(My remembrance from the memorial service for my stepmom, at St. James United Methodist Church, Niagara Falls, New York, Sunday, January 27, 2012)
My dad always gave me the best presents. When I was five years old he made me a fabulous
rocking horse and when I was going off to college he gave me my very own
portable typewriter. Little did I know
the best present was to come in 1972 when he married Carol, and after being an
only child all my life, I suddenly had a whole new family.
In addition to this new mother, I had two brothers, and they
had wives and children; now their children have children – so I have brothers
and sisters and nephews and nieces and grand nephews. Carol also arrived with a dear quirky aunt
and a delightful animal-loving sister and I ended up with two new cousins as
well – not to mention various dogs, including one very special step-poodle and
an awful lot of cats.
Carol and I began to become acquainted with each other right
here at St. James – for many years we attended the then-annual Mother and
Daughter Banquet. We always had a grand
time – eating and laughing and singing - and did I mention eating? Our favorite experience was the entertainment
portion of one unforgettable evening – a chorus of retired men, clad in spiffy
red blazers, who belted out “Rise up O Men of God” as their first number. Carol and I laughed about that for years!
We grew closer in our relationship after my dad died in
1999. I visited her weekly and she fed
me, (or we went out for Chinese), we went shopping and we enjoyed a lot of movies.
We sat in the sunlight and chuckled at
the antics of the birds and the squirrels.
Every Thanksgiving we watched the Dog Show on television.
After she moved into Sterling House and later Clair Bridge
she continued to enjoy her life – looking forward, of course, to family visits
but taking part in all activities that were offered. The level of care she received at both places
was truly a Godsend. The amazing staff always
made sure she was well-fed, warm, safe, entertained and happy. Some days, however, when I visited she would
seem kind of lonesome, longing for a visit from “her boys.” But then she would
laugh, pat her hand on my knee and say, “But I’ve got you, babe!”
Towards the last few years of her life, Carol developed an
increasingly distressing loss of her short-term memory. We all went through a bad patch during the
stage when she was aware of this loss and became perplexed and occasionally
vexed; but once she forgot this forgetting, she was, as the Buddhists call it, “living
in the now.” And this is where her wonderful
personality came into play – everything and everyone she encountered was a fresh
delight. I took to thinking of her as My
Little Goldfish – she just swam around and around in her little domain and she
enjoyed every single minute of her life.
Let us hope that all of us may be equally blessed.
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| November 2012, age 97, working on a painting. |
