We here at TIE O’ THE DAY believe that you can never have enough leg lamps of any ilk. It’s just plain true that 2 real leg lamps and 1 leg lamp Tie o’ the Day make a jolly trio in the house. When I next drive down to Deltassippi to visit Mom at the care center, I will be wearing this same tie. I wear it for her at least once every Christmas season. In fact, she has one of my A CHRISTMAS STORY leg lamps in her room there. It is tiny and plugs into a regular electrical outlet. It is visible on one of her tables or in her window most of the time. Tie o’ the Day will make Mom laugh throughout the entire visit. Mom’s short-term memory is such that she will see and enjoy the leg lamp tie the minute we walk in her room, then she’ll forget it, then 10 minutes later she will notice it again, and so on—as if every time she notices the tie, it’s the first time she’s seen it that day. (Mom loves A CHRISTMAS STORY. I think it was BT/Mercedes’ family who introduced the movie to Mom.)
For a while now, Mom has had a tendency to repeat her stories, jokes, and questions. But she still knows who we are and remembers enough about us to have conversations about our lives. She has, however, begun to ask me how many kids she had, and which one am I. She seems to remember from the early-30’s up to the mid-80’s pretty well, for the most part. Sometimes now she mixes up who did what and where. But we never correct her. We heard the stories when her memory was great, so we know who did what and where. If you happen to run into her at the care center this holiday season, I suggest you let her know who you are and who your parents are. Chances are, she’ll be able to place you or at least your family, and you can enjoy a fun conversation with her. No matter what she remembers or doesn’t remember, she’s still got her spunk, her compassionate heart, and her humor. She is still a joy to be around.
I didn’t intend to write about Mom today. The words simply fell out of my fingertips. I miss Mom every day. Lately, I can’t think about her without crying, as I’m doing now. I miss her even when I’m with her. I am already in mourning for her, though she’s still here with us. She’s Mom, but she is not wholly Mom. Pieces of her are no longer part of her. I mourn those pieces—her wildly aware and knowing love; her full-of-stories memory; and her astute cognition. Her hugs are not whole anymore either. But they are precious to me beyond any riches or success I might ever have. 💎 💰 🏆
Today’s Banned Books: I’m re-reading OF MICE AND MEN, by John Steinbeck, and Anne Frank’s DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL. Two literary classics.
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