Four Orphans

The phone rang and it was my mom calling.

‘Thank you for the angel, It’s beautiful.  I have it hanging on the sliding glass door going to the balcony so I can see it all the time. ‘

A week or so earlier I had mail ordered mom the stained-glass angel through one of the numerous knickknack catalogues laying around the house after the holidays.  I was mostly happy that I had remembered to order it in enough time to have it delivered for her birthday.  My track record on such timing wasn’t always stellar.


“I’m glad you like it, I thought you would.”

“Oh yea, it looks great and catches the light in the window.”

That birthday conversation occurred sometime in the early ‘00s, I just don’t recall the specific year.

My mom and dad were not fancy folks.  They didn’t have a lot of extras.  I think spending money was difficult for them both in concept and actuality, seeing that they grew up through the Great Depression.   My mom would have never thought to spend money on herself for such an item like the angel.  While she got great pleasure out of this stained-glass art, and loved seeing it each day, she simply wouldn’t have made the purchase herself.  

Angel on the window years ago.

And so the angel with the translucent wings, golden hair, white gown with rose colored shawl watched over their living room, season after season, year after year. 

I enjoyed greeting the angel each time I’d get to visit them.  She would rattle against the window reminding you she was there when the glass door was opened or shut.  Other than that, her job was to quietly transform the light coming through the window.   In that job the angel excelled for more than a decade and a half.  Always faithful and serenely in place.

Like her reluctance about spending money on extras, I believe my mom’s youth shaped many of her perspectives on the world.  This included the creation of the Shirley measurement system.  While most of the world aligns to the Metric system and the US stubbornly adheres to the American system of measurements, my mom applied the Shirley standards.  A sampling of her measurement system includes key metrics such as:

*  Sheets to the Wind:  A visual judgement of someone who has had a few too many drinks.  A graduated scale maxing out at ‘three’, as in “he is three sheets to the wind.”

·        * Hogan’s Alley:  A way of communicating how messy a child’s bedroom is.  “Your room is worse than Hogan’s alley!”  I’m not sure who Hogan was, but apparently his side street was always a mess.

·       * None the Worse for Wear:  A somewhat vague evaluation regarding the wear and tear experienced by an item or person who had traversed an adverse event. 

Birthday Quilt

As long as I can remember my mother applied these Shirley measurements as the opportunities presented themselves.  These expressions come from the straightforward, some might say old-fashion, experiences that formed her life.  She simply was un-assuming with measured expectations.  Such was the case this past January when she had her 91^st birthday.  My sisters and brother had a family party for her, presenting her with a handmade quilt, with embroidered handprints of the immediate family members.  The get together was followed by dinner at Crackle Barrel, yes, Crackle Barrel.  My daughter and I spoke to mom late that day and she was very happy.  She couldn’t believe everyone went to all that trouble for her.  Her thoughts that afternoon were clear, expressing joy, happiness and mostly gratefulness.  It was a good day.  A really good birthday for mom.

Mom and Nolan

The angel made the relocation to my sister Lyn’s house when my mom moved in with her two years ago.  The angel received a new perch, catching the afternoon sunlight streaming through the trees and over the backyard deck.  She watched over my mom a few feet above her chair.  The same chair she would nap through cooking shows in, read stories to her great grandchildren in and endlessly read the directions on miniature boxes that contained her eye drop bottles.  


My sister and brother-in-law had just gotten back to the house after visiting mom who was admitted to the hospital a few days before.  While getting coats off and settling in during what had been a long, tiring day, they noticed the window above mom’s chair was uncomfortably empty. 

The angel had fallen.  


After over a decade of watching from her perch on my mom and dad’s window and another two years of dedicated sentry duty over my mom’s chair, the angel laid on the floor.  Part of the rose shawl had broken off, the white gown now with a tear in it, but all in all the angel retained her simple peaceful beauty.  You might say the angel was none the worse for wear.

Mom died the following day.
…
..

Mom and Dad late 40s

My mom had simple needs to experience happiness.  A good card game, ALDI oatmeal-cranberry cookies, a good book (before dementia stole her ability to string thoughts together), a really good fish sandwich (the kind that sticks out from all sides of the bun at the Friday fish fry), a restaurant that isn’t too noisy and hearing about her kids and grandkids.  While the later years removed some of those pleasures from her daily life, music continued to be a portkey to better times.  My family would play the 40’s Sirius station when riding in the car with mom.  She would sing along knowing the lyrics to each song from her youth.  Singing to those songs seemed to put her in two times of her life at once.

Along with her unique measurement system expressions, mom also had an saying that she would often recite.  Perhaps it was a way to put tiredness or frustration in its place.  Perhaps it was simply a habit to give daily events perspective.  Perhaps it was a comforting reminder of the end goal.  She would say,

“Oh dear bread and beer, if I were in heaven I wouldn’t be here.”

Mom isn’t here anymore.

The four of us are orphans now.

The power of music and memories is beautifully captured in this short from the movie Coco.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgpBt5STusE