Today’s my mom’s birthday. I know there were times as a
teenager I didn’t think much of her. It wasn’t for extended periods of time—not
even days at a time, I don’t think. Here and there she would say or do
something, and I would wonder about her intelligence or experience, and shake
my head and roll my eyes with the superiority of a teenage girl.
Mom didn’t go to college. She was certainly smart enough,
and in the early ’60s women were earning degrees and starting to build careers, but her
family couldn’t afford it. When she graduated from high school, she started
working in the kitchen at the hospital in her hometown.
Dad attended Kings Point Merchant Marine Academy. They met
on a blind date. One of his buddies wanted to go out with one of her friends,
and her friend said, “Get a date for Ellen.” Most guys move up several notches
in the handsome scale when in uniform (even better than a tux!). Dad was
already good looking, and I don’t know if the uniform made a difference or not,
or what else attracted Mom to him, but that was the start of a marriage that
will be 50 years in June.
All marriages take work, but there’s something different for
those involved in the military with the spouse gone for weeks or months at a
time. She shouldered being a single parent when he was gone, and never once
complained about what she had to do. I know she knew what his schedule would be
like long before they married, but there’s a difference between knowing and
experiencing. Add to that the adjustment for both her and us (my sister and I)
every time Dad left or came home. And, somehow the house and cars knew when Dad
was gone and would start breaking, almost always at the most inopportune time,
such as the dishwasher flooding the kitchen at 10:30 p.m. She learned how to
fix stuff and make stuff and deal with what she couldn’t fix or make. She
managed the checkbook, filed income tax, learned how to invest money. She not
only learned how to barbecue with the Cummings’s sauce but has become a grill
master. I know it was hard on her—we could be hard on her—but she rarely let
whether something hurt her, much less how much.
I’ve seen that same resolute determination as she has cared
for Dad. She answers his questions throughout the day, oftentimes the same
question repeatedly, and not necessarily a new question for the day. He might
ask eight or twelve or a few dozen times if the mail has come. Sometimes her
voice gets an edge to it, but she contains her frustration nearly all the time.
She keeps track of where his stuff is, his medications, doctor appointments,
and everything else about him as well her own. I have enough trouble keeping
tabs on myself at my age. I don’t know how she does it for two people.
He’s a good man and was a great captain. What makes him a
great captain, though, has made some aspects of daily life with him difficult.
That’s compounded by his temper, which is getting worse because of his illness.
I know he loves all of us—he would die or kill for us—but sometimes those
traits overshadow or obscure the love. At first he would get frustrated, even
angry, at not being able to remember something. He has reached the point where
he doesn’t realize what’s happening with his memory, which is a blessing, but
along with that, he is able to do less and less, and that makes him frustrated
and angry. He also gets angry because he can’t find something, and when that
happens or anything is going wrong, like he pushes the wrong button on the TV
remote and throws the system out of whack, he blames Mom. He’ll get angrier
when she fixes it because he couldn’t do it himself. We know it’s mostly the
disease, but that doesn’t change the hurt it causes. She takes it and whatever else he does day after
day, usually graciously, rarely returning the temper despite the temptation. It’s
something else I don’t know how she does.
I’ve been living near them for three years now. Only once in
that time has she asked me specifically to take Dad out because he’s on her
nerves so much. She called late one afternoon to see if I was still going to
James Coney Island. I had decided not to go by myself, but when she asked, “Are
you still going to Jimmy’s tonight,” I told her I was, and she said, “Can you
take Dad? You might save a marriage.” I know sometimes, maybe lots of times,
she just wants to smack him upside the head, but that’s the only time she’s let on it’s that
bad.
She is such an incredible example of a servant’s heart and a
meek spirit. Not a perfect person—that will not come until eternity—but incredible.
She does so much for him. Mom’s always ready to help someone else who needs it,
from joining my niece’s band boosters and making cookies and serving meals for
several hundred high school students, to stretching dinner to include me when I’ve
had to edit late in the day so I don’t have to cook; from rushing to the
hospital when a friend has an emergency, to racing out the door when my “Wonder
Twins” Brittanys have escaped and are running amok through the neighborhood (“The
dogs are out.” “We’re on it.” Click.)
I still shake my head at her sometimes now. Not because I
wonder if she knows what’s going on (OK, I do that once in a while, but it’s a different
attitude on my part), but because of just how much she knows. She is constantly
amazing me with what she can do and is still learning. I love her humility, her
sense of humor, her brilliance, her sweet spirit, and just her. She lives out
her faith before us, and we are all the richer for it. I have been privileged
to have her part of my life and am grateful for her and the legacy she is
establishing. As Grandmother would have said, “She’s done good!”
