Reminiscences

With my father's funeral over, and all of us returning to an altered everyday life, my mother is adjusting to living alone for the first time. She is not entirely sure she likes it.


"It's so quiet," she said on the phone one day. "I always thought I would like a little quiet. But this is a lot."


When we were there during the last month, she had refused to let us do much for her, insisting that she could do everything on her own. But now she was saying a little wistfully, "I liked it when you and your sister were here and did everything for me."


"We didn't do too much," I said. "You like to be independent."


"Oh, I do," she said. "But that was when everyone was trying to keep me from being independent. Now I have to be."


Dozens of little things crop up to remind her of her new, necessary independence. She finds it particularly annoying that she has no way of reaching things on the top shelf in the kitchen or the closet. "Your dad was very helpful for those types of things," she said, then added, "I'm glad you have Joe."


"Yeah, he comes in kinda handy," I agreed, looking at the back of the Hero's head as he sat at his computer. 


"Darn tootin' I do," the Hero said, suspecting he was being talked about. (Note: The Hero does not normally use phrases such as "darn tootin'," but it seemed appropriate to the occasion, the occasion being my conversing with a person who likely did use "darn tootin'" at some point in her life.) 


Later he expressed some dismay that his value was calculated mainly as it related to his ability to reach things in high places. 


"She meant she was glad I have you for companionship, too," I assured him.


My mother mentioned that nearly everyone from her senior complex came to the visitation or the funeral.


"Even Mr. Silent in the other wing?" I asked.


"Oh, not him," she said. "He never goes anywhere or says anything to people here. But, he used to be a funeral director. Maybe he's just used to being quiet."


She said he at least says hello to her, which is a new occurrence. One day he even nodded toward a window in the activities room and remarked, "The wind is picking up out there."


"I think that's the most words he's ever said at one time to me," she said.


"You must be wearing him down," I said.


We returned to the topic of her asking for help when she needs it, which is difficult, as she comes from a long line of "I don't want to bother anyone" self-survivors. "Everyone is so busy," she sighed. "I really don't want to bother them. But, I will try," she said, to make me feel better. "Someone probably won't mind helping me out once in a while."


"Darn tootin' they won't," I said.