R.I.P. Pepsi Rupe

R.I.P. Pepsi

This is the story of a little green parakeet named Pepsi.  She belonged to my step daughter Tonya and I begged her to let me have her.  I saw her in her little cage every day answering the outside birds and thought she seemed lonely with her owners gone to work. Tonya relented and Pepsi became mine.  Or so I thought.  In all actuality, Pepsi may have belonged to me, but I never really belonged to her.  Her little bird heart belonged to my husband Darrel.  When I approached her, she would bite me and chatter like crazy.  Darrel walked into the room, and she began preening and warbling.  She stepped onto his finger like a princess and peppered him with tiny beak kisses.  Oh, so I was on to her! She liked the men!  It was at this point I decided to get another bird, a baby that could possibly like me and also be company for Pepsi.  Wrong. Oh, Cola liked me well enough, but Pepsi abhorred him.  How could I invade her peaceful little world with this annoying baby?  Eventually, they made their piece and Cola did like me best!  So, it was with a heavy heart that I returned home from having surgery yesterday to find Pepsi at the bottom of the cage looking very ill.  Touching her, {yes, she still bit me} I could detect only a faint heartbeat.  Cola was beside himself, flying around chattering.  I tried to remove her from the cage but she would not have it.  So I let it be her way.  With one last attempt to bite me, she laid down on the bottom of her cage and looked at me.  I petted her and cradled her in my hand.  All the things she would never let me do before.  I told her she had been the best little bird anyone ever had and that I forgave her for not liking me best.  She quietly passed away there in my hand and I like to think she forgave me for not being quite the caretaker she had expected.

Cola is now inconsolable.  Fortunately, he still has me and the birds outside.  Perhaps it will be best to leave it that way.

A Year Since My Mama Passed

A year ago we said goodbye, in a little room, just my Mama and I.
It's my time to go, I heard her say, I won't be here another day.
I wasn't sure if I believed, so we joked and talked until time to leave.
I turned and said, Mama, I love you and she replied I love you too!
Those were the last words we would say, she passed away the very next day.

She used to say don't grieve and cry, when it comes my time to die.
I've loved the wonderful time I've had, I'm with my Lord and with your Dad.
God tells you when it's time to go, your body tells you, you will know.
Don't be afraid as I used to be, it's a time of peace and tranquility.
By God's rules I have tried to abide, now it's time to see the other side.

For a year now I've prayed and grieved, but mostly I have just believed,
That even in her final day, she still was showing me the way.
I try to be more living and giving, hold fewer grudges and do move living.
In her memory I carry on and forever nurture our special bond.

I miss my Mama more than I can say, my tears are flowing still today.
But slowly I am getting alongm with a happy heart and a family strong.
God has blessed me with his grace and I know she is in a happy place.
God Bless mothers and daughters everywhere, tell each other often how much you care.

Then when the time comes for you to part, you will not have a heavy heart.
The good times you will not forget and you will live with no regret.
These words I write in Mama's honor today, so others will come to know the way.

Don't be afraid and live in fear, love God and live in the now and here.
And someday you'll l have a memory, like the one I have of my Mama and me.

I DON'T BELONG IN THIS WORLD

Some months prior to Mom's illness, she began telling me "I don't belong in this world.  Everything is too bewildering." I would always reply, "well, you belong in my world!"  Since her passing I have thought about this comment she made. Remembering her life when I was young, we got our first TV in 1955 and she would carefully show me how to change the channels.  Oh, my parents were so proud of that first TV!  We got channels 2, 4, and 6 and all my friends came over to watch with us the first night.  Mom didn't get a clothes dryer until the 60's and this was another exciting time.  Dad also purchased a small freezer and they were so delighted to freeze their garden produce.  Our new phone was installed on the wall and one thought long and hard before making a long distance call. Dad went to the neighbors house and called home so we could take turns answering it!  All your conversations were, of course, held for everyone to hear and we were all fine with that!  Grandpa, who lived next door, refused to get a phone at all, declaring he didn't want to talk to anyone he couldn't see!  Thinking back about all these things, no wonder she was bewildered.  Her satellite TV with all the stations and remote controls with buttons she was afraid to push.  We thought she would be so thrilled to have all these options.  Oh, how she longed for the old days, she would say. 

Baby Boomers today are quite smug with our smart phones, IPads, texting and tweeting away.  We love our satellite TV stations and our DVR's.  There is nothing exciting about watching a TV show and unlimited long distance is just taken for granted.  Will the day come when we too are bewildered and feeling left out in this world? Will we long for the old days?  Where will technology take us next?  The most important things are, of course, our families.  Here we can feel the sense of  belonging no matter what kind of shape the world is in.  It is important for our young people to interact often with their elders to make them feel accepted, especially those who live alone.  Listen to your mothers and fathers and understand when they are bewildered and confused.  Encourage them to learn if they want to, nod in agreement if they don't.  The world will never stop changing.  But we can and should always make sure our loved ones belong in it. 

Full Circle

In 1937 in western Montana, my Mom and Dad fell in love.  A shy 18 year old waitress and a 30 year old timber worker who lied about his age, telling her he was 29 because he was afraid she wouldn't marry him.  But marry him she did and they had nearly 50 years together before Dad's death.  Twelve years separate my only sibling and I, and being the baby I remained close to home, helping Mom when Dad passed and being with Mom when she passed this last April.  Mom was the best friend I ever had on this earth.  I told her every detail of everything in my life and she did the same.  I often wondered what I would ever do without her.  Somewhere in those first few weeks of grieving, I received a phone call from a long lost niece who found my name when reading Mom's obituary online.  Our family, as sometimes happens in families,lost touch with those living a great distance away.  Hard times and illnesses made it difficult to visit.  Mom and Dad passed never knowing some of their grandchildren.  In one of those long sleepless nights, I made a promise to my parents and to myself.  This family was coming back together.  In their honor I made a trip to Pennsylvania and had a joy filled reunion with two nieces and met my great nephew.  This Thanksgiving I will travel to California with my niece and visit my great niece and great great nephews.  Mom and Dad's great great grandchildren!  They will hear the stories about a grandfather who was a ranger at Yellowstone National Park and a guard during the construction of Grand Coulee Dam.  They will know about a Grandmother who rode a horse 12 miles to school and helped her father make homemade root-beer.  Best of all, they will know they are here because that shy little waitress fell in love with a handsome stranger.  They will know, Mom and Dad.  We will come full circle, I promise. 

"See ya later," she said, "when your legs get straighter!"

It has been a year since Mom got sick. When I think about that year, which is often, I like to reflect on the many different people we came in contact with during Mom's last days on earth. I recall the first hospital roommate was a petite lady I will call Mary. Suffering from dementia and a fractured hip, I quickly learned that Mary had been a charge nurse in her heyday and by all accounts, a good one. Though her memory was mostly gone, occasionally she would surprise us with her quick wit. Whenever I left Mom for the day, I would call out "see ya later alligator.". One day I had just finished saying "see ya later" and I heard Mary chime in, "when your legs get straighter!". The nurses and I had a good laugh and Mary told us about saying this as a child. Her eyes were bright and she laughed uproariously telling us about it. Such a fine lucid moment for Mary! Another roommate in the rest home was a small Chinese women who could speak no English. But boy could she communicate! With her eyes and hands, she told me about the beautiful flowers her daughter brought in. Two of the nurses Mom had in the ICU stand out. One looked just like Meg Ryan and we teased her about being sleepless in Seattle. Another had the most positive, cheerful persona I have ever encountered in a hospital. We called her our "angel." Sometimes we find ourselves rushing through life missing chance encounters that can have significance to us when we recall them later. I found myself being more aware and in tune with the world around me during that year than any other time in my life. And so I am trying to hold onto that awareness because of the peace, tranquility, and enjoyment of life, no matter the circumstances, that it brings. As for you, my peeps, I'll see you all later, when my legs get straighter!

Happy 93rd Birthday Mama!

Today, May 15, would have been my Mother's 93rd birthday.  I remember she always liked the date she was born; May 15, 1919.  It was a neat number, she said, and she was especially proud of being born in the year which women obtained the right to vote.  Mom loved numbers.  She loved it that I was born in 1950 and then my first daughter was born in 1970.  Both in the beginning of decades, she said.  There was something significant about that!  Today I did all my flower pot planting in her honor.  And yes, they are all planted in three's, Mom.  On one of our last visits, she asked me how old she was because she had forgotten.  When I said almost 93, she said that's impossible because that would make you 62 and you can't be.  Well, yes it was and yes I am, Mom.  When I sat in my new deck swing today reflecting on Mom's birthdays in the past, I remembered one year when my Dad and I bought her a beautiful big cake.  My Dad propped it up on the kitchen table so it would be the first thing she saw when she came into the house.  Instead, a loud thump was what we heard from the living room a short while later.  The cake had fallen, frosting first, right onto the floor.  Dad was mortified, but we all had a good laugh later and the cake was still good!  It feels really weird to have a May 15 come and not be having a party for Mom.  I imagine it always will.  And as much as she loved numbers, I know she would have loved the date of her death, 4-12-12.  Another neat number.   Happy Birthday Mama.

Along Came A Dog

When I was a little girl, I had a beautiful golden retriever named Rusty. He was my best friend and always there for me when I needed him. I cried into his fur when my Grandma died and again when I contracted polio. He would sit by quietly and gently nuzzle. And look at me with those understanding eyes. Many of you know I recently lost my Mother. One day I had just left the bank and was crying because I had seen an elderly mother in the bank with her daughter. Sitting at the stop light, I looked at the car next to me. In the backseat of the car was a golden retriever dog with his head out the window looking right at me. He never took his eyes off me as I began blubbering like a baby and telling this dog how much I loved him. It seemed the light did not change and it was just me and this dog for a very long time. I did not roll my window down for fear of causing him to try to jump out. Finally the car moved away and we went our separate ways. Anyone who thinks dogs can't read our minds is dead wrong. This dog clearly saw that I was grieving and was doing what dogs do, standing by and gently nuzzling. Thank you Rusty, for still being there for me after all these years. I will never forget you.