. Porterville always has had a tradition of patriotism which included a huge parade and Band-o-Rama on Veterans day every year. Mom and Dad had been in charge of that parade for many years. This year, the parade was done in Daddy’s honor. They had a beautiful old convertible with a black wreath at the start of the parade representing him not being there for the first time in so many years. Then he was honored again at the Band-O-Rama as the town’s best loved veteran.
Mom held up well during that week, or so we thought. As I reflect, she hardly spoke at all, and I didn’t see her crying. I went with her to make the funeral arrangements, and she was pretty silent there, too, so I did most of the talking. The service was amazing. I have never seen so many people at a service. They had taps and a 21-gun salute at the graveside, and Mom was silent.
I had to leave at the end of the week. I hated leaving her alone, but I had to go back to work and my family. We stayed in touch and I stepped in to help with the Ambulance business she and Daddy owned together. She still didn’t talk much. She did play bridge every week with the same group she had played with since they all first got married. And she went to church sometimes. But I knew she spent much time alone. My daughter wanted a picture of the three of us taken for her birthday, and when I saw the proofs of all the shots from the photo studio, I realized that mom wasn’t smiling. And I also realized she hadn’t smiled at all since Daddy died.
Five years after Daddy’s death, I got a call that mom had been taken to the hospital. She had spent Thanksgiving with us and drove an hour to go home a couple of days later. We had been shopping and she bought a new electric blanket. After she got home, she tried to put the blanket on her bed that Sunday evening and fell. This was before the time of cell phones and medical alerts. When she didn’t show up for bridge, her friends called her company and they went to check on here and found her on the floor badly dehydrated. Nothing was broken, but she just didn’t have the will to get up.
When she recovered enough to go home, I told her she had a choice to make. She could stay in her home with someone to stay with her all the time. She could stay with me. Or we could find a place for her at a facility for elders. She decided to come home with me. I enjoyed having her with me. We were able to have good talks sometimes. And she loved my husband who could get her to smile. And my daughter could get her to smile on occasion too. Then we discovered that she had an inoperable brain tumor. And because her doctor told me the diagnosis on the phone on his way to his vacation, I had to tell her. We held each other and cried a long time.
Then a miracle happened. Her smile came back on a regular basis. And she laughed. Jacques could get her laughing easily every day. He loved to laugh and she laughed with him. Then she decided that it was time for her to move back home. I arranged for people to stay with her and drove to see her and take care of things a few times a week. She finally was at peace because she knew the time was short until as she believed, she would be with Daddy and her mother again.
Reflecting now, I wish I could have done something more to bring her joy. She had visits from her minister and friends and her sister, but she just wasn’t happy living without Daddy. She is a big part of my inspiration to do the work I do now, helping others to deal with their grief in a way that will lead them to find joy and happiness in their lives. If you see yourself in my mother, please reach out. Know that you can have peace and joy in your life again. And if you see yourself in me as I dealt with my mother, do something about it. I realize now that I was not dealing with my own grief and become tangled in the overwhelming busyness of trying to take care of everyone else. Spend time with loved ones. Find things to do that bring you joy. And most of all, take care of and love yourself.
