On piano, Denny began the music along with his guitarist, drummer, violinist, and a singer. Mom smiled from ear to ear. It wasn’t long before Ginny grabbed Mom and twirled her around the dance floor. As he played, Denny looked over his shoulder and laughed as he watched them dance. It wasn’t the first time his music had popped Mom out of her chair to dance. Taking another video, I soaked it all in.
With her arm around Ginny’s waist, Mom lifted her left leg at a ninety-degree angle, touched her left foot back on the floor, and then kicked it out again. I knew what was coming—she was trying to do her Rangerette kicks with Ginny. Though they were not perfect by any means, Mom still had them in her! There they were, two best friends in their seventies, still Kilgore College Rangerettes at heart, kicking the night away once again.
Through the evening, we danced, sang, laughed, and pulled others onto the dance floor. We lived like it was our last night on earth. With my arms around Mom as we swayed back and forth in our chairs, we sang the words to “Que Será, Será.” I know that whatever will be, will be. I know that the future is not ours to see. Que será, será.
As I sang those words, I was struck by the truth behind them. In that moment, the words became a reality for me. The future wasn’t mine to see, nor anyone else’s. Whatever happened from that night on didn’t matter. I knew I had that night with her, and 2017 would be a new year for me. I would take each day moment by moment, not worrying about what the future held for Mom or anybody else. I would go forward, knowing truly that whatever will be, will be. Que será, será.
TWENTY - EIGHT
YOU ARE LOVE
January to April 2017
A NEW YEAR, A NEW ME. Over the next several months, I craved time daily with Mom, as well as with the residents. She was fun and childlike, and every day was a new adventure. Although she was losing her speech and her mobility was slowing down, she could still smile, walk, dance, and laugh. I would pop in as often as I could, but I was committed to every Wednesday and Friday for our delightfully alcohol-free happy hour.
Denny now played every Wednesday downstairs and every other Friday on the fourth floor. On the off weeks upstairs, I would take Mom downstairs to hear the entertainer for that Friday. Mom loved the music to the point that she figured out the door code and tried to take another resident downstairs to hear it.
Dad couldn’t believe that when Macy told him.
“How did she get the code? She can’t even remember something minutes later!”
“I don’t know. But she realized if she went straight down the middle of the keypad, the door unlocks,” Macy said. “It’s not a huge deal, but I would suggest you not take her downstairs every morning for hot chocolate. She’s getting so used to going downstairs with you and Sarah that she feels comfortable enough to go on her own. Maybe you could go a few days a week instead of every day?”
Although a little disappointed, Dad agreed to cut back.
For Valentine’s Day, I took the kids to see Mom. We brought her and the other residents some heart-shaped crafts, macarons, and pink heart cookies. Thad brought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The day before had been my birthday, but this year I wasn’t sad that she didn’t remember. I now saw every day with Mom as a celebration.
Pulling Macy aside one afternoon, I asked, “Do you think it’s okay if I take Mom in the car with me? Like to carpool or to Starbucks or something?”
Without hesitation, Macy said, “Of course you can.”
“Really? It won’t be a problem bringing her back here? What if she asks about her house and wants me to drive by it or something?”
“Honestly, Sarah, I don’t think she will ask that, but if she does, just tell her ‘another time.’ But I would not recommend driving down streets that may trigger thoughts of home.”
I promised Macy I’d have her back in time for dinner at 4:30 whenever I took her.
The next day, I picked Mom up. I couldn’t wait to do the things we had missed the previous spring. Here we were, a year later, and I was able to take her to carpool again. God had answered my prayers.
Mom got in the car as if it were only yesterday that we had run errands together.
She asked, “Where we gonna be?”
“We are going to grab your favorite drink at Starbucks and head to the carpool line.”
“Oh, okay. What’s Starb . . . Star . . . What’s it called again?”
“Starbucks. There is a drink there you love!”
“There is? I’ve never heard of that place before, but okay. Whatever you say!”
Never heard of Starbucks. All right then, I will pretend it’s her first time every time.
As Macy suggested, I took a different route as Mom looked out the window, gazing at the trees, homes, and traffic.
“So many cars. Too much, Sarah. I don’t know where I am.”
“I know, Mom. You are right. There is a lot of traffic. But it sure is a beautiful day, and you don’t have anything else going on, so who cares?”
She smiled. “That’s right! I’m happy to be here, Sarah.”
Standing in line at Starbucks, Mom wanted every treat she could get her hands on.
Picking up a KIND Bar, she showed it to me. “I want this! What is it?”
“It’s a KIND Bar. It’s delicious. They are healthy, and you love a mix of nuts and chocolate.”
“I don’t have my money. Daddy didn’t give me money.”
“Oh, Mom, please. I have money. You can pay me back.”
Mom usually wanted to pay for anything and everything, but if I told her she could pay me back, she would quickly agree and move on.
She grabbed a bag of popcorn. “What’s this?”
“It’s popcorn. But I have your KIND Bar, so let’s get that and our drinks.”
“A KIND Bar? What’s that?”
Here we go again. Patience, Sarah.
“It’s this bar you picked out with chocolate and mixed nuts.”
I noticed other people in line staring at us. Feeling anxious, I felt the need to protect Mom from others knowing something was wrong with her. But it was too late for that.
Mom grabbed a bag of coffee. “What’s this?”
“That’s a bag of coffee. We don’t need that. You and Dad have plenty of coffee at your place.”
The line moved, and it was our turn to order.
“I’d like a grande iced soy chai and a grande dirty iced almond chai, please.”
Mom grabbed a chocolate bar and a small bag of almonds at the counter.
“What’s in here? What are these?”
As I paid the cashier for the drinks and the KIND Bar, Mom insisted, “Sarah, I want these, too.”
Looking at the cashier, who seemed a little impatient, I said, “We’ll get the almonds as well, please. And that will be it.”
As I swiped my credit card, I heard Mom say, “What’s this?”
Pretending not to hear her, I guided her to a table outside where I showed Mom her snacks.
Pushing them away, she said, “I didn’t get those. You eat them. I’m not hungry.”
A few seconds ago she was grabbing everything as if she were hungry, and now she doesn’t even remember picking these out? I don’t want them.
Mom took a sip of her drink. “Mmmm, this is so good. Wow!”
Mom didn’t remember our Starbucks runs nor her favorite drink. So why was I doing all of this? Why was I taking her to Starbucks and the carpool line? Was it for her or was it for me?
I longed to be with Mom and do the things we had done before. I wanted things to be normal again, but they never would be. She was happy being out, but Mom would have been happy if I were visiting with her anywhere. All she cared about was being with me.
We sat in the carpool line for thirty minutes and could see the football field from our lane. Emery was playing soccer with her friends, and we watched her run, her two long braids bouncing off her shoulders.
“She’s so pretty, Sarah,” Mom said.
“Thank you. She’s your Mini-Me, Beauty. She looks just like you.”
As I gazed out the window and felt the crisp air on my cheeks, I turned to hold Mom’s hand, but she was sound asleep. Her head was down, tilted slightly to the right and leaning on her seat belt. Her drink was tipping over in her hand, so I placed it in the cup holder.
Things were different now. There would be no long conversations in the car, blowing of bubbles, or listening to podcasts. Mom was in a different phase, and I had to accept that. But I still loved being with her. I felt at peace knowing my mom was sitting right next to me.
The kids were so happy to see their Beauty.
As the door opened, Emery yelled, “Beauty! You’re here!”
Then Elijah: “Beauty! Wait, what? Beauty?”
Elijah was excited to see her but confused. The last he knew, Beauty couldn’t leave her new place.
Frensley was the last to get in the car. “Hi, Beauty! Wow, this is a nice surprise.”
All three kids hugged Mom before they buckled their seat belts. Watching them with their grandmother made every anxious moment at Starbucks worth it. Even sitting in the carpool line while she slept was worth each quiet second.
We dropped Mom off at 4:00 without a hitch. When she walked in, she blurted out, “Ahhh, home sweet home!”
As I held her hand and we walked to the elevator, I felt a sense of gratitude and relief that she had called it home.
OVER THE WEEKS TO COME, Mom and I had a blast together. We drove through Chick-fil-A, to Starbucks for more drinks and chocolate bars and almonds, waited in more carpool lines, and we even went back to Tona, her hairdresser. We danced at happy hours, and others danced with us. We sang “Que Será, Será” together. The joy that filled our hearts and the love that poured out of us was indescribable.
The week before Easter, the girls took friends from school to paint wooden crosses with Mom and the residents. They wanted to share the meaning of Easter with them and sing a few hymns. That spring, the opportunities for our family and children to serve were endless. Frensley and Emery’s friends begged to go back.
One afternoon in April, I received a call from Macy.
“What’s up? Everything okay?” I asked.
“I wanted to talk to you about our annual caregivers appreciation lunch at the end of the month, and I am calling to ask if you would be willing to speak at the luncheon?”
I paused, a little confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we all agreed we would like you and your dad to speak. You have both been so involved here, and you know many of the caregivers. We love you, your dad, your mother, and your family so much, and we would be honored if you would be our guest speakers and share your journey with us.”
I couldn’t believe the words she was saying.
“Yes, of course I will speak! I would love to show appreciation to the caregivers. They have done so much for Mom and our family. I’m nervous to speak, of course, but I can’t turn down an opportunity to publicly thank those who have poured their hearts and souls into my mom and the other residents. Did you already ask my dad?”
“Yes, I spoke to him this morning, and he agreed to do it. This will be great, Sarah. I mean it when I say we love you all very much. You don’t realize the impact you have made on each of us, watching your love for your mom and watching your dad take care of his wife. We have never seen anything like it, and your family is very special to this community. So thank you. Very much.”
I felt strange, hearing this. Impact? Watching your love for your mom? Never seen anything like it? I wasn’t sure I fully understood what she meant, but I was humbled and honored that the facility’s staff thought of us this way.
Over the next several weeks, I prayed God would write the speech for me. I wanted the caregivers to know how thankful and appreciative we were, and I wanted them to know that God’s grace in us was the only reason we were able to love the way we did. It was not because of our ability that we were able to face Mom and her disease each day. It was truly God’s grace, strength, and courage that carried us through this difficult time.
Little did I know that the entire luncheon would be about Mom. It was about the love story of a man and a woman, married fifty years, and the journey the husband and daughter were taking with this woman they deeply loved. The director wanted the caregivers to understand Mom’s origins, how she met Dad, and how she had arrived at The Tradition. Each resident had a story, and the director wanted her staff to know their roles in each of those lives.
Dad brought a DVD I had made for their forty-fifth wedding anniversary. The video was a combination of pictures of Mom and Dad as babies and children, their courting days in college, their wedding, and their grandchildren, all set to their favorite songs.
After the DVD played, Dad stood up to speak. He started by telling them how he and Mom met.
“It was a beautiful fall afternoon in Denton three or four days before class began, and I was relaxing on the couch in my apartment, watching TV. My fourth year of college at North Texas State—this year began differently. I was staying off campus with my best friend and roommate, Don Vest, to resist the temptations of checking out the freshmen girls and partying with friends and fraternity brothers. I had no goals, ambitions, or anything of the sort during my time there. As young people in college say, ‘I just wanted to have fun!’
“Then it happened—the event that changed my life. As I lay on that couch, I heard giggling just outside our picture window. To my surprise, there was a beautiful girl standing there, peeping in the window. With long, dark hair, a big smile that showed her pearly-white teeth, and gorgeous dark eyes, she stood there in tan khaki shorts and a white top.
“As soon as I caught her peeking, she ran back to the car where another beautiful girl, a blonde, was waiting. After realizing I had seen them, they sheepishly walked up to the front door. Having never seen either one of them before, I had no idea what they were doing there.
“Giggling, they admitted they were looking for my roommate. Kathy, the blonde, had met Don the previous summer and found out where he lived. She had sent Becky, the brunette, to peep into the window to see if Don was home.”
My dad grinned. “That was the first sighting of the girl I would marry one year later, although at the time I pretended to be disgusted that these two girls were stalking my roommate. They both left, rather embarrassed over being busted.”
The room chuckled listening to Dad.
“About a week later, I was sitting in my anatomy class, with well over one hundred students seated in alphabetical order. The girl seated next to me during the previous class was absent. Suddenly, I looked up to see Becky, the same beautiful brunette from outside my apartment a few days earlier! She had her books and was coming toward the vacant seat.”
Dad’s face lit up. “After she was seated and had placed her other books on the floor, she calmly pulled out a black ballpoint pen, reached over, and scribbled ‘Hi’ in my open textbook. I was stunned! Would I be able to sell my book with ink marks in it? Then my next thought: ‘I wonder if she’ll go to lunch with me after class.’”
The audience laughed. They were loving this.
“She did go to lunch with me,” Dad said. “I’ll never forget that day. I had a burger with barbecue sauce, and she had a burger with chili and cheese. This became our routine after each anatomy class for the remainder of the semester. The two of us sitting in the car, eating a burger, and talking about life and our families. We both realized something was happening. We fell in love and were married one year later.”
I had never heard Dad tell the story quite like this, and I, too, sat in rapt silence. He went on to talk about things they had done together, the life they had built, their kids, and, eventually, her diagnosis. He said he tried everything he knew to keep her home, that he did not want to place her, but in the end he had no choice.
“Fifty-one years have now passed since that day she peeked into my
window,” he said, “and we still have a burger about once a week while sitting in the car. It’s much different now. I pick her up here, and a plain meat hamburger has replaced the chili and cheese, as she can no longer control her hands well enough to prevent the chili and cheese from dripping. It’s important for her she retain her dignity, and she has done that very well. As we sit together in the car, it seems like nothing has really changed that much. But she has forgotten most of the events from our fifty-one years together, so we just eat our burgers and smile and laugh at each other.”
I could feel myself choking up. While this part of their story was sad, their love was beautiful at every single moment.
Toward the end of his speech, Dad said one thing that touched every heart there. “I have given you my most prized possession. I’ve given you everything I have left. Thank you for taking care of Rebecca, and I hope you remember how important she is to me as you show up each day.”
His words were profound. I had never heard him say anything like that before. He showed the staff appreciation, and yet he also let them know she was his most valuable asset in life, and he trusted them to take care of her in his place. It was the most beautiful statement I had ever heard.
It was my turn to speak. I looked around the room into each person’s eyes. I told them I hoped the things I shared with them would inspire them, encourage them, and even more important, make them feel loved before they left the room that day.
“When Mom was first diagnosed, Dad had a difficult time keeping the news to himself. He wouldn’t tell us the test results because he promised Mom he wouldn’t. I didn’t understand at the time, but he wanted her to be the one to tell us, as it was her diagnosis, not his. This was painful because Dad was hurting. Mom was good at covering things up. As many of you in this room know, she can be a little sneaky and tricky, and she is a very smart and strong woman!
“The last thing Mom wanted was to be treated differently by anyone. But the one thing she and Dad did not know, and could not have known because they had never gone through this before, was that ‘keeping a secret’ meant they had to go through it alone for quite some time. When Dad finally shared the news with me—because I basically begged and persuaded him, in a loving and respectful way—he was able to release some things that were burdening him and finally feel a little freer.
Broken Beauty Page 26