Love to My Mom

My Mom passed away this year after a long struggle with dementia and Alzheimers. They are cruel diseases that steal a person’s mind and some of their essence. I would like to say she didn’t suffer, but she did. And I am happy that she is finally at peace.

I’ll be processing her transition for a long while, but as I did when my Dad died last year, I have found solace in writing. This is what I wrote about my Mom. I hope it offers you a glimpse of her

My Mom was born Ethel Louise Hunter in February 1937, in the midst of a snowstorm. Her Mother’s stepsister Ethel drove her to the hospital, insisting that the least she could do in appreciation was to name the baby after her. At the age of three her name was formally changed and eventually she became known as Polly.

A quick note on my grandmother, who we called by the name “Goot.” My Dad called her “Gravel Gertie,” who was apparently a character in the Dick Tracy comics. If you look it up, this was probably quite the dig. I couldn’t pronounce that and translated it into “Goot.”

Mom was Goot’s third child, the first two from a marriage that ended with her throwing her husband’s clothes from the attic into the yard. Her second husband, my Mom’s Father, had no other children. He was a reserved man who was very tall and very thin and very patient. He went by the nickname of “Chick” short for chicken legs; we called him Pap-Pap.

Mom’s two half brothers sadly met with tragedy. Jackie died before Mom was born at the young age of 13, contracting tetanus after falling from a tree and breaking a bone. Tommy lived to his early thirties. He was married, living in Texas, and had three children of his own when he died in a car crash.

My Mom’s life was shaped by her own Mother’s suffering.

Mom’s arrival into the family was unexpected, her mother, then age 36, exclaiming to the doctor -- “I can’t be pregnant; I have gray hair!”

Mom in many ways was like an only child, as Tommy was already in high school when she was a baby. Her nickname for many years was “Toosie” which came from Tommy saying “Toodaloo baby” to her in the mornings as he left for school. She had an upper middle-class life in Verona, PA. Her family was well known in the adjacent small town of Oakmont, a place known for its upscale country club and location along the river. Her Great-Grandfather had founded the local market “Hunter Brothers,” served as Fire Chief and had the legacy of having saved the local bank during the Great Depression.

As a child she delighted in playing with dolls, visiting her cousins, and going that little market to select a cookie out of the bin. As a teenager she was an avid swimmer who relished her independence, taking the bus to the local pool in the summertime. She graduated from Riverview High School and attended Slippery Rock University, aka “Slimy Pebble,” which was then a teacher’s college. She completed her post-graduate work at the University of Hawaii – in Hawaii -- and her graduation gift was a cruise ship journey back to the mainland. She often told the story of becoming so tan on that trip that her own Mother said “Look Chick, there’s a black girl wearing the same dress that Polly has.” I remember her showing me a jar of black sand from the beaches.

She taught third grade, just as Goot did, and lived at home until she married Dad. It seemed like fate intervened to connect them. He helped her to relax and enjoy life, and in turn she encouraged him and expanded his world.

Mom seemed to like being a homemaker. Well, everything except the cooking part. Even though she was a pretty great cook; my Dad was a better complainer.

She was known for her homemade pies; gobs, which were these delicious squishy chocolate cookies with cream filling; pumpkin cookies; I could go on. Every holiday meal was held at our house, and she fed both sides of the family well.

Later in life she readily gave up cooking, and would happily tell you “I’m not a foodie; your Dad is a foodie.” She developed a preference for fast food, a well-stocked candy drawer, and her all-time favorite snack: Pepsi (NOT Coke) and Lay’s potato chips.

Every month mom changed the house décor to match the season, just like the bulletin board of her third-grade classroom. Something festive and homemade on the front door; the appropriate colored tablecloth and candlesticks on the dining room table; knick-knacks changed to reflect the flavor of the month.

In additional to raising three children, she was the sole caregiver for her own aging parents. There were times that were very difficult. Goot battled depression. Pap-pap battled throat cancer, had his voicebox removed and struggled to communicate.

I can remember Mom packing school lunches every morning, on the phone with her own Mother. They never missed a weekday call; unless Goot wasn’t speaking to Mom, which happened too.

I remember suddenly entering the room once to her telling Mom to “go suck …. an egg.” Clearly a quick edit for my young ears. I still laugh at the thought of anyone telling my Mom to go suck an egg.

I also remember well the morning that Goot died, going suddenly in her sleep -- as we all wish to go. My Mom sitting at the bottom of the stairs crying quietly. Mom wasn’t a particularly emotional person, and so I remember that moment very clearly.

Some other stories that fill in the blanks on the enigma that was my Mom: She loved musicals, anything with pretty costumes and music. She took us to see ice shows and Broadway dance productions. She played their albums on the record player: West Side Story, Oklahoma. She loved helping to dress Carol and I up in our dance outfits, and preparing us for recitals.

Fun fact: my Mom was a pretty good shot. Dad taught her how to shoot a 22, the family solution to dispatching the inevitable rats that came each Winter to raid the bird feeder. She delighted in thinking that she had better aim than Dad or Craig. And there was the family-famous story of her hanging out the upstairs window preparing to shoot as the High School track team approached.

She was a mix of classy and sophisticated; but also hardworking and practical. Dad was the dreamer; but Mom was the do-er.

I remember her diligently packing picnics to take on fishing trips or to take out to the land in Murrysville to work on the log house. I remember her setting out the good china and making hors d’oeuvres for card club. I remember her rolling on the couch laughing when teaching me how to use a tampon, as I emerged from the bathroom walking stiff-legged because I didn’t know to remove the cardboard applicator. I remember coming home from school to a small bowl of foldie potato chips, because she knew they were my favorite.

I remember her spending hours and hours sewing, stitching and creating. She made photo albums long before it was the cool thing to do. She crafted Christmas stockings for every grandchild and spent years hand making each of us a quilt. She was dedicated to making sure we had things from our family and that we had a legacy to hand down to our own children.

She worked for many years at a local daycare center, but I think she relished retirement. Mom found a comfortable routine of daily walks with Dad. Time collecting Barbies and glassware. Going to the YMCA which was equal parts social time and exercise. Bird identification and time watching television and crafting. Volunteer work with the local Meals on Wheels. She remained fully dedicated to the routine of changing the décor to match the seasons, though this now extended to include seasonal Barbie displays. She tended to Dad and spent time with family, especially Carol and her kids, who were dedicated to making sure Mom and Dad didn’t fall into a too-small world.

Mom wasn’t particularly spiritual, but she always had a little altar of sorts on either a bulletin board or on her desk. It included favorite quotes and cards; poems and pictures. Sparkly pretty things and special objects. If Mom had a religion, it was simply “do the right thing.”

Mom was always pretty stoic and steady, which was good for my Dad; but I’m not always sure it was good for her. Anyone in the family can tell you that the phrase “we had a little unnecessary excitement” was a code for disaster. She often wouldn’t let us know until the crisis had passed, not wanting us to worry. And, it turns out that she did that with her dementia, too. She figured out there was a problem and conceived a plan without telling anyone, even Dad. In many ways she was very independent, but she also liked to keep up appearances. She felt she knew what was best to do.

I think we all wish she had let us help her a little more to carry the burden of knowing that her mind would slowly disappear.

Maybe she always knew that was coming. She was so dedicated to writing the names on the backs of photographs; of doing lineage research and documenting her findings. Maybe it came from her own family tragedies and a desire for us to know more about where we came from and the lineage that has shaped us.

The last years were hard. Dad was declining, but Mom was declining faster. Whittling down their many collections and accumulations took a toll, even though she had decided it was what she wanted. And once she moved from the log house, her decline was precipitous. Her body strong; her mind, disintegrating.

And Dad struggled to care for Mom; because she had always taken care of him. I’m not sure he really knew how much she did for him until he had to do for her.

The assisted living home was such a blessing to both of my parents. Dad finally got the help he needed to care for Mom, and Mom got to tell her stories to fresh ears. And despite the circumstances, Mom never lost her spunk. She never lost her love for crafts, seasonal décor and a pretty Barbie doll. She never lost her sweet tooth, and seeing baby Mia always made her smile.

Mom, I’m so happy you are reunited with Dad and with your family. In my meditations I can see you wearing smart heels, a dress with an impossibly tiny waist and bright lipstick. Your mind restored and the fog cleared.

Thank you for all of your sacrifices -- large and small. Sacrifices that you made for our family and for us.

I don’t think I ever really appreciated all you did as a Mom. How you suffered when we suffered. How hard you had to work to stay true to yourself with the responsibilities as a daughter, a wife and a Mother.

I know for sure that I never understood how much you loved us until I had my own children.

But now Mom – now, I know.

Love,

Jill