I could understand Aunt Marti’s desire to know what happened to Holly and her mother, June. There were several crayon written pages with different made-up stories about dogs and kitties and several child-like drawings of houses with trees and billowing clouds. All of her pictures had a bright yellow sun shining down from the corner of the paper. Aunt Marti had grown to love the little girl she had never met and wanted to learn more about the family that had occupied this house so many years ago.
Aunt Marti did not have knowledge of the internet, and my guess was that it didn’t occurr to her that someone could do a search online and find out more about the family. I hoped there would be enough information in the lock box and chest to be able to do an adequate search to find out what happened to Holly and her mother. I didn’t have the first names of the grandparents, but I knew their last name was probably Reading since Holly’s mother was married to their son, and their last name was Reading. Holly said she was moving from the house. The date was 1923. Did the grandparents move, too? Aunt Marti had said the house had been vacant for 20 years prior to her purchasing it.
I kept digging through the papers and also found a photobook in the chest.
“Mr. B.. Oh my… where did you find that?” It was a handmade sock monkey.
*********************
“But Mommy, I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave Grandpa and Nana. I love our house. Why do we have to go?”
Dear, sweet, Holly. This will be an exciting time for us.
I had just asked Aunt Marti if there was a reason, other than the 10 year age difference, that she and my mother had not been close.
“We will talk about all of that in good time,” Aunt Marti said. “But right now, I must tell you a few things concerning what will be taking place here this afternoon. My hope is that all of my nieces and nephews will be present at the meeting that Tara has been good enough to arrange. She was given some directions from my attorney. You will all be given a letter from me and you will be reading my will.”
“According to Tara, all of the cousins will be meeting here at 3:00 pm,” I offered.
“Perfect,” Aunt Marti said with a dramatic flash of her eyes. I had seen that same expression many times on my mother’s face. As if reading my mind, Aunt Marti continued. “Your mother was different from the rest of us and sometimes the things she said and did didn’t set well with me. As the eldest of 4 children, I always felt as though the other girls’ behavior was more or less my responsibility.”
“Speaking from my own experience of living with Mom, I said. “I can understand your comment. Mom’s behavior sometimes pushed the envelope.” (I was secretly amused by my mother’s outlandish ways, but I didn’t share that with my aunt.)
“I must leave you now,” Aunt Marti said as she rose from the chair and picked up the tray with the tea and muffins. “But before I go, I need to tell you that I left you this property. I do hope you will give staying here in Pleasant Run a lot of thought before you get the news formerly at the meeting today. This house has a story to tell, and I believe it will tell you all of its secrets.”
“I don’t know what to say, Aunt Marti. Why would you give me your house?” I was surprised, to say the least.
“It’s all in the letter,” she answered. “And you can say goodbye.”
Shortly after we moved to Texas in 1987, we got a visit from my mother. She told us she had gotten a letter from her brother, my Uncle Jeff. He said their mother’s sister, Grace, lived in Texas. None of the family had ever met her.
My Grandma Sanderson grew up in Iowa. She was from a fairly well to do family, which included 13 children. Grandpa spotted Grandma when she was singing in the church choir. They married and moved to South Dakota when she was the ripe old age of 28. Aunt Grace was 13 years younger than Grandma, and they would have only seen each other the few times that Grandma and Grandpa paid visits to Iowa.
Grandma’s parents (Tyrrell) visiting in South Dakota. The two small children are Uncle Wayne and Aunt Ella.
Anyway, Mom insisted we pay her Aunt Grace a visit. We ended up spending a lovely afternoon with her. She commented that she didn’t remember her sister well. She sounded just like Grandma and was somewhat of a spitfire like Grandma was. She was small in stature and we thought it was cute that she kept her little flats on with rubber bands.
She had taped several family pictures on the wall and proudly went through each person’s story. She had lived through the deaths of her husband and both of her kids. The only family she had left was a grandson who treated her very well.
Kip and I visited Aunt Grace several times over the next year. She loved to go to Luby’s Cafeteria for Sunday lunch. One Sunday, we were going to try someplace different, and she seemed so disappointed we turned around and went to Luby’s. On Easter Sunday, they had a lady playing the piano, and Aunt Grace thoroughly enjoyed that.
A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I started to try to reach Aunt Grace by phone to see if we could come and get her and bring her to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. She never answered. One evening, we drove over to her apartment and knocked on the door. A neighbor heard us and came out to tell us Aunt Grace had passed away. She gave us the number for her grandson. We called him, and he told us she had passed away peacefully in her sleep. He had thought about calling us, but didn’t have our number. He thanked us for taking her to Luby’s on so many occasions and said she talked about it all the time. She especially talked about the piano player. We, in turn, had heard really good things about him.
Yes, she was a little spitfire. She used to ride the bus to get her groceries and she was so little, one day the wind got ahold of her as she grabbed onto the door and she said it blew her straight out. She said she was flying and she feared she would lose her shoes. She said she went back home and waited for the wind to die down.
We Sanderson kids were really close our grandparents. It was so much fun getting to know Grandma’s little sister here in Texas. What fond memories. Family is everything.
I joined a few friends for lunch the other day, and as is normal for ladies who are 70ish, the conversation quickly centered around medical issues. My thoughts went to a phone conversation I had years before with my mother. She went down the line of several medications she had tried out in hopes of relieving her constipation. Since I was only in my early 40s, I quickly became bored with the topic and tried to change the subject. Mom said I sounded like I was bound up, and I should try 3 tablespoons of Metamucil in a cup of water.
It was quite an experience to have a phone conversation with my mother. She was not well versed in telephone etiquette. When she was done talking, she just simply hung up. There were no goodbyes. She never said, “I’ll talk to you later,” or, “Have a nice day.”
I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately. Her birthday is on May 6th, and it was always just a few days before Mother’s Day. I got her a lot of gifts that were combined Mother’s Day and Birthday gifts feeling it was only fair since my birthday is a week after Christmas and I received a lot of joint presents.
Mom was actually quite fun to grow up with. She was funny and spontaneous. There was never a dull moment around our house. She had no filter, so we never had to wonder what she was thinking. I once had a date with a basketball player and when he came to pick me up, she said she didn’t recognize him with all his clothes on, meaning she was used to seeing him in a basketball uniform. I was so used to her that I didn’t even get embarrassed, but I think he did.
I could go on forever recalling Loretta funnies that always make me smile. She was a good Mom in a different kind of way. She taught me a lot of very useful things that I have relied upon in my adult life. When I had cancer, I asked myself, “What would Mom do?” The answer was she would have tried to brush it off like a pesky fly. Although, we all know it’s usually not that easy.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the valiant moms out there. It’s not an easy job, but no job in this world is more important.
ANGER AND RESENTFUL FEELINGS CAN PERCOLATE WHILE CAREGIVING
As you take care of a terminally sick person over weeks, months, years or even just temporarily, you might become beset with questions like:
Why am I doing this?
How did it come to this? It’s too difficult. I can’t carry on day after day, sometimes not even getting a full nights sleep before the whole job starts over again. Is this Monday or Saturday or does it even matter?I’m working my fingers to the bone. Worse yet, I can’t feel my fingers.
What did I do to deserve this?
How did I go wrong? I didn’t volunteer to be a caregiver. I’m not trained for this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m working like a stevedore. I’m too old for this.
Can I take a nap? Can I just walk out the door and never return? Don’t I deserve to be on a beach somewhere just lazing in the sun, cold drink in hand?
The ill person that I take care of doesn’t even seem to appreciate what I am doing sometimes. They don’t always thank me. What makes the situation even worse, is that I am now feeling ticked off when I’m supposed to be patient, kind, caring and helpful. Instead I’m feeling full of resentment toward the person and the situation I’ve been thrust into. I’m working hard but I’m supposed to be retired. I do not want a job at 70ish.
Resentment is a mean word. It can fester and grow and be like cancer- tough to fight and tough to eliminate from your mind and body. It makes me feel guilty that it’s come upon me…now…in my Golden Years.
I was talking to someone recently who had cared for a loved one with a different disease, Alzheimer’s. He said sometimes the patient would lash out at him, be rude, mean, irritable, almost violent. The more we chatted, it came to the surface that these people who are terminally ill, are feeling trapped and angry. They’re in a bad place. It seems hopeless to them. They don’t understand nor do they try to after a while. Hope fades and we caregivers need to just try to keep some positive vibes going no matter how dire the circumstances. But it’s not simple. You cannot blame these ill people. They feel trapped as can caregivers.
I have no answers. I have a few suggestions. Just know that if you’re a caregiver currently or have been one, it’s normal to feel resentful. When it falls upon you, seek help. Even a telephone call to a friend or relative will help. Vent, gripe, complain and let your feelings out. If someone can give you a break, take it. It’s normal to feel this way.
Uncalled for Comments Met with Apology, Respect and Rewards by Valerie Halla
KEEP TAKING WALKS AND TAKING BREAKS. IT HELPS CLEAR THE MIND AND REFRESH YOUR DAY.
I’m still a caregiver and I’m still learning about how to deal with giving up my time for the 24/7 job of helping another person through a cancer diagnosis and I’m learning every day that people can be angels- sweet angels on earth.
Another major lesson I am gradually getting pounded into my tired little brain is: take a break now and then. Now sooner than then, because I’m no spring chicken. I’m not even a summer nor fall chicken. Maybe more like a winter chicken in that time of year when the snow is piling up in drifts all around me. So it is necessary to hit the ground looking for people who can help me enjoy life and shovel off the snow drifts, to have a little down to earth, friend’s fun time.
A few months back I thought i needed to stay home and not go out because my caregiving responsibilities did not allow for time out. More recently I am definitely taking some breaks. Today I met an old friend, whom I’ve known since the 1960’s. We met up at our local coffee shop for just an hour which was packed with catching up and opening up. But before that, something sweet and refreshing happened. Something which showed me how wrong I can be.
I was waiting in line to order a hot drink, standing in front of a tall young man who had a serious expression and looked straight over my head, He was maybe 35 with a trim haircut and a young nondescript face. At my age everyone looks young. As I stood there in front of the stranger, waiting, my friend of 70ish years walked stiffly through the door and got behind this young man. She was obviously struggling with arthritis. I turned to hug her first asking this man if she could skip ahead in line to stand with me. We were already jabbering about seeing one another.
.He said, “As long as it’s quick.”
I said to him, “You know, just go ahead of me in line.” As he stepped hurriedly in front of me, I hugged my dear friend and said, in a disgusting voice “These younger generations!” I was being critical and was hopeful he hadn’t heard me. My friend and I started talking again and smiling since we hadn’t seen each other in over a year. I wanted to have a serious conversation also with her because she didn’t know my husband had melanoma brain cancer and I needed to let her know.
Just as we turned to place our order, the smug young man finished ordering, then he stopped, looking at us and said, “Hey, what would you ladies like?” holding up his credit card. “I was rude, so sorry and tell me what you want to order…a drink, any food? I’m buying.”
We were flabbergasted beyond flabber and gasted.
“Uhhh, what do you want, Madeline?” I stammered.
“That’s very nice of you! I’ll have a hot tea, a black hot tea”
Looking up at him I said, “I’ll take a tea also, the same.“
He then suggested,”Any food?”
We both said, “No thank you. This is very kind of you”
Madeline added, “This is a big deal for two old ladies!”
Feeling guilty I tried to make a joke. “Well, maybe if they had steak and lobster I’d take that, and you could pay for it, but I know they don’t serve it here so just tea is good!” The so called joke fell flatter than my joke telling skills and no one laughed. No one even smiled. I tried to grin but stopped.
He paid for our drinks. We sat down waiting for our order and after he got his order, he left.
A SIMPLE CUP OF HOT TEA CAN BRING ABOUT ENLIGHTENING RESULTS ESPECIALLY WHEN A STRANGER INTERVENES.
We both looked at each other and were glad we had gotten free drinks. We got much more than free drinks. I said to my dear pal, “I guess he heard me say that derogatory remark about this younger generation or maybe he’s just a sweet guy. Either way, I feel badly that I didn’t see the good there and he restored my faith in youthful people. What a great gesture.”
We both agreed we had met someone special. There are good people around and we had been blessed meeting one; a young man who made our morning even better. I figured that this experience should make me a better person also. It might have rubbed off on me. I’m hoping it did. There is always room for improvement and life offers us lessons for us sometimes in the least expected places. Just because I am 70ish, doesn’t mean I can’t learn, and love others.
I ALREADY KNEW ALL THAT ABOUT LOVE AND LIFE’S LESSONS. I AM ALSO PRETTY DARN SMART.
I love photographs. I can look at them for hours. I just spent the day going through boxes of old pictures. It was an emotional experience for sure. All those moments frozen in time. Impish grins of little children long since grown up. Snapshots of times deemed important by the one who captured the moment.
It’s kind of sad that my printed photos stopped at the time digital cameras came on the scene. Now, all my pictures are living in a cloud somewhere. I email and text the good ones to people I think might enjoy seeing them, but more often than not, my captures are never looked at again. It might be different for you. I’d like to know how many people out there still print the special ones…the birthdays and graduations. How many organize their photos in special folders, and then go back and actually look at them again. I hope you do. I’m not that well organized. I see a picture in my mind, but going back and finding it is usually a lost cause. It makes me a little sad.
My cousin, Andrea sent me some photographs she found in a box of things her mother had retrieved from Grandpa Sanderson’s house after he died. There were pictures of my kids that I had sent to him over the years, a picture of my brother, Billy and me with Grandpa, and one of my mom when she was 19.
They were all fun to look at and reminisce about. Fond memories and stories came flooding back. In one picture of my son, Mason, he was holding what he called his dangerous gun. In another, he is holding his little brother so tight it looks like he might burst. I especially remember that special day at the cabin. All the relatives were there to celebrate Grandpa’s 90th birthday. My brother came all the way from California. I tease him that he looked like Elvis Presley’s long lost cousin with his sideburns. The picture of Mom standing in front of the Texaco bulk truck brought back stories of her driving it a few times to deliver fuel when she worked at the Texaco Station for Ray and Pearl Schultz. I seem to remember she got pulled over by the police for speeding.
You can imagine how long it takes me to go through a whole box of pictures. I could get lost for years in the cloud.
MY WONDERFUL SANDERSON GRANDPARENTS WHO VISITED US IN OUR CUTE LITTLE HOUSE LONG AGO IN PAWITH MY MOM AND I ON A COLD DAY. PHOTO WAS SENT TO ME BY A SOUTH DAKOTA COUSIN
Our cousins keep in touch for which I am eternally grateful. One cousin sent a batch of old pictures her mother had put into an album. The pictures don’t have much info on the reverse side because some of them were glued into an album. These photos are worth more than anything to me and definitely worth more than a thousand words. Besides I’m not sure I could even type 1000 words today, My caregiving duties suck time like a robovac vacuuming up crumbs. I try to find time to write down memories which are fast fleeting the older I get.
Here goes with old pictures and old fading memories of days spent with more innocence and more fun than most things give us nowadays…
At our Aunt’s house in Murdo with my two cousins, Jeff H and Andrea, and I’m in the middle with some cat named Tammie in 1950. I love that geometric linoleum kitchen floor.
Our good South Dakota friends, the Pecks, in the center of photo visiting our house in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, PA.My Mom is on the left, me as a kid on the right. Those pillbox hats were made famous in the 1960’s by Jackie Kennedy. Jackie’s looked somehow better on her.
That’s me with my new doll Helen, named after my beautiful aunt who had lovely dark hair like my doll. That’s our Christmas tree which my parents always bought fresh then planted in spring in our yard in PA.The saddle shoes were popular in my school at the time.This is late 1950’s or early 1960’s.
We used to love playing with dolls, building forts and parading or just walking down our street on Fourth of July with US Flags and singing like we knew the words to patriotic songs.
Good times.
Great memories.
Ride ‘em cowgirl. I’m about 4 or 5 here in PA with new trike and outfit. Love the tv with rabbit ears.
Maybe you have some old pictures that take you back to a sweet carefree life. Even these pictures are unencumbered with color. Pictures were all simply black and white. Wouldn’t it be grand if life could be simpler again?
THIS ROCK AND ITS MESSAGE WAS SENT BY MY HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND SAYING IT REMINDED HER OF MY PLIGHT.
As I continue my role as my husband’s caregiver, I see and learn and appreciate a lot that I was never expecting. First off, after 7 months of constant caregiving, I’m hopeful. All this after being ticked off at first that my freedom and life were gone. Why am I angry? Because I’m working 24/7! Why can’t I get in the car and just drive to the beach? Because I cannot leave my husband alone. Will I ever have fun anymore? I need some fun! I forget what it’s like. Can I get up four times a night to help my partner and lose sleep and survive? Barely. Something has to change.
I have learned how to lift properly using the Gait belt, I have gotten equipment to help ease the situation, dealt with the many medications and organized them,given my mate baths with a handheld shower, gotten strong support with a health care company and approached the situation less strictly, because after awhile you just get through the day the best you can. You have stains on your sweatpants? Nobody will notice. We will wash them next week. Your nails need to be clipped? Let’s do that tomorrow. You throw caution to the wind and turn inward. You realize – I’m alone in this and I’m sorta functioning, but a little voice bounces back: I need help. How do I ask for help? Why can’t I do this? I need to try. Asking can’t hurt.
The brightest lightest crack of hope came when I went to lunch with two friends about one month ago and spilled my guts about how I felt guilty yet angry for having to care for my husband 24/7 which felt like forever/7! They were both telling me, urging me, pleading with me to get help. I shouldn’t feel guilty they told me. They even googled places to contact. They added up out of pocket costs and who to ask. They made it clear that I could get support.
Now I have been doing research myself and reaching out to agencies for caregiver assistance. I’m self educating myself about laws and regulations for help. I’m starting to feel some relief. I’m starting to research where to go and how to ask for support. A caregiver is coming next week to help four days a week. Hallelujah.
Some of my neighbors also have been asking how they can help and I used to just say, “I am fine,” but now I give them a date and time to specifically ask if they could come sit with husband while I go do errands or go with friends for coffee or lunch, People want to know how they can help. It helps to give them a chance to help. They actually want to help in a small way or even a large way. They’re all offering different kinds of help. I’m not shy nor stubborn about getting help any more. It’s pure sunshine coming into my previously dark life. Even our family has stepped up. I’m so glad people are so supportive, patient and kind. It makes me feel that I am not alone. Help is appreciated and needed. Just try it – go ahead.
OUR SON VOLUNTEERED TO WASH MY DOG SINCE I DO NOT HAVE TIME. NINCOMPOOP WAS NOT TOO HAPPY ABOUT IT.
ONE KIND NEIGHBOR MADE THESE TWO RAMPS TO HELP WHEEL MY HUSBAND IN THE WHEELCHAIR DOWN THE STEPS ON OUR FRONT PORCH. SUCHA GREAT GESTURE!
I have been fortunate while caring for my husband who has melanoma brain cancer, that neighbors have stopped in once in a while and stayed with him while I take a walk with the dog or go out with friends for lunch or do errands. It’s nice to take a break and just short ones can go a long way in renewing your energy. We have one friend who brings treats and snacks.
This friend brought over homemade chocolate brownies with chopped walnuts. We chatted a bit then suggested we go sit in the sun out on the patio out front where it was sunny and warm. I got Ken down the two steps on our front porch going backwards just like the kind young Occupational Therapist had trained me to do. We two sat in lawn chairs and my husband sat comfortably in the wheelchair with a baseball cap on just soaking up the delicious sunshine. What an idea to simply take our conversation outside. The move immediately lifted our spirits, helping not only the patient but helping the caregiver and visitor. Then I decided to bring the brownies outside. Not only were we in sunshine warmth but now we reveled in chocolatey heaven, munching on chewy delicious brownies. It did us all good.
STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES
The breaks you take don’t have to be long nor far away. The simplest ones feel like a long nap, rejuvenating every sore muscle and aching back. Our brownie backing phenom is an angel in disguise. While my husband and I get frustrated sitting at home waiting for the next meal when I give him his next round of pills, this good friend comes by with treats and stories to share while we sit in the bright spring sunshine. He has also brought a giant jar of biscotti, a plate of chocolate chip yum cookies, a frozen lasagne, and also shared books he finds helpful.
Another neighbor came over this week to say hi to us as we sat outside and walked casually over to the front porch.
“You haven’t gotten ramps made yet for the wheelchair. I can make them. I’ve got the supplies,” he said nonchalantly. He pulled out a tape measure and started measuring the doorway, then the first step down out the front door. The next step at the porch end he measure next as talked the whole time. He is known in the neighborhood as a real chatterbox and you don’t get much chance to cut in once he starts gabbing. We just let him go. As he left with measurements recorded on his phone, I mentioned we could maybe pay him or reimburse him for materials. Geez, was that a mistake. He wanted to help us out since we were having to go through cancer and tough times in our old age.
He brought one ramp the next day and the last one the following day complete with indoor/outdoor carpet lining both ramps. They were definitely homemade but did the trick. No more struggling to get my husband in his wheelchair out the front door and into the car for appointments. This neighbor definitely is a true helpful person. We had put off getting ramps and just struggled through for months. This kind man helped immensely with just a simple gesture and our life was easier in just a couple days time. We are so thankful for our neighbor.
Those 70ish Girls 