April 5, 2012--Ladies of Forest Trace: Natural Causes
“I’m not doing well.” On the phone my mother sounded breathless and weak.
I was concerned. Though she is nearly 104, she has been in fine physical and mental health. “You do sound under the weather. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not myself. More than under the weather.”
“Do you want us to come over?” It is unusual for her to make calls of this kind. She prides herself in being independent and self-sufficient.
“No. I just want to talk with you. On the phone is fine.” She panted, “I’m not up for a visit.”
“Are you using the oxygen? You know you’re supposed to do that when you’re short of breath.”
“As much as I can tolerate. But let’s not talk about that. I am so weak that I don’t want . . .to waste my energy . . . talking about how I feel and . . . oxygen. I have other things . . . on my mind.”
“Sure, mom, whatever you want.” I signaled Rona to pick up the other phone. I wanted her to hear whatever it was my mother wanted to share.
"When I turned 100 . . . that feels so long ago . . . everyone wanted to know about all the things I had experienced. You know . . . before there were cars and airplanes. And of course your computers.”
“I do remember. We all gathered in Florida and you gave a party for everyone at Forest Trace. You ordered dozens of pizzas and soda and there was a huge cake and music. It was so . . .”
“I remember that. They wanted to know about my life as . . . a girl . . . and as a young woman during Prohibition and the War. So many . . . too many wars. But that is not what I want to talk about now. So let me just talk. You don’t need to say anything. I know you keep interrupting me so I can catch my breath. But . . . I am all right.” She knew I was skeptical and so added, “Really.”
“Sure, mom, whatever you say.” Rona passed me a note saying that I should be quiet and let her talk.
“Yes, during my lifetime I did see all of those things. Those wonderful inventions. . . . As wonderful as they were . . . as they are . . . these did not make my life memorable.”
“What did then?”
“The other kinds of changes. For example, look at what happened for women. Not just the vote . . . which happened when I was twelve . . . . That was very important. It was a shanda that it didn’t happen sooner. Can you imagine . . . having to wait until 1920 to have the right to vote? The changes for women may be the most important thing to have happened in a thousand years. More even. I am not . . . exaggerating. Think about how women were treated . . . still are in so many places . . . and how much better it is now. Not perfect, but so much better.”
“I agree, mom, the changes have been historic. There is a backlash now—what some are calling the . . .”
“I know, the war against women. I have been hearing that. But even at the worst . . . including here in Florida . . . so much has been improved. We will never go back to the way it was. And do you remember the first time we came to Florida? To visit Aunt Fay?”
“I do. And I think I know what you are going to say—that . . .”
“Let me say it for myself while I still can. How we saw segregated drinking fountains . . . simple drinking fountains . . . One for Whites and a separate one for Colored.”
“And how, when we went to Miami Beach, we . . .”
“Saw that colored people . . . black people . . . couldn’t remain on the beach after dark. That there were special buses . . . for blacks only to take them back to Miami. To the mainland.”
“We were so upset when we saw that.”
“Even worse than that . . . or better . . . we were also angry, which was better. And over time . . . more and more people became angry and . . . after too much suffering and too many years we had a Civil Rights movement and later . . . as a result . . . Barack Obama in the White House. Don’t get me started,” she breathlessly added, “I don’t want to talk politics. We have been doing that for years . . . which has been wonderful . . . though now I don’t have the energy for that. But I do want to make sure we don't forget who our president is. The president of all of us . . . even those who . . . hate him.”
“You’re right. It is important to remind ourselves of that.”
“And of course we have been doing better with gay people. Remember your uncle . . . who was gay . . . and how he couldn’t tell anyone about it? Though everyone knew. If he did . . . he would have been fired from his job. He taught French in high school in Brooklyn. He was a wonderful teacher but they would have had to fire him. At that time . . . they didn’t even have don’t tell, don’t ask in New York City. . . . It’s hard to believe,” she paused, “isn’t it? . . . How far we’ve come.”
“Indeed,” Rona said.’’
“I’m glad you’re on the phone because I want you to hear this too.”
“I’m here, mom. I’m listening to everything.”
“I’ll need to get off in a moment. . . . I need to lie down.”
“Please do, mom, we can continue later.”
“It’s all right, darling. In my case there may be no later.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes. “And the same is true for old people like me who before the Depression did not have pensions. Most people just died . . . in poverty. And then later, Medicare. What would we do without it? Just die like some of the Republicans are saying? . . . Or implying. . . . There I go," she managed to chuckle, "talking politics again.”
She continued, “And look how much better disabled people are treated. Do you remember how they had to stay home? They couldn’t go out . . . they couldn’t work. . . . They lived in the shadows. The same for people with mental problems. Remember, across the street, there was Tommy who they gave a lobotomy to? And how he lived with his parents . . . alone . . . in a dark room . . . until he died?”
“I do remember that, mom. And how you made me visit him. And thanks to you I did, even though all we did was sit in his room together. Never saying a word to each other. But as I look back it was a wonderful thing you had me do.”
“I too have been thinking a lot about those days. . . . I know I am old . . . very old . . . and who knows how much longer I have and . . .”
“None of us do, mom,” I tried to sound reassuring.
“Thank you for saying that. I know that is true for everyone, but at this point . . . for me . . . it is not just a possibility. I am reminded every moment that it is the reality . . . of my life. To be uncertain.”
“But mom . . .” Rona tried to say.
“No buts, darling. There is a time for all of us . . . and I understand and accept that. Whatever is in store for me I am ready for. But . . . one final thing.”
Final was a difficult word for me to hear from her and so I covered the phone so my mother would not hear the beginning of a sob. Not of grief but of resignation and sadness.
“Again . . . as I look back over my life . . . about what I have been telling you about . . . I have been trying to come up with a way to summarize all of the things I have witnessed and lived through.”
“And?”
“And, I think it’s all about . . . justice. . . . With liberty and justice for all. Especially justice.”
“I agree.”
“There is nothing more important than that . . . Justice.”
“I think . . .”
“I think I need to lie down. And use the oxygen. I don’t feel up to having dinner with the ladies tonight. . . . The girls will have to get along without me.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” I offered.
“Sometimes . . . there isn’t tomorrow.”
With that, she hung up.
I reached over to hug Rona.
I was concerned. Though she is nearly 104, she has been in fine physical and mental health. “You do sound under the weather. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not myself. More than under the weather.”
“Do you want us to come over?” It is unusual for her to make calls of this kind. She prides herself in being independent and self-sufficient.
“No. I just want to talk with you. On the phone is fine.” She panted, “I’m not up for a visit.”
“Are you using the oxygen? You know you’re supposed to do that when you’re short of breath.”
“As much as I can tolerate. But let’s not talk about that. I am so weak that I don’t want . . .to waste my energy . . . talking about how I feel and . . . oxygen. I have other things . . . on my mind.”
“Sure, mom, whatever you want.” I signaled Rona to pick up the other phone. I wanted her to hear whatever it was my mother wanted to share.
"When I turned 100 . . . that feels so long ago . . . everyone wanted to know about all the things I had experienced. You know . . . before there were cars and airplanes. And of course your computers.”
“I do remember. We all gathered in Florida and you gave a party for everyone at Forest Trace. You ordered dozens of pizzas and soda and there was a huge cake and music. It was so . . .”
“I remember that. They wanted to know about my life as . . . a girl . . . and as a young woman during Prohibition and the War. So many . . . too many wars. But that is not what I want to talk about now. So let me just talk. You don’t need to say anything. I know you keep interrupting me so I can catch my breath. But . . . I am all right.” She knew I was skeptical and so added, “Really.”
“Sure, mom, whatever you say.” Rona passed me a note saying that I should be quiet and let her talk.
“Yes, during my lifetime I did see all of those things. Those wonderful inventions. . . . As wonderful as they were . . . as they are . . . these did not make my life memorable.”
“What did then?”
“The other kinds of changes. For example, look at what happened for women. Not just the vote . . . which happened when I was twelve . . . . That was very important. It was a shanda that it didn’t happen sooner. Can you imagine . . . having to wait until 1920 to have the right to vote? The changes for women may be the most important thing to have happened in a thousand years. More even. I am not . . . exaggerating. Think about how women were treated . . . still are in so many places . . . and how much better it is now. Not perfect, but so much better.”
“I agree, mom, the changes have been historic. There is a backlash now—what some are calling the . . .”
“I know, the war against women. I have been hearing that. But even at the worst . . . including here in Florida . . . so much has been improved. We will never go back to the way it was. And do you remember the first time we came to Florida? To visit Aunt Fay?”
“I do. And I think I know what you are going to say—that . . .”
“Let me say it for myself while I still can. How we saw segregated drinking fountains . . . simple drinking fountains . . . One for Whites and a separate one for Colored.”
“And how, when we went to Miami Beach, we . . .”
“Saw that colored people . . . black people . . . couldn’t remain on the beach after dark. That there were special buses . . . for blacks only to take them back to Miami. To the mainland.”
“We were so upset when we saw that.”
“Even worse than that . . . or better . . . we were also angry, which was better. And over time . . . more and more people became angry and . . . after too much suffering and too many years we had a Civil Rights movement and later . . . as a result . . . Barack Obama in the White House. Don’t get me started,” she breathlessly added, “I don’t want to talk politics. We have been doing that for years . . . which has been wonderful . . . though now I don’t have the energy for that. But I do want to make sure we don't forget who our president is. The president of all of us . . . even those who . . . hate him.”
“You’re right. It is important to remind ourselves of that.”
“And of course we have been doing better with gay people. Remember your uncle . . . who was gay . . . and how he couldn’t tell anyone about it? Though everyone knew. If he did . . . he would have been fired from his job. He taught French in high school in Brooklyn. He was a wonderful teacher but they would have had to fire him. At that time . . . they didn’t even have don’t tell, don’t ask in New York City. . . . It’s hard to believe,” she paused, “isn’t it? . . . How far we’ve come.”
“Indeed,” Rona said.’’
“I’m glad you’re on the phone because I want you to hear this too.”
“I’m here, mom. I’m listening to everything.”
“I’ll need to get off in a moment. . . . I need to lie down.”
“Please do, mom, we can continue later.”
“It’s all right, darling. In my case there may be no later.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes. “And the same is true for old people like me who before the Depression did not have pensions. Most people just died . . . in poverty. And then later, Medicare. What would we do without it? Just die like some of the Republicans are saying? . . . Or implying. . . . There I go," she managed to chuckle, "talking politics again.”
She continued, “And look how much better disabled people are treated. Do you remember how they had to stay home? They couldn’t go out . . . they couldn’t work. . . . They lived in the shadows. The same for people with mental problems. Remember, across the street, there was Tommy who they gave a lobotomy to? And how he lived with his parents . . . alone . . . in a dark room . . . until he died?”
“I do remember that, mom. And how you made me visit him. And thanks to you I did, even though all we did was sit in his room together. Never saying a word to each other. But as I look back it was a wonderful thing you had me do.”
“I too have been thinking a lot about those days. . . . I know I am old . . . very old . . . and who knows how much longer I have and . . .”
“None of us do, mom,” I tried to sound reassuring.
“Thank you for saying that. I know that is true for everyone, but at this point . . . for me . . . it is not just a possibility. I am reminded every moment that it is the reality . . . of my life. To be uncertain.”
“But mom . . .” Rona tried to say.
“No buts, darling. There is a time for all of us . . . and I understand and accept that. Whatever is in store for me I am ready for. But . . . one final thing.”
Final was a difficult word for me to hear from her and so I covered the phone so my mother would not hear the beginning of a sob. Not of grief but of resignation and sadness.
“Again . . . as I look back over my life . . . about what I have been telling you about . . . I have been trying to come up with a way to summarize all of the things I have witnessed and lived through.”
“And?”
“And, I think it’s all about . . . justice. . . . With liberty and justice for all. Especially justice.”
“I agree.”
“There is nothing more important than that . . . Justice.”
“I think . . .”
“I think I need to lie down. And use the oxygen. I don’t feel up to having dinner with the ladies tonight. . . . The girls will have to get along without me.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” I offered.
“Sometimes . . . there isn’t tomorrow.”
With that, she hung up.
I reached over to hug Rona.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
5:39 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home