Family Matters

Last week I went to a memorial service for a very nice lady.  I knew her for years, or so I thought.  The service was held at the local country club.  It mainly consisted of her family talking and signing about "life with Mom".  At times I felt as though I was treading where I shouldn't.  The closeness of this family and the adoration of her children was moving beyond expression.  I guess that if you sat down and spelled out the ideal relationship between mother and children then this lady's life would be the result.


Whenever I attend memorial services I cannot help but think of what people will say about me when I'm gone, and who will say it.  Part of me wants to just slip away and, perhaps, someone will say, "Where did he go, I haven't seen him in awhile?"  Another part of me says to start putting together my own memorial service.  I've spent my life not letting people in to see who I am.  I don't share my deepest feelings, fears, and hopes.  This is my one shot to let people see who I am, but then why?  If I didn't want anyone to know while I'm alive then why bother now?  I'd really like your help on this one.

This was my Mom.  Her name was Dorothy, but folks just called her Dot.  This is how I remember her, a wave and a smile.  No matter what time of day I'd stop by for a visit I'd get the standard welcome, " Do you want something to eat?"  I think she missed the days of taking care of her family.  Like most mothers, I think she wanted all of her children to stay little.  We are all so cute at those young ages.

My parents were products of the Great Depression.  A lot of their methods in raising us were reactions to that era.  They wanted to protect us. They didn't want us to want, or be hungry.

I inherited a sense of humor from my Dad.  Growing up the way he did, I'm surprised he had any sense of humor at all.  When my Mom wanted a picture with her four sisters and two of them didn't show up my father and uncle agreed to fill in for the missing sisters.  Only the one second from right is still living.  I miss them all and think of them regularly.  They were fun to be around.

My Dad was a fireman.  Firemen always have another occupation, probably because of the work schedule they keep.  He did an assortment of things over the years.  He farmed, delivered fuel oil (and brought home my best friend, Jack, a German Shepard dog), and worked in a hardware store.  I think seeing him in the hardware store fit him best. He could be of service to people and chit chat at the same time.  What he talked about is still a mystery.  I just knew that he liked people.  I have no recollection of my father being mad at anyone other than my older brother who insisted on doing what he wanted regardless of Dad's rules.

Then he bought the shoe repair shop.  This business gave him the opportunity to work with his hands, which he loved, and banter with the assortment of people who wandered into his shop.  I don't think any of us, other than my Mom, realized how much the shop meant to him. His shop was on the cover of Ohio magazine in April, 1990.

That simple business meant a lot to my father on more than one front.  He was needed.  People needed their shoes, handbags, gloves, and belts fixed.  If they could get things taken care of and be entertained at the same time then my Dad was happy.  We were all grown and gone.  When we spend our lives raising and caring for children, we are needed.  When the children grow up and leave, as we know they will, there is a sense of loss.  What is our role now?  What is our life? Who can I cook for today?

We pushed Dad into selling the shop.  We felt that he was pushing himself too hard and he should give it up.  He did.  He was also in the hospital three times over the next 18 months with congestive heart failure.  He would get up in the morning, shuffle out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a doughnut, and watch the birds at the feeder while he listened to the weather radio.  The rest of his day was generally spent in his chair with my Mom across the room in her chair, the cat sleeping in its' bed behind her on its' heating pad.

Parents:  Give your children memories they can't outlive.  Create a world that they will look back at and ache because they aren't there anymore.  That doesn't mean making their life pain free.  Make sure that you give them the lessons that will carry them through life; honesty, respect for others, honest work, prudent with the pursestrings, and a sense of humor.

Children:  Help your parents find ways to feel needed as they get older.  Rather than force them to sell their business, find a way for them to stay in it without killing themselves.  If you must get them out of it then help them find something to replace it.  If you want them around to see their grand children and great grandchildren then help them to feel needed.

As I sit here tonight I reflect on all of the things I didn't say, the questions I didn't ask, the things I didn't do and it's too late.  They were the only parents I had and they are gone and I miss them every day.  I focus on remembering the happy moments, like the time I buried the tractor up to its' axle in mud and my Dad didn't yell at me.  I guess he knew I'd already yelled at me for him.