......as old as you feel.

 

 

My Mother is 87 years old.  In my mind’s eye I still see the lanky young woman with a cloud of curly black hair, show girl legs and a friendly gap-toothed grin.  In reality she is a grey haired, much smaller version of herself with practical shoes.

About six weeks ago I was at lunch about forty five minutes away from home when my cell phone rang.  “Diana….I think I may have a problem.  I fell and I think my hip broke.  I’m on the front porch and it’s so cold…,” my Mom said.  Thankfully she had shoved her cell phone into her pocket before going out for her mail.

“Stay still, Mom.  Help is on the way,” I said with much more calm than I actually felt.

I immediately dialed 9-1-1 and had the dispatcher patch me through to the proper county.  They assured me that they had a squad on the move.  Next I called my husband, Larry, who was much closer than I to her home; he also headed out to help.  I was in my car and rocketing toward home before I got off the phone.

With some calls from my husband, and pretty good luck, my brother in law and sister in law, Ron and Sue, were pulled into the action.  They managed to meet the rescue squad at her house, Larry met the squad at the hospital and I set a new land speed record from my appointment to the hospital.

 I arrived to find my Mom on a gurney in the emergency room;  Larry, Ron and Sue keeping her company.  She was not experiencing any pain and seemed fine, with the exception of being chilled to the bone.  I hunted down a nurse who was kind enough to get us some blankets from the warmer and things seemed to be under control.

It was my Mother’s good fortune that an orthopedic team was performing surgery that day; they had just enough energy left to do one more hip replacement.  Three hours after she arrived in a rescue squad she was in surgery; everything went well and three hours after that she was in her own hospital room.

Weeks in recovery and therapy have gotten her back on her feet, even if she needs a walker right now.  She is thinner, her step more hesitant, but she seems to be on the mend.  Her fondest wish is to be back in her customary pew at church very soon….it is also my own.

When the rolls reverse and you are caring for a parent it brings you to terms with things you’ve been able to push to the back of your mind.  I guess in a way it’s another step in growing up; I’m surprised at this age to find I still have lots of growing to do.

It has been my  great good fortune to have a supportive husband and children.  They help in every way possible to reach the goal of getting Mom strong and independent once again.   Without family to commiserate and celebrate with, I don’t think that effort would be doable.

It has been a struggle to keep from completely taking over the reins of my Mother’s life.  Patience has never been a virtue of my own; it is easier and quicker to just make a decision myself and get on with it!    Trying not to fall into that “my way” trap I remind myself daily that she is an adult with preferences and choices that may not be the ones I would make, but they suit her just fine.
I have made a concentrated effort to include her in conversations with therapists, doctors, nurses. 
For some reason they speak to me and behave as if my Mother can’t hear or answer for herself.  I try to gently pull the conversation back to include Mom. If that conversation needs to be a little louder or perhaps a little slower….so be it. 

While she struggles to regain her footing Mom has taught me something important.  I've come to understand that she is always surprised to see an 87 year old female looking back at her from the mirror.    While our bodies age and become cranky, we do not get old inside.  I believe the spirit does not age; somewhere inside us the storehouse of who we are withstands all the ravages of time.  I know that, inside, my Mom is still a young woman who loves to dance and laugh. 

It is my wish to be my Mother’s advocate and, when necessary, her voice.  At the same time I try to remember she is still a person with likes and dislikes….fears and memories and needs. 

Dealing with age, mine and hers, requires a different skill set and a different placement of ones ego.  It is more important to be kind than to be right….to be loving instead of being on schedule.   As tough as it can be sometimes it is better to lead with your heart.   Everything else, hopefully, will  follow.

                                                                  Life is Good

                                       Letter from a Mother to her Daughter:

 

My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If, when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”… Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story… night after night until you would fall asleep.

 

When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?

 

When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way… remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day…

The day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.

If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.

And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked.

When those days come, don’t feel sad… just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you… my darling daughter.

                                                                                                                    -written by Sergio Cadena

 

 

The Third Time's a Charm

                                                                     Miniature Wedding Dress


Like so many women I remember my wedding day as one of the most exciting days of my life.  I also remember mine as a comedy of errors that set the tone for our marriage.

          Diana (Kegley) Coon
                 May 15, 1965

May 15, 1965 was a gorgeous day.  It was not the date we’d planned on; Uncle Sam had summoned the groom-to-be to report to Fort Knox, Kentucky the week before the date on the invitations.  Stubborn man, that Uncle Sam; we moved the wedding up from June 20^th to May 15^th by inserting a card with the new date into the invitations.  That caused a lot of curiosity and finger counting, but it couldn’t be helped.

The day of the wedding my maid of honor, (and cousin) Theresa, and I got our hair styled then loaded our gowns into the back of a station wagon to head to the church.  I had carefully gone down my check list of things to take with me; unfortunately I’d forgotten the hoop that went under my dress. A groomsman had to run back to the house for that important item. 

The day stretched out before me as one long problem solving test.  Once the hoop arrived we realized the string at the waist had been lost in transit.  I grabbed a large safety pin and fished the green string from the florist boxes through the waist band; problem solved. 

The bridesmaids were supposed to be wearing white carnation head pieces and carrying matching bouquets.  Someone, somewhere, must have enjoyed those items;  my bridal party wore the (wrong) pink carnation head pieces and bouquets with their teal gowns and actually looked quite spiffy.   Too late to change anything; problem solved.

Quite a bit of time had elapsed since the bridesmaid dresses had been ordered and we found that my maid of honor had gained a couple of pounds since the last fitting.   To make things work we put her into my white long line bra and hoped for the best as we zipped it up.  In spite of her shallow breathing she looked lovely.  Under my white wedding gown I had to wear her black strapless bra; by some miracle it didn’t show through my dress.  Too late to do anything else; problem solved.

If any of you had a groom that was late on his wedding day I can sympathize with you.  There was a parade going down Park Avenue past the First English Church that day; my groom was delayed and actually had to ride in the parade for a time to get to the wedding.  What’s a groom to do?  Problem solved.

The parades of my youth always featured what looked like a caboose with a small cannon mounted on it;  I think it was a service club that sponsored the thing. The parade on our wedding day was no exception, so the wedding service was punctuated by cannon-fire.   The ceremony went something like this:

“Do you, Anita, (BOOM!) take this man (BOOM!) to be your lawfully wedded husband? (BOOM!)

It was at this point in the ceremony that we quietly interrupted and informed the minister that my name was not 'Anita'…he corrected himself and continued; (BOOM!)

At last we got through the service and headed to the front door, only to be diverted to the side door because the parade was just finishing up.  I balked!  I’d waited for the day I could walk down those front steps to be showered with rice. (These were the enviornmentally incorrect sixties, remember) I wasn’t about to be relegated to the side door.  I won the argument, but lost the war because our guests had been directed to the side door.   They had listened, done as they were told, and moved on.  Eventually everyone came back around to the front of the church and I had my hard-headed way.  Larry and I finally exited the beautiful old church by the front door.  Clumsy but doable; problem solved.

This wedding got our marriage off to a good start with a sense of humor that has come in very handy over the years; but that’s not the end of the story.

After the wedding I took my dress to Swan Cleaners where it was cleaned, wrapped in blue tissue and sealed into a big box.   The box, marked YOUR WEDDING DRESS, was shuttled from attic to basement to attic through our various moves.

From time to time I would open the cover and admire the bodice of the dress through the large sealed window of the box.   The sequins and little beads sparkled and winked; replacing the top I would again tuck it away.

                                                                                                  Wendy (Coon) Hunt

                                                                                         11/28/1989

As the years flew by we produced three great kids, a son and two daughters.   Eventually the day arrived that one of our daughters was to be married.  Our  Wendy was marrying Todd Hunt and had decided she wanted to wear my wedding dress; naturally I was thrilled.  They had a beautiful, but much less eventful, wedding than our own.   Afterward the dress went back into the box and was returned to the corner of the attic from whence it had come.

                                                       

 

                                                             

                                                                   

           Tracy (Coon) Whitaker
                       12/26/1997

More years passed, and now daughter number two was being married; Tracy also wanted to wear my wedding dress when she married Bob Whitaker.  The dress made a third trip down the aisle at First English Lutheran Church, then was once again packed away.  By this time the big blue box had fallen apart; the well-used wedding dress was now consigned to an airtight plastic bin and placed on the shelves in the basement. 

In June of last year I had the good luck to meet Jo Hill.  If you read the current edition of Heart of Ohio Magazine you know I met her at Malabar Farm where she was displaying her miniature reproduction of the suit Lauren Bacall wore when she married Humphrey Bogart.  Jo is a very talented woman who painstakingly created miniatures of Jackie Kennedy’s gown and the wedding gown from Gone with the Wind, to name a few.  Meeting her reminded me about my own wedding dress and the fact that my daughters didn’t have one of their own to keep.

Interviewing this soft spoken seamstress for the article, it occurred to me to ask Jo if she ever made miniature wedding gowns from the original gown; she said she had.  So, one late summer day, I found myself taking my gown and the pictures of the three of us wearing the gown to Jo Hill.

A few weeks later I got a call saying the gowns were finished; Jo would bring them to my office the next day.  As anxious as I was to see them, I simply didn’t know what to expect.  When she pulled the first one out of the box and put it on the stand I was stunned.  Using my gown, the sequins and lace, even the zipper, Jo Hill had created an exact miniature of the original.    

Although I had asked Jo to make two gowns for my daughters she had enough material left to do a third. When she left that day she took the ‘left-overs’ with her and two weeks later she delivered my own miniature wedding gown to me.

My intention was to give the dresses to the girls at Christmas, but I simply couldn’t wait that long.  Patience has never been my strong suit, so of course I found myself calling them to come over for coffee. They arrived with a ‘what’s this about’ look on their faces that changed to surprise and happiness when they opened the big box that contained the beautiful miniatures. 
I don’t think I have ever given anyone a gift that gave me more pleasure.  I have enough pieces of the original gown left to fashion something to go into the bouquets of my granddaughters and the brides of my grandsons.   It could serve as “something old” should they decide to do a traditional wedding, or perhaps a head wrap if they are married on a Harley.  If I am fortunate enough to be there I will be pleased to know that our wedding gown is still being put to good use.

Thank you Jo Hill for sharing your talent with me to make it possible to give this special gift to my daughters.

It should be noted our son, Brian , presented me with a third daughter when he married Carla (Hrivnak) Coon at First English Lutheran on 7/31/1998.  Although she was much too tiny to wear my dress, she occupies a big place in my heart. 

Just like a lot of stories, this one has a moral:  When you get married it is very important that you choose a groom and a wedding dress that will hold together for the long haul.

                                                                       Life is Good 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swinging into a new year....

        The best way to predict the future is to create it.
                                                               Dr. Forrest C. Shaklee

 

The first day of a new year feels like a clean slate.  Of course it’s not; the bills that were on the counter last evening are still there this morning and the problems that plagued us all year are still firmly in place.  But, just for a moment, let’s assume one can start over on the first day of a new year….what would I really change?

Hmmmmm…..I wouldn’t trade husbands.  I wouldn’t change my children or grandchildren one fraction of an inch.  I love working on the magazine.  No change needed there.

To be honest, when I think about changes for the New Year they are all to repair shortcomings in myself:   De-junk closets and the basement and stop being such a pack-rat….seems doable.   Buckle down and finish the two books I’ve started so I can enjoy serializing them on my blog….very possible.    I want to take the time to sit down and find out how I can get a web page started to house “The life and times of an unremarkable woman”….I even know the talented lady (Kym Lamb) I need to sit down with to discuss that.  I want to make 2013 the year I grow friendships.   I enjoy my “girl time” and I want to nurture the friendships that are important to me.   And then, off course, there are the obligatory ‘lose weight, get more exercise, early to bed/early to rise’ things I promise to do every year.

Looking back over my list I see the New Year’s list of a woman who is very fortunate.   For the most part the changes I need to make simply require buckling down and making the most of the next twelve months.   To set the stage for rose smelling and taking the time to relax with friends Larry and I had a pergola built over the back deck.  I’m going to finally have something I’ve wanted for a long, long time.  When the weather breaks, that back deck will be the setting for a new wooden porch swing.  It will hang from chains and boast a patchwork pad on the seat just like my Grandmother made.  It’s something I enjoyed as a child; sitting in the porch swing with my grandmother or my cousin and watching the summer go by.    This time I will be the grandmother swinging with her grandchild, discussing the world with her husband, laughing with a friend.  It may sound simple, but I think the year ahead looks very inviting as I contemplate swinging on the porch.

I am very aware that my list of changes is also a list of blessings.  Like everyone I only need the one thing I’m not in charge of to make it happen……time.   I will have to give that some thought when I’m sitting in the porch swing.   Happy New Year

                                                                             Life is Good