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curmugeonMy mom would have been 85 if she was alive today.
She was born into the poverty of The Depresssion. Her mom was struggling with 8 kids and a husband that had walked away too many times to count. Her father was a wood cutter, a native american who happened to be dating her mom at the time. Her mixed heritage was something that was not looked on as a plus. From her early days in school she remembered the kids calling her "Indian squaw papoose" because if her long black hair that was in braids. She left home at 13 to work caring for the children of a wealthy family in Ellsworth. She never went back home till after she graduated from high school. In high school she met my father who had graduated a few years earlier and was driving taxi. They went through a storm courtship and broke up for a time when my father left for WWII. Upon returning from the service they got back together and married. My father then left for school in Chicago under the G.I. Bill at Coyne Electrical School. He returned and I was born and we became a family.
My grandma gave my dad a piece of land and he proceeded to build our first home. It was a small 4 room house. All I can remember was it never was completely finished with exposed studs in the interior walls and bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It was my home till 1953 when my dad came home one day and announced he had bought a house in a nearby town called Franklin. My dad had a habit of doing things like that.
We moved into our new home just in time for me to start school. My dad was a mechanic and my mom was the wife who stayed at home.
I remember my mom because it was her who taught me about the great outdoors. She took me fishing. We picked berries. She taught me about the edible plants in the Maine woods. She was always preserving food for the winter. She would grow a large garden so that she could can one jar of food for every day of the week for the coming year. She was definitely a depression child and used those skills to keep us fed no matter what the circumstances. It was in spring of 1959 my dad spring another surprise. He decided that we were moving west... like California. I guess watching the Rose Parade on TV that year was what started it. For that summer we sold stuff. By thanksgiving weekend we hit the road west. Mom didn't say much but I could tell she wasn't happy. She told me before she passed that at that point she almost divorced my dad.
We arrived in California in December 1959. My dad got work. We moved quickly from an apartment to a new home. Mom got her first job. Me and my sister basically took care of ourselves for a time.
My patents stuck it out for many years until my dad decided to retire at 56 years old. He did do a good job of financial planning and a quickly inflating real estate market made it all possible. They built their place in Anza.
My dad's retirement in 1976 almost produced a duvorce. In fact after getting the place finished he up and moved back to Orange County. My mom fought this and eventually they reconciled.
They lived together in harmony till 2003 when it became apparent that my dad was ill. He was diagnosed with Sporadic Kreutzfeld Jacob disease, a disease marked by brain cells dying. He quickly started losing memory and I helped my mom cope with his erratic behavior. He quickly went from an 80 year old man to become an 8 year old child. He passed away in June if that year. My mom was devastated.
The next few years were marked with my mom's battles with cancer. She underwent chemo and surgeries and was well on her way to being a survivor. It was in 2009 she got bad news. The cancer had returned and she had her last surgery. She was too weak for chemo (she refused it anyway) and I retired to care for her in Anza.
We had a love/hate relationship. She was stubborn and getting senile. She had Parkinson's disease and that complicated things. It was tough. I had promised my dad I'd care for her and so I resigned myself to that task. With her health fading and her mind slowly fading it was a difficult task. Finally in 2011 we entered the final chapter. She broke her hip and was hospitalized. During recovery she decided to give up living and after a very lucid discussion I chose to give her home hospice. For a few days I worked hard to prepare the house and to equip the room that would be her final resting place. For about two months I was on duty 24/7 to keep her pain free and clean. I was the one changing the diapers and the bedding. For those months I slept little. Finally death made a visit. There was a massive stroke and less than 12 hours later she died. I called the hospice nurse and after she filled out the death certificate and the doctor signed. I then called the funeral home and they came to take for cremation.
I miss my mom. We had our differences but we did love each other.
If you have a mom be sure to let her know you love her.
She was born into the poverty of The Depresssion. Her mom was struggling with 8 kids and a husband that had walked away too many times to count. Her father was a wood cutter, a native american who happened to be dating her mom at the time. Her mixed heritage was something that was not looked on as a plus. From her early days in school she remembered the kids calling her "Indian squaw papoose" because if her long black hair that was in braids. She left home at 13 to work caring for the children of a wealthy family in Ellsworth. She never went back home till after she graduated from high school. In high school she met my father who had graduated a few years earlier and was driving taxi. They went through a storm courtship and broke up for a time when my father left for WWII. Upon returning from the service they got back together and married. My father then left for school in Chicago under the G.I. Bill at Coyne Electrical School. He returned and I was born and we became a family.
My grandma gave my dad a piece of land and he proceeded to build our first home. It was a small 4 room house. All I can remember was it never was completely finished with exposed studs in the interior walls and bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It was my home till 1953 when my dad came home one day and announced he had bought a house in a nearby town called Franklin. My dad had a habit of doing things like that.
We moved into our new home just in time for me to start school. My dad was a mechanic and my mom was the wife who stayed at home.
I remember my mom because it was her who taught me about the great outdoors. She took me fishing. We picked berries. She taught me about the edible plants in the Maine woods. She was always preserving food for the winter. She would grow a large garden so that she could can one jar of food for every day of the week for the coming year. She was definitely a depression child and used those skills to keep us fed no matter what the circumstances. It was in spring of 1959 my dad spring another surprise. He decided that we were moving west... like California. I guess watching the Rose Parade on TV that year was what started it. For that summer we sold stuff. By thanksgiving weekend we hit the road west. Mom didn't say much but I could tell she wasn't happy. She told me before she passed that at that point she almost divorced my dad.
We arrived in California in December 1959. My dad got work. We moved quickly from an apartment to a new home. Mom got her first job. Me and my sister basically took care of ourselves for a time.
My patents stuck it out for many years until my dad decided to retire at 56 years old. He did do a good job of financial planning and a quickly inflating real estate market made it all possible. They built their place in Anza.
My dad's retirement in 1976 almost produced a duvorce. In fact after getting the place finished he up and moved back to Orange County. My mom fought this and eventually they reconciled.
They lived together in harmony till 2003 when it became apparent that my dad was ill. He was diagnosed with Sporadic Kreutzfeld Jacob disease, a disease marked by brain cells dying. He quickly started losing memory and I helped my mom cope with his erratic behavior. He quickly went from an 80 year old man to become an 8 year old child. He passed away in June if that year. My mom was devastated.
The next few years were marked with my mom's battles with cancer. She underwent chemo and surgeries and was well on her way to being a survivor. It was in 2009 she got bad news. The cancer had returned and she had her last surgery. She was too weak for chemo (she refused it anyway) and I retired to care for her in Anza.
We had a love/hate relationship. She was stubborn and getting senile. She had Parkinson's disease and that complicated things. It was tough. I had promised my dad I'd care for her and so I resigned myself to that task. With her health fading and her mind slowly fading it was a difficult task. Finally in 2011 we entered the final chapter. She broke her hip and was hospitalized. During recovery she decided to give up living and after a very lucid discussion I chose to give her home hospice. For a few days I worked hard to prepare the house and to equip the room that would be her final resting place. For about two months I was on duty 24/7 to keep her pain free and clean. I was the one changing the diapers and the bedding. For those months I slept little. Finally death made a visit. There was a massive stroke and less than 12 hours later she died. I called the hospice nurse and after she filled out the death certificate and the doctor signed. I then called the funeral home and they came to take for cremation.
I miss my mom. We had our differences but we did love each other.
If you have a mom be sure to let her know you love her.
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