Tom: Hey mom, can you whistle?
Mom: Yes, I can whistle!
Tom: Well, Dad, Nel and I could, but I never, ever remember hearing you whistle.
Mom: Well I did too! I whistled all the time.
Tom: OK, let me hear you whistle.
Mom: Well I don’t do it anymore. I just have too many other things I have to do other than whistle.
In fact, I doubt if I will ever have time to whistle again.
And that’s all there is to it.
Scene: Driving into mom’s driveway with mom after picking her up at adult daycare.
Tom: Look at that big old house, mom! It’s called Cheswick, but I call it the “Helen House”!
Mom: The “Helen House”! Do I live there?
Tom: Yep.
Mom: Did I make it that charming?
Tom: Yep! You did it!
Mom: Well, in that case, I need to work on it some more, because it is charming!
Tom: Yes it is.
Mom: Who lives there, now?
Tom: We do, mom. You and me.
Mom: We do? That’s a mighty big house for just you and me. Who is in there, now?
Tom: Nobody, mom. We are out here.
Mom: Well, we need to get in there right now so it won’t be lonely.
Cheswick - 1796
Cheswick, the house mom lives in and has lived in since my dad and she bought, hauled 500 yards from its original location and restored in 1973, was built in 1796.
That’s means it was built only 20 years after we won our independence from the Brits!
Mom has lived in the Cheswick for 38 years.
The Franklin family, who my folks bought it from, lived in it for 90+ years. That only leaves eighty-some years unaccounted for, although I do know a Baptist minister ran a boarding school at Cheswick prior to the Civil War.
This is curious because my dad was a Baptist minister as well, and mom was a teacher before she married dad. What are the odds?!
My two daughters have always suspected this old house is haunted and with creaking floors and squeaky doors, it sure seems like the right place for ghosts to want to hang out. After all, Cheswick is 215 years old! You have to believe a gaggle of ghost would have found it to their liking by now. They just don’t make houses made for haunting like they used to.
If there are ghosts in Cheswick, they could be coming from any of the handful of families that have occupied it, but one thing is certain, after last night, I know one of them is coming direct from my family tree.
Although it was a quick encounter, I know who this ghost is. And, by all rights, I should know, After all, I was kin to her when she was living.
The ghost I am referring to was my younger sister, Nel!
Last night was not only a quick encounter, but my first with my sister the ghost, or any ghost for that matter.
Here’s what happened.
My mom sleeps in a four-poster bed my dad made for them about the time I entered the family as the first born.
I don’t think I was conceived on that bed, because I don’t believe my mom and dad ever did what it traditionally takes to make babies. I think my sister and I were “lowercase immaculate conceptions”.
I just can’t picture my mom and my dad, you know, doing what it takes to make babies. Period.
But, hey, that’s not what this story is about. That’s what therapy is made for.
Anyway, when my mom crawls into that four-poster around 7 to 8 pm, she gets lost somewhere close to the center of its great big mattress, tucked away under a sheet, a blanket or two and a hefty bedspread. It could be the middle of summer or winter and it’s always the same.
She is one tiny bug in a big rug, that’s for sure.
Every night, she keeps the two table lamps located on either side of the bed on all night, but dimmed down real low.
She doesn’t really need the lights, because once she has settled in, she has settled in and most times sleeps all night without even once getting up to go to the bathroom.
Her bathroom ritual occurs just before she crawls into her bed and just after she wakes up around 8am the next morning. It’s like clockwork. I am with her all the way to make sure she doesn’t fall. I call her my little Weeble Wobble!
Four nights a week I sleep one room over from her so I can stay close in case she needs me or to calm her after an occasional bad dream.
Even though the two rooms have a door between them, I keep it open.
I also keep the receiving end of a baby monitor close at hand with the transmitting end right next to mom’s bed on the bedside table
The room I’m in was my sister, Nel’s. She slept in it, right next to mom and dad from the day they moved in until her death just this past March after a long, hard fought battle with Alzheimer’s.
Last night, the ghost, that I will call Nel until proven otherwise, brightened and dimmed, brightened and dimmed, brightened and dimmed the table lamps in mom’s room that I had dimmed after helping mom get to bed earlier last evening.
I counted three sequences before Nel turned them completely off, only to turn them on and then off again, you guessed it, three times.
All of this happened around 6 am. I couldn’t help but witness it while lying, eyes wide open, in Nel’s bed in what was her room. For some reason, I suddenly felt like an intruder … an uninvited guest.
I crept into mom’s room to make sure it wasn’t her playing games with the lights, which it wasn’t, because the fact was she was oblivious to what was happening. She was sound asleep and I suspect preoccupied playing the leading lady in an adventure filled dream of days gone by.
There was no one hiding under the bed or in the closets. Plus all the big old doors to the outside were locked tight. Believe me, I checked.
And, there was no sound of anyone walking in or near mom’s room. As I mentioned, this old house creaks even with the lightest of footsteps, so being stealthy, at least as a human, is impossible.
It was getting downright spooky and my sister, though I never saw her, was, almost instantly, my number one suspect.
One, she was a joyful prankster.
Two, mom had screamed out Nel’s name three times in a restless sleep earlier that night.
Three, Nel knew those lights and the rheostats on them like the back of her hand.
Four, there didn’t seem to be any malice associated with this brief encounter. And, my sister never had a malicious bone in her body.
It just seemed like a friendly ghost with way too much time on its hands.
Or, and this is my theory, one that wanted a little attention from her mom.
But, the real giveaway was the baby monitor. I heard the constant static sound from the receiver in Nel’s room suddenly stop hissing, but the LED light was still burning red, so it was on, indicating the electricity had to be on, too.
Three different times, I went into mom’s room to find her sleeping and the red transmitter light off on her monitor. And, yes I checked the electricity there, too, and the power was on. Yet, when I would go back to Nel’s room, the static sound would be back on … indicating that somehow, mom’s monitor was again up and running.
Three times this happened and my sister loved to do things in threes. She had to know I was staying in her room and that the main connection between mom and me was the baby monitor. Smart sister! She was connecting with both mom and me at once. Real smart for a new ghost, but Nel was always a fast learner.
For a split second, I thought the ghost could have been my dad who passed away in 2002, but then I didn’t think so because even though he was a prankster and funny in his own right, I believed he had too much respect for mom to wake her up or startle her while she was sleeping.
I also didn’t think it was dad and Nel because they would have used an old ghost trick and teamed up to make lots of unexplainable things happen at once. You know, spinning clock hands, whirling chairs suspended in mid-air, shoes walking across the floor seemingly on their own … that sort of stuff.
No, the more I thought about it, this was a one ghost job and a ghost that had been one big part of our family.
I also think the motive was pretty clear, if ghosts still have to have a motive like we mortals do.
I think Nel was playing gentle pranks on mom because, as I mentioned in an earlier blog post, The Three Things in Life We Cry About, mom doesn’t remember Nel (except in her dreams, when she calls or screams out Nel’s name), hasn’t grieved for her and refers to her only as “that girl”.
These two were inseparable in life, so much so that we called them both Nelen! So, I think it has to make Nel a little sad, no, very sad. Although, being Nel as well as being an angel moonlighting as a ghost, she must have a heavenly gift of understanding everything and must realize that it’s mom’s dementia that keeps mom from remembering her daughter and “bestest” friend.
Besides, Nel never had it in her to be anything but loving with mom, or anybody for that matter, so I can see how just a little playing around, in order to connect, might seem quite appropriate to her.
Maybe she just wanted to get mom’s attention in a gentle way and to whisper, “It’s Nel, mom. I am still here with you and for you, mom. Between dad and me up here, there and everywhere, Tom right there next to you, and Tovi’s and Lissi’s families just down the road, we’ve got you covered. It’s all going to be alright. We promise, mom.”
Maybe that’s what it was all about … a promise.
After all, I am a believer … as I always have been when it comes to my family.
The last thing I did before going back to bed was dim the table lamps in mom’s room, pull the covers up under her chin, kiss her forehead and whisper, “We love you, mom.”
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away
A dark amber cloud covered the sun as mom and I walked arm and arm to the car for our drive to her adult daycare.
The sun looked like it had developed a cataract overnight and seemed old, dull and dim.
It looked as though it was having trouble getting enough light for itself, much less for our planet.
I asked mom what she thought of the sun and she said, “It’s just upside down. That’s what happens when it’s upside down.”
“Upside down?” I asked. “How did it get upside down?”
“God did it,” she answered.
“How did God do it?” I asked.
“Only God knows,” she said.
Then she added in a whisper, “God told me the the secret.”
“Pray tell, what’s the secret, mom?” I asked.
“Well, God told me … but I didn’t know what he said, because it was all in Spanish.”
I swear, at that exact moment, the cloud cover above us narrowed and the sun winked at me!
Here’s the scene. Last night while tucking my mom into her fourposter bed and kissing her good night, my love for her inspired the following dialogue.
It is one of the shortest one act plays ever written, but thanks to the leading lady, I guarantee, it is one hard act to follow.
Sit back, relax and enjoy. And, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.
(CURTAIN RISES)
Tom: “Good night, good night!
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Mom: Who said that?
Tom: Shakespeare.
Mom: I love old Shakey … he was full of it.
Tom: Good night!!!
(CURTAIN CLOSES)
Don’t panic, mom’s not missing. You won’t find her on milk cartons or posted on utility poles.
What I am trying to say is that I have been missing mom. And, I have been missing from the home front as well.
So it’s me that has been missing!
I have had back-to-back consulting and speaking assignments over the last couple of weeks that have taken me here, there and yonder. Yonder meaning as far west as Denver and that means I haven’t been home with my mom nearly enough … and that’s where the missing comes in … a heaping helping of missing mom!
I missed her energy, her enthusiasm, her happiness, her outlook on life, and her loving me! Yep, call me selfish, but I just can’t get enough of my mom holding me tightly in her arms, telling me what a great boy I am and letting me and others know just how much she loves me … at least a zillion times a day!
But it’s her insights, humor ( she never thought she was as funny as my dad, sister and me, but we always thought she was a hoot) and just out of the blue comments that keep me thinking, captivated, laughing and waiting for more.
Going from hanging onto her every word and action to not being able to communicate at all has been really, really hard. Mom doesn’t really understand a telephone anymore and anything more high-tech than a letter never been a part of her world.
When I woke mom up this morning to tell her I was back, there were lots of hugs and “I love yous”, but no “I missed yous”, because mom was not aware of when or for how long I had been gone. She only lives in the moment, not the immediate past or the future for that matter. And when I say the future, I mean the next minute, not further out than that.
But what I get in the moment, moment by moment, is priceless.
I was fixing mom her favorite breakfast, a big bowl of Raisin Brand (not meant to be an ad and I am not getting paid for product mentions), when I asked her if she knew where milk came from.
“Chickens”, she fired back.
“I don’t know just how they do it, but they get with their mamas and do it. That’s just how it works. Alwyas has.”
She was singing “You Are My Sunshine” the whole way to adult daycare and when I was leaving, I overheard her holding court with a couple of her buddies.
Mom proclaimed, “This world is full of chaos. You need a person who helps you out to know the glory of the world. That person is my boy, Tom Laughon. You are not going to steal that guy from me. He makes you laugh. He doesn’t make you feel you are crazy. He just knows how to make people feel good … he always has.” Then she added, “He’s gone now, but he will be back for me, that’s one thing I know.”
I stopped and looked back at her. Maybe mom does miss me when I am gone. Who really knows?
But, one thing I do know is that I was already missing her … again!
There are three things we cry about in life, things that are lost, things that are found, and things that are magnificent. – Doug Coupland
My day starts when I wake mom up around 8am. It begins quietly, but always ends with a bang!
I tip toe in and whisper, “Good morning, sweet mama.”
And, as if she has been awake all night waiting for me, she answers, “Is that my beautiful boy? I love that boy so much.”
When I lean over to hug her, she will hardly let me go. And, to be honest, I want to be held in her warmth and her love forever.
“It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” It’s not really a question as much as a statement and Mom will say it whether it’s rain or shine, no matter the season.
Then she sits up in her four poster bed and I say, “Let’s rock and roll, mama, mama.”
And, let me tell you what, it’s like a curtain opens and James Brown is appearing live, doing his James Brown thing.
By the time I put mom’s shoes on she’s ready to jump out of bed and when those shoes hit the floor, it’s show time! She is hopping, bopping and strutting her stuff as she shuffles her way to the bathroom.
I mean she’s got all the James Brown moves going at once and I just imagine her singing, “I feel good, like I knew that I would. I feel good, so good, cause I got you!”
She is shouting,”It’s a happy day!” She is singing, “I’m happy, you’re happy, we are all hap, hap, happy,” and all you can do is … be happy!
It’s like mom is the new “hardest working act in show business,” especially this early in the morning. Somehow, I don’t think James Brown ever woke up this early or this happy.
She gets through breakfast the same way. She makes a joyful noise after every spoonful of cereal or sip of juice. She compliments me on how delicious the breakfast I prepared is. She talks about the birds she hears outside, the cars that pass by the window, the clouds in the sky and what animals or people they look like.
She asks if it’s cold or hot today, how long have I lived in Richmond, if I like it here, do I have a wife, children, where do they live, where did I live before coming here and always adds, do you have a mother?
She does know that answer. It’s like her one trick question. And my answer always brings an “I got you” smile to her face.
After all my answers, she exclaims, “Isn’t that wonderful,” or “Don’t you just love it,” or “That is the ‘bestest’ thing in the world!”
And, you know what, even though I am asked the same questions over and over every morning, it is wonderful, I do love it and it is, like she says, the ‘bestest’ thing in the world.
My mom just kick-starts both of our days and it is like that all day, every day in every way.
Her energy is endless. She’s the Energizer Bunny. Her love of life is unmistakable and contagious. She never complains about her lot in life, getting older, aches, pains (frankly, I don’t think she has any), eyesight, or any of the multitude of things you might expect from someone who is 91.
The only exception is for “Do Nothings”. That’s mom’s self explanatory phrase for people who are just that.
She usually follows “Do Nothings” with “They are the dumbest things in the world.”
Not too long ago I asked mom how one of the home caregivers was doing.
She looked at me, slapped the table with both hands and said, “I told her to go home, because she was just a “Do Nothing.” And, when she came back the next day, she did something because she learned she couldn’t make it doing nothing.
I call mom the “Eight Ball of Inspiration” and her comments fit all ages, shapes and sizes and are designed to make anybody feel great. Here are a few examples:
I have been on the receiving end of every one of the above, so I know firsthand how they make you feel. And, so do plenty of other people … many are strangers on the street that are convinced they must know mom from somewhere, because she surely does know them.
And, if those statements don’t take you higher, singing with mom will. We sing together every chance we get. Morning, noon and night.
She starts a song. I start song. It doesn’t matter who starts them, it’s like spontaneous combustion. Because whoever starts one knows the other will join in without missing a beat. And, it has been that way our entire lives. The only difference is that our alto, my sister, Nel and our tenor, my dad Fred, are no longer harmonizing with us, but we make it up in volume!
Short playlist of songs mom and I still sing together:
I love to sing rock and roll songs with or for mom and if she doesn’t know the words, she makes up for it by clapping her hands, tapping her feet or shaking her tail feathers.
She loves good old rock’n’roll. This is one of my favorites to sing and watch her do her thing:
Just let me hear some of that rock’n’roll music
Any old way you choose it
It’s got a back beat, you can’t lose it
Any old time you use it
Its gotta be rock’n’roll music
If you want to dance with me
If you want to dance with me
Just writing the lyrics down makes me smile because I can see her hands and arms shooting up in the air, her head bopping from side to side and her little fanny keeping the beat like nobody’s business!
I don’t know who taught preacher’s wives how to dance, but it wasn’t Fred Astaire. It was more like Elvis the Pelvis, or like I said earlier, James Brown.
If truth be told, I consider it both an honor and a delight to be to be able to be with mom in this chapter of her amazing life. Compared to what it could be like, I have it easy. In fact, I often think she is taking care of me more than I am her. Her happiness and energy are contagious. And, I can’t get enough of it!
The hardest thing for me to deal with when it comes to mom’s dementia is not what you would expect. It’s not that she asks the same questions over and over, or doesn’t know what day, time of day or year it is, or changing her Depends, or having to be by her side every step of the way or that sometimes, out of the blue, she gets agitated and you don’t know why.
None of that affects me one way or the other. I get too much in return for what little I contribute. She is a pleasure and a treasure. She makes me smile. She makes me laugh. She continues to bring so much joy and meaning into my life.
She makes me happy.
What does really get to me is that mom doesn’t cry anymore. I guess she has forgotten how, or that part of her brain has retired or gone on extended vacation.
And, she doesn’t grieve. Sad things don’t make her eyes water. And really happy moments don’t make her tear up, either.
On one hand you could call it a blessing. Who wouldn’t swap a crybaby, whiner or “Do Nothing” for my mom?
But on the other hand, I remember how mom cried along with you, shared your sorrows as if they were hers, comforted you, and never discounted your tears even as she would gently wipe them away.
She has never cried or grieved over the loss of my sister, her ‘bestest’ friend in the world.
We were counseled as a family to not bring up Nel’s passing unless mom did. If her dementia wouldn’t allow her to remember that Nel had died, she would grieve over and over again, at the mention of it. We were told it would be like mom hearing that Nel died for the first time … every time.
Intellectually I understand that. Our whole family does and has respected that advice in all of our interactions with mom.
Mom asks, “Where’s that person (or girl, or boy)?” when she sees Nel’s empty chair.
She states, as she walks past Nel’s bedroom, “That person is gone.” And that’s the extent of it. No memories. No emotions. No tears.
But, I know she would have cried. She loved Nel so. They had such an incredible bond that we called them both Nelen. Mom would have mourned the death of her daughter just like we all have.
Mom has been around death and dying her whole life. As a minister’s wife, she consoled her flock, just as my father did.
Mom’s mother passed away when mom was only six, and for as long as I can remember, she would tear up when her mother’s name was mentioned. That is, until now.
So … I cry in mom’s stead. I represent her tears as her stand in. I have watched her as an understudy forever. I know how to accurately portray her tears of sorrow. Her tears of compassion. Her tears of laughter. Her tears of joy. Her tears …
I am writing this with both of our tears in my eyes. I am writing this because after leaving mom at her adult day care … the Magic Kingdom for adults … it hit me like a lightning bolt just what has been bothering me for some time, but that I couldn’t articulate.
It’s that mom has forgotten how to cry and to feel what it takes to bring tears to your eyes. She only knows happy. A whole piece of the spectrum of emotion is missing.
Her last words to me this morning were to have a great day, that she couldn’t wait ‘til I came back for her, how appreciative she was that I drove her all the way there and would come all the way back just to pick her up.
And, as I was walking away, I saw her touch a man who was sitting in a wheelchair right on the top of his bald head and say, “Don’t you look beautiful today.”
I saw her smile as I walked away.
I had only driven a few blocks when tears came out of nowhere and clouded my eyes. By the time I pulled the car over and stopped the engine, I was bawling.
I found myself not crying for me, but I was crying on behalf of my mom … a tsunami of tears fell from my eyes for the things that are lost, the things that are found and the things that are magnificent.
I represented her well, because I have seen her tears, felt her tears, for all of the above for all of my life.
Especially her tears of joy.
I miss my mom’s tears … that whole spectrum of emotion, feeling, expression. They are lost and neither she nor I know where.
Mom’s tears and the chance to share my tears with hers … that’s what I think I miss most of all.
Last night, my wife, Melissa, and I took mom to a little Mexican restaurant called Su Casa.
Aren’t they all called Su Casa?
Mom loves her salsa and chips, can eat two beef burritos and still have room for the beans, rice, more salsa, chips and … this is unbelievable, but true … top it all off with a generous serving of fried ice cream.
Oh, and I forgot to mention the three tall glasses of Sprite on the rocks.
Sprite was the hit of the night! Mom kept saying it was the best drink she had ever had and wanted the recipe “from the owner” so she could make it at home in big batches.
As we were leaving, the hostess, a good looking hostess I might add, that is if I had been looking which I wasn’t (remember, Melissa was with us). What the heck, I still couldn’t help but noticing.
Before I knew what was happening, mom looked at the hostess and said, “Hi, sugar girl, you are beautiful! Look at your eyes … and that big smile of yours is just gorgeous!”
Just as I was trying to process what was going on: the words mom chose, her uninhibited, endearing way of connecting with a stranger as if they had been friends for life my mom grabbed the girls arm with her right hand and announced for everyone in Su Casa to hear, “You are soooo hot!”
I heard myself say, “Tell the nice lady goodnight.” But, before I could get another word out, I felt mom grab my hand and say, “Hold her arm, Tom! Feel that. Isn’t she hot? She has the warmest arm I have ever felt!”
The hostess was smiling ear to ear!
I am holding on to her arm, right along with mom, and agreeing that she sure was hot. I was blushing and watching to make sure Melissa was out of earshot because I honestly didn’t know how I would explain the unexplainable.
All I can say is my mom is a Natural Connector.
Flashback!
I remember, way back in the day, how singles on the prowl would use their pets, dogs mostly, as conversation starters for pick-up purposes.
“Oh what a cute (fill in the blank type dog)! He/she is really well trained. Who’s your trainer?”
“Sorry my little (blank) is scrappy for his/her size. He/she thinks he’s/she’s a big, big doggy, don’t you (blank)?
But nobody had a pet or a technique that was as fool proof at making connections as mine … a Natural Connector.
I had a beagle back in my single days named Deacon.
Deacon was extremely, well, no other way to say it than horny.
He would grab any leg available and do what came natural to him, though, as you would imagine, it seemed quite unnatural to the owner of the leg.
I would apologize profusely for my dog’s behavior, beg forgiveness, kneel down, say for all to hear, “Bad dog, Deacon! Bad, dog!”
While all this was going on I would sneak Deacon a little candy treat, then stand up, grab the hands of the leg’s owner and ask if I could buy her a drink … the least I could do in this horribly upsetting situation.
It worked almost every time! You might say I had a leg up on the competition.
The only downside, Deacon was so good at what he did, that the number of candy treats he earned made him become a really round beagle hound.
Flash Forward!
So, I am thinking there are going to be more and more 91 year old moms on this planet as folks continue to live longer and longer and, if you are single at the time, the grabbing-an-arm-you’re-sooo-hot bit could just be the ticket for a chance to buy (blank) a drink or two and who knows what might happen next!
All you would have to do to make sure your very own Natural Connector would stick with you is to reward your mom with a Sprite or three.
Win – win – win!
The American Way!
The only warning is don’t give your mom too many Sprites.
Remember what happened to Deacon.
Mom’s Short Takes are an ever changing collection of mom’s take on life, precisely as she sees it on any given day or moment. You’ll find them on the right side bar of the blog.
They are quick reads and you’ll discover they are often worth sharing!
One and Only
Mom was chatting with a small group of her friends at adult day care when I came to pick her up, today.
I couldn’t help but eavesdrop, because I heard my name mentioned and didn’t want to interrupt the conversation.
Mom was telling her buddies about my greatest gift. In fact, she said it was the greatest gift in the whole wide world.
Who would want to stop a conversation like this? Not me!
It turns out my greatest gift was that I could make anybody and everybody feel good.
Well, I don’t mind saying, it made me feel good just hearing that from mom.
Mom added, “Tom is really a good boy!”
A lady friend of mom’s chimed in, “Yep, it’s usually girls that are good. It’s hard to find a boy that is. Real hard.”
Mom said, “Well that’s my boy … the one good boy there is in the whole wide world.”
I thought about staying and signing autographs, but I gave mom a big hug and walked her to the car.
As we walked away, mom’s friend was telling the others, “That’s him! That’s the one good boy in the whole wide world.”
The speaker at a seminar that I recently attended said dementia is like a light bulb in the brain that has somehow switched off.
But, she added, every now and then, and almost always unexpectedly, that light bulb switches back on, shining brightly.
The other day when mom was telling me what animals, people or things she was seeing in the clouds her light bulb lit up and was so bright, it out shined the sun.
She switched from describing an elephant she was pointing at to a conversation about my sister who passed away in late March after a long, horrific battle with Early Onset Alzheimer’s.
Mom totally caught me off guard, not only for what she said, but that she was talking about Nel in the first place.
Up until this moment, she had only mentioned Nel by name twice since she died. And both times it was when she was having what I could only describe as nightmares, because she would scream out, “Nel, Nel, are you Ok? Nel, why don’t you answer me?”
On both occasions I ran to her room, held her in my arms and both times she opened her eyes and asked me where Nel was and if she was alright.
I whispered that Nel was fine, and with that, mom fell right back to sleep without a peep the rest of the night. And, the next morning, there would be no recollection of a bad dream or my coming into her room whatsoever.
Here’s what mom told me when the light bulb in her brain switched on.
And then, in a blink, there was nothing but darkness and silence.
The next thing I remember was mom pointing up in the sky again and trying to get my attention, “Look over there, that looks like a man’s head and his big mouth is open and he is eating another cloud. Do you see that? His lips are huge!”
The fact is, I did see the man and he looked exactly like mom described him. And, his lips were huge.
Later that evening, after tucking mom for the night, the light bulb moment triggered another one I hadn’t thought about since it happened.
The night before we called 911 to have an ambulance take Nel to the emergency room, mom, Nel and I sang, ” This Little Light of Mine.”
And, Nel, who could hardly complete a sentence by this time, clapped her hands and sang every word perfectly in her beautiful soprano voice. The voice of an angel.
The next night she was he was admitted to the hospital and a few days later taken to a hospice where ultimately all of our prayers were answered and Nel was, after years of fighting a losing battle, was at peace. I closed her eyes, told her how much we loved her and that dad would sure be happy to see her and show her around her new home.
Mom’s Short Takes are an ever changing collection of mom’s take on life, precisely as she sees it on any given day or moment. You’ll find them on the right side bar of the blog.
They are quick reads and you’ll discover they are often worth sharing!
Here’s Mom’s Short Take from this morning when I was walking her to the car. She was loving the day, the sun, the clouds and the cacophony of sounds the birds always bring her way.
I stopped and pointed to a huge old oak tree and said, “That’s a giant tree isn’t it, mom? And it’s been around just going and growing a whole lot longer than either of us have.”
She looked at it, covering her eyes from the glare of the sun and said in an almost spiritual way, “It surely has, son.” And as she looked all the way to the top she added, “I wonder what can go all the way up there? I mean all the way to the top of that big old tree!”
For whatever reason, I said, “Monkeys!”
She didn’t laugh or crack a smile (like I was doing). She just nodded and said, “You’re right on that one. Monkeys could do it.”
Later, as I was driving mom to her adult daycare (that I call Mom’s Magic Kingdom), mom said, out of the blue, “You know what I want for Christmas?”
“Nope,” I responded, only half listening.
“Monkeys. That’s all I want. Monkeys.”
Stay tuned! There are always more Mom’s Short Takes where this one came from.
Welcome! I'm Tom Laughon (Lawn), the primary caregiver for my 97 year old mom, Helen!
I guess you could say my mom taught me the values, mindsets and skill sets to get where I am, and now I am using all I have learned, and continue to learn, to show my gratitude and love for her at this stage in both of our lives.
My mom has sure been my champion, cheerleader, teacher and "primary caregiver" for as long as I have been on this planet. She is an amazing, joyful human!
I invite you to follow our journey ... we would love to have you hop aboard for what promises to be a ride of a lifetime!
Buckle up, and welcome!
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My 91 Year Old Mom 