Tuesday, March 6, 2007
[Death] Stories I Tell My Mother - Part 1
The word "family" means something unique to each of us; so much so that it's not uncommon for us to disagree on the meaning of "family", even within our own families. There is, however, one meaning that applies to everyone: "Family" is synonymous with "story". No matter who we are, no matter how we perceive and reperceive our families, no matter how many families of which we consider ourselves a part, no matter whether we perceive ourselves as having or not having a family, each of us has a family story, or, rather, a set of stories that come to mind when we utter the word "family".
Yesterday, when I was, yet again, reminding my mother of certain deaths in her family, I realized that with each death of which I'm aware, usually because I was in my mother's vicinity when the death occurred, I relate it as a story. I have a reason for this: When I remind her of the death I include details that I know will trigger my mother's memory. Hmmm..., I decided yesterday, maybe I ought to record the stories I tell so they won't be lost with my mother or me. So, here they are.
A bit of prologue: Most of these stories are about deaths recorded in the Death Dates post. Not all the deaths recorded there have stories attached, since at least two of the deaths occurred before I was a gleam in my mother's eye. One death story, which I often tell, doesn't match a death recorded in the previously mentioned post because I haven't yet recovered appropriate dates, although it is an important death and, one of these days, I expect it will be recorded over there. For those stories which match a record in the Death Dates post, I will provide, after the fact of this being initially published, reciprocal links here and there. As well, I'll be recording them in chronological order. I'm also going to try to record them as close to the way I tell them as possible. Some of these details may be in other areas of my journals or histories, but I'll collect them all here in the name of completeness. In some cases, I may include typical comments that Mom offers during particular sections of each story.
Let us begin.
Mom's Brother:
"I was living at that little apartment attached to a house on 14th Street and Diamond in Phoenix, the one [Mom's only niece through her siblings] had rented before I took it over. You and Dad had come to visit family from the farm in Wichita Falls, I think...although, I'm not sure if you still owned that place. Maybe you were living in El Paso by then."
"I'm not sure, either," Mom usually says. "We should look that up."
"Yeah, we should. Anyway, you and Dad had spent the entire day visiting with [Mom's brother and his wife] at their apartment in Mesa. I wasn't there during the visit. That evening you came back to my place and we were out on the patio heating up the grill to cook steaks for dinner. Even though everything had seemed copacetic during your visit with [Mom's brother and his wife]..."
"...as copacetic as possible," Mom often interjects, referring to the fact that her brother had been in various stages of ill health for decades, his wife was never the most pleasant person alive, being a hypochondriac on both her and her husband's behalf and, as well, chronically unable to say anything about anyone without carping and complaining...
"...[Mom's brother's wife] was calling us incessantly, about once every 15 minutes."
"Oh, yes, I remember, now," Mom usually says at this point, a crooked little smile overtaking the edges of her mouth.
"Anyway, after several of these calls, yet another call came through. You said you'd go ahead and answer it, since it was probably from [Mom's brother's wife]. While you were in the apartment, Dad and I had a conversation about what in the world [Mom's brother's wife] could find to call about, now, since it seemed as though she had covered just about everything. We posed a delightfully nasty little scenario about how, maybe this time, [Mom's brother's wife] was calling to say, 'I think [Mom's brother] is dead! I think [Mom's brother] is dead!' just to get you guys to come back over to their apartment."
"Oh, yes, that's right," Mom usually says, with just the lightest touch of irony.
"And, sure enough..."
"That's what she called about..." Mom says...
"...and, this time, it turned out to be true. So, we doused the grill, piled into your car and headed to Mesa. I'm not sure how it happened, since it's a little more than a hop, skip and jump from where I lived in Phoenix to their place in Mesa, but we arrived on the heels of the paramedics."
Mom usually mentions, "I think [Mom's brother's wife] may have delayed calling them."
"This is where my memory gets a little hazy. On the one hand, I remember that [Mom's brother] was still alive and that you were able to speak to him as he was being wheeled on the gurney to the ambulance. On the other hand, I recall you having said, since, that he was dead when they wheeled him out."
Mom usually nods at this and says, "I don't really remember, either."
"Anyway, I do know that he was pronounced dead at Mesa Lutheran hospital, which is where they took him. You spent the night with [Mom's brother's wife] and Dad and I went back to my apartment. He and I spent the night trying to make ourselves feel guilty about our nasty little guess, even though we were actually delighted with ourselves."
"I'm sure you were," Mom always says, rolling her eyes.
"I also recall that [Mom's brother] officially died of heart failure, but had been sick from many things for years as a result of advanced alcoholism, including having suffered a number of heart attacks for which he never sought treatment.
"I don't remember too much about the funeral."
"Neither do I," Mom usually mentions.
"I do remember that only immediate family who lived in the area attended and that there was a graveside service where he was buried at Grandma and Grandpa's plot here in Prescott."
Mom's Father:
"Grandma and Grandpa had been staying with [Mom's sister's family] in Scottsdale, as they always did during the winter and spring, since moving to Prescott in the late 60's. Some days prior to Grandpa's death he complained that he wasn't feeling well, so they took him into Scottsdale Memorial hospital. He was kept overnight for observation and treated for dehydration, I think..."
"Yes, I think that's right..." Mom says...
"...and released the next day. Everything seemed fine and life went on as usual. Then, a some days later, everyone noticed that he, again, wasn't looking very good and didn't seem to have any energy, so they took him into the hospital again, and again he was kept for observation. That was the night he died, in the hospital. You were called immediately upon his death and went over to [Mom's sister's house] to spend the night. You slept on the couch. That was also the night that Silly [one of Mom's sister's family's cats] decided to teach T.K. [one of their younger cats] how to hunt. When you awoke the next morning, T.K. had laid his first kill, a sparrow, beside your head and was sitting there waiting for you to awaken and congratulate him on his kill."
This is when Mom typically grins and says, "Oh, yes, I remember that!"
"Anyway, although the family story was pretty much that Grandpa died of old age, I remember something mentioned about an abdominal aneurysm and bleeding out."
"I think I remember that, too," she usually says.
"Relatives came from all over the country for his funeral, which was held in Prescott."
"That's right," Mom usually responds, with a far away smile on her face.
"That was the event at which [Mom's cousin with whom she went to college at Cornell and who also became a teacher] said, 'It's a good thing people die in this family, or we'd never see each other!'"
Mom usually laughs as she remembers this.
"Grandpa was also late for his own funeral, remember? [Mom's nephew by her sister] was responsible for bring the ashes up to Prescott, where the funeral was held, and got halfway up the mountain on his motorcycle when he realized that he'd left the ashes at home, so he went back to get them."
"Dad would've loved that," she always says.
"Anyway, his funeral was one of those Family Parties of Legend. Grandma's and Grandpa's house was bursting with people. It was the last true [Mom's maiden surname] family reunion. I met relatives, there, I never knew existed. I'll never forget it."
"Neither will I," Mom always says, and, as long as I'm alive, I'll see to it that she never does. I believe it was this funeral, with all its gaiety and sparkle, that led her, later, to specify in her will that she wants everyone, at her funeral, to party on her.
It's getting on toward my bedtime. Bear with me while I republish a couple of times to establish reciprocal links. I'll continue with more death stories...
...later.
Yesterday, when I was, yet again, reminding my mother of certain deaths in her family, I realized that with each death of which I'm aware, usually because I was in my mother's vicinity when the death occurred, I relate it as a story. I have a reason for this: When I remind her of the death I include details that I know will trigger my mother's memory. Hmmm..., I decided yesterday, maybe I ought to record the stories I tell so they won't be lost with my mother or me. So, here they are.
A bit of prologue: Most of these stories are about deaths recorded in the Death Dates post. Not all the deaths recorded there have stories attached, since at least two of the deaths occurred before I was a gleam in my mother's eye. One death story, which I often tell, doesn't match a death recorded in the previously mentioned post because I haven't yet recovered appropriate dates, although it is an important death and, one of these days, I expect it will be recorded over there. For those stories which match a record in the Death Dates post, I will provide, after the fact of this being initially published, reciprocal links here and there. As well, I'll be recording them in chronological order. I'm also going to try to record them as close to the way I tell them as possible. Some of these details may be in other areas of my journals or histories, but I'll collect them all here in the name of completeness. In some cases, I may include typical comments that Mom offers during particular sections of each story.
Let us begin.
Mom's Brother:
"I was living at that little apartment attached to a house on 14th Street and Diamond in Phoenix, the one [Mom's only niece through her siblings] had rented before I took it over. You and Dad had come to visit family from the farm in Wichita Falls, I think...although, I'm not sure if you still owned that place. Maybe you were living in El Paso by then."
"I'm not sure, either," Mom usually says. "We should look that up."
"Yeah, we should. Anyway, you and Dad had spent the entire day visiting with [Mom's brother and his wife] at their apartment in Mesa. I wasn't there during the visit. That evening you came back to my place and we were out on the patio heating up the grill to cook steaks for dinner. Even though everything had seemed copacetic during your visit with [Mom's brother and his wife]..."
"...as copacetic as possible," Mom often interjects, referring to the fact that her brother had been in various stages of ill health for decades, his wife was never the most pleasant person alive, being a hypochondriac on both her and her husband's behalf and, as well, chronically unable to say anything about anyone without carping and complaining...
"...[Mom's brother's wife] was calling us incessantly, about once every 15 minutes."
"Oh, yes, I remember, now," Mom usually says at this point, a crooked little smile overtaking the edges of her mouth.
"Anyway, after several of these calls, yet another call came through. You said you'd go ahead and answer it, since it was probably from [Mom's brother's wife]. While you were in the apartment, Dad and I had a conversation about what in the world [Mom's brother's wife] could find to call about, now, since it seemed as though she had covered just about everything. We posed a delightfully nasty little scenario about how, maybe this time, [Mom's brother's wife] was calling to say, 'I think [Mom's brother] is dead! I think [Mom's brother] is dead!' just to get you guys to come back over to their apartment."
"Oh, yes, that's right," Mom usually says, with just the lightest touch of irony.
"And, sure enough..."
"That's what she called about..." Mom says...
"...and, this time, it turned out to be true. So, we doused the grill, piled into your car and headed to Mesa. I'm not sure how it happened, since it's a little more than a hop, skip and jump from where I lived in Phoenix to their place in Mesa, but we arrived on the heels of the paramedics."
Mom usually mentions, "I think [Mom's brother's wife] may have delayed calling them."
"This is where my memory gets a little hazy. On the one hand, I remember that [Mom's brother] was still alive and that you were able to speak to him as he was being wheeled on the gurney to the ambulance. On the other hand, I recall you having said, since, that he was dead when they wheeled him out."
Mom usually nods at this and says, "I don't really remember, either."
"Anyway, I do know that he was pronounced dead at Mesa Lutheran hospital, which is where they took him. You spent the night with [Mom's brother's wife] and Dad and I went back to my apartment. He and I spent the night trying to make ourselves feel guilty about our nasty little guess, even though we were actually delighted with ourselves."
"I'm sure you were," Mom always says, rolling her eyes.
"I also recall that [Mom's brother] officially died of heart failure, but had been sick from many things for years as a result of advanced alcoholism, including having suffered a number of heart attacks for which he never sought treatment.
"I don't remember too much about the funeral."
"Neither do I," Mom usually mentions.
"I do remember that only immediate family who lived in the area attended and that there was a graveside service where he was buried at Grandma and Grandpa's plot here in Prescott."
Mom's Father:
"Grandma and Grandpa had been staying with [Mom's sister's family] in Scottsdale, as they always did during the winter and spring, since moving to Prescott in the late 60's. Some days prior to Grandpa's death he complained that he wasn't feeling well, so they took him into Scottsdale Memorial hospital. He was kept overnight for observation and treated for dehydration, I think..."
"Yes, I think that's right..." Mom says...
"...and released the next day. Everything seemed fine and life went on as usual. Then, a some days later, everyone noticed that he, again, wasn't looking very good and didn't seem to have any energy, so they took him into the hospital again, and again he was kept for observation. That was the night he died, in the hospital. You were called immediately upon his death and went over to [Mom's sister's house] to spend the night. You slept on the couch. That was also the night that Silly [one of Mom's sister's family's cats] decided to teach T.K. [one of their younger cats] how to hunt. When you awoke the next morning, T.K. had laid his first kill, a sparrow, beside your head and was sitting there waiting for you to awaken and congratulate him on his kill."
This is when Mom typically grins and says, "Oh, yes, I remember that!"
"Anyway, although the family story was pretty much that Grandpa died of old age, I remember something mentioned about an abdominal aneurysm and bleeding out."
"I think I remember that, too," she usually says.
"Relatives came from all over the country for his funeral, which was held in Prescott."
"That's right," Mom usually responds, with a far away smile on her face.
"That was the event at which [Mom's cousin with whom she went to college at Cornell and who also became a teacher] said, 'It's a good thing people die in this family, or we'd never see each other!'"
Mom usually laughs as she remembers this.
"Grandpa was also late for his own funeral, remember? [Mom's nephew by her sister] was responsible for bring the ashes up to Prescott, where the funeral was held, and got halfway up the mountain on his motorcycle when he realized that he'd left the ashes at home, so he went back to get them."
"Dad would've loved that," she always says.
"Anyway, his funeral was one of those Family Parties of Legend. Grandma's and Grandpa's house was bursting with people. It was the last true [Mom's maiden surname] family reunion. I met relatives, there, I never knew existed. I'll never forget it."
"Neither will I," Mom always says, and, as long as I'm alive, I'll see to it that she never does. I believe it was this funeral, with all its gaiety and sparkle, that led her, later, to specify in her will that she wants everyone, at her funeral, to party on her.
It's getting on toward my bedtime. Bear with me while I republish a couple of times to establish reciprocal links. I'll continue with more death stories...
...later.
