DECEMBER SEVENTH

I feel that I have to write this post. December seventh evokes many memories. Pearl Harbor, of course. The birthdays of three people I know.

It also evokes deeply haunting memories.

My mother Marie, holding the family cat Figaro, and her sister Ann. They were extremely close their entire lives. Both sisters died on December seventh (one year apart). I think this was more than a coincidence.

My mother died in 2009, fifteen years ago. So many years ago that suddenly come tumbling down with tortuous memories. She had a massive stroke on November 14th, which was her birthday. The following three weeks are nearly indescribable.

At that time we were living in a tiny town on the high plains of West Texas.

There was no hospital - - only a small medical center, which had a notorious reputation of incompetence and mistreating patients.

I did everything in my power to have her transferred to a hospital in Lubbock, but I was constantly refused.

I tried to see her every day. Her condition worsened with a series of more strokes. She babbled incoherently and showed signs of abuse (don't want to elaborate).

I eventually demanded to have a list of the medications she was being given. They gave me a list of twelve!

My mother never smoked or drank. The only thing she ever took was aspirin, and that was infrequently. Twelve meds daily seemed outrageous.

The things that unfolded during those ghastly weeks literally tore my soul out.

She tried to escape from the medical center. They tied her to a chair. 

She had a hysterical fit, screaming and crawling on the ground. I stayed there, cradling her, begging her to calm down.

I knew nothing about dealing with medical situations. I furiously demanded that she be transferred. The doctor finally (reluctantly) agreed. Set the date for December seventh.

Ironically.......

Ironically she died on the seventh. This was too much....

When I last saw my mother, she called me Carl. That was her brother's name.

That December was colder than death. Heavy snow, ice storms, frigid winds that howled over the plains with unearthly shrieks....

Inconceivable thoughts plagued me. How could the remarkable woman who guided me on the foundation of life be reduced to the helpless void that she had become? Was this God's will?

My mother was absolutely brilliant, with no exaggeration. She was an extraordinary pianist, and my first piano teacher. She devoured literature and history - - painted pictures, wrote stories and poetry.

She had a high government  security post when she worked for General Dynamics - - in charge of top secret blueprints for areospace, tacticile missiles, and defense projects. She very seldom spoke of this.

She was always tolerant and forgiving....

living with my extremely abusive father (died in 2005). And I, admittedly, wasn't the perfect son - - especially in my excessively wild youth.

If only I could grasp those distant years, extract the positives, expunge the negatives.....

Jon

She loved yellow roses