* * *
April
13, 1944
My Dearest
Wife,
Glad
to hear you had Mrs. Herman down for supper. The “War Widows” get together, is
that what you call it? I shouldn’t write like that, but it seems so wrong that
you should be there and me be here, with you worrying and fretting about me.
About
this summer, I definitely want you to come up here. I haven’t changed my mind a
bit. I might have two days off in May. Would you want to meet me in Chicago or
shall I come home? I want to be with you, but sometimes I’m afraid to come
home. So many guys have gone overseas and I’m still here. It makes me feel like
a heel.
Darling,
I love you with all my heart, and dear, our living together will be the most
wonderful thing in the world.
Good
night my darling.
Love
XXXXXXX
Your
husband forever and ever,
Ed
* * *
Dad’s 90th
birthday approached in early December of 2009. Ann and I decided to have a 90th
birthday celebration for both of them, even though Mom’s 90th
birthday wouldn’t have been until June. Most of our family was able to be in
town for the Thanksgiving weekend, so we had the party on that Saturday
afternoon, and invited a few of Ed and Ibby’s life-long friends. Leading up to
this party, had been a busy holiday weekend. Ann and I had cooked a turkey,
hosted a Thanksgiving meal, entertained company, had houseguests, traveled here
and there, and tended to Mom and Dad’s needs.
So, we tried to
make this party as no-fuss as possible. We flew through the grocery to pick up
the food, drinks, cake, and paper products just a couple of hours before people
were to arrive.
As I hurried
around setting up food, drinks, and a computer slideshow, guests and family
began to arrive. Ann brought Mom in her reclining wheelchair and Dad with his
walker as we all cheered and sang “Happy Birthday.” They reacted like surprised
children.
Dad sat at a table
with his friend Johnny, my father-in-law, and a former coworker. I could tell
Dad felt like a man, just to be sitting with these peers. He sat up straight,
smiled, and chuckled in the right places during the conversation. However, the
conversation took place around him. He couldn’t think, or form words fast
enough to contribute, but he sure enjoyed the company.
The women gathered
around Mom since she was immobile and couldn’t speak. They clucked and fussed
over her. Maggie, Mom’s dear friend from Rivertown, had made fudge. Mom let a
tiny tidbit roll around in her mouth.
The computer
slideshow of pictures of Ed and Ibby ended up to be a great diversion from the
reality of the situation. Looking at the pictures kept laughter and
conversations going. Guests were gracious, but uncomfortable because Ibby and
Ed were no longer the people they’d known just a few short years before. One
couple honestly said they needed to leave because it was too hard to see Ed and
Ibby in their current state.
Mom and Dad were
happy to have people around celebrating, even if they weren’t quite sure what
they were celebrating. It was kind of like a party for young children, maybe
even toddlers, who didn’t have the ability to understand what all the fuss was
about. A picture of our parents taken that day shows their hands held high over
their heads cheering about having birthdays. For some of the grandchildren,
this was the last time they saw their grandma alive.
During January and
February, Mom became progressively weaker, her physical body waning. Dad was
unaware Mom was slowly dying; he was just happy to be with her. Annette came again
in mid-January for their sixty-sixth wedding anniversary. Ed and Ibby remained
smiling and grateful. However, Ann and I knew death would come to Mom soon.
During a weekend
visit at the end of February, I noticed Mom was not able to eat the little
pieces of candy I’d used to entice her for the past few months, instead she’d
roll the candy in her mouth, but use her tongue to push it out of her mouth
without swallowing. Things were grim.
On Friday of that week, we had a snow
day from school because of a near blizzard the night before. I received a phone
call in the late afternoon from The Lodge informing me Mom had lost her
swallowing reflex and could not take in food or fluid.
I couldn’t get out
of the driveway until a neighbor came with a tractor to plow. By coincidence,
Tim called, and I told him what was happening. He came home, and we forged
through the snow to see Mom and Dad that evening. As we walked into the unit, I
could tell aides were very worried about Mom. A couple of favorite aides were
clustered around patting her, and quipping little jokes to make her smile. They
were bringing happiness, comfort, and peace as they knew her life was ending.
She was snuggled under a fleecy blanket in the reclining
wheelchair. Dad was sitting at her side patting her hand. Mom smiled at me and
tried to talk with a raspy voice. She gave me sweet, faint kisses. I still
remember how wispy they felt on my cheek. Dad enjoyed the laughing and
sweetness. He leaned over the arm of her wheelchair and kissed Mom as though
they were honeymooners. I took video of that last tender kiss. I haven’t been
able to watch it since.
Two days later on
Sunday, my daughter and I went to see Mom. Mom was joyful to see her
granddaughter. She tried to whisper. My daughter leaned close. I don’t know if she
understood what Mom was trying to say. I’ve never asked. My daughter received
Mom’s last conscious kiss...
