Like other adult children with aging parents, my siblings and I were concerned when our mother insisted on remaining independent, refusing to live with any of her five children after our father died. She also vetoed our suggestion to sell the house in the country and move to an apartment in town. This was especially disconcerting after her diagnosis of cancer, but she was adamant that she could care for herself and, indeed, she fared rather well.
She could drive, and her 1968 Rambler carried her to the store for groceries, to church on Sunday and to visit her grandchildren in town. Her mind was alert, she had no difficulty handling her medications and she loved her neighborhood gatherings – especially the “snow parties” when they gathered at the Burtner’s farmhouse to share hot chocolate and swap stories of the past. Although her nearest neighbor, Mary Lou Burtner, lived a quarter mile away, she often dropped in for a visit. Mom always had the coffee pot on and usually produced a plate of homemade cookies or pound cake. We decided to stop badgering her to move. She was happy and safe, at least for the present.
One Sunday afternoon in early spring Mary Lou pulled into the driveway and parked behind Mom’s white Rambler. She was a bit surprised that Mom did not look out the kitchen window as she usually did when she heard a car enter the driveway. No one met her at the back door, and when she peered through the window, she saw Mom’s handbag on the kitchen table. The door was locked and no one came when she knocked. She tried the front door. Locked. The windows also refused to budge. Something was wrong and she felt helpless! Fearing that Mom had fallen or was seriously ill – or worse — , she rushed home and called my brother Clinton. (This incident occurred before cell phones!)
“Your mother’s car is in the driveway and her handbag is in the house, and the doors are all locked – It doesn’t look good! Do you have a key? Come and open the door. Maybe we can help her.”
Clinton called another brother, Danny, and they and their families headed for Mom’s house. In the meantime, Mary Lou spread the word to the other neighbors. Soon a half dozen cars clustered before the house and a crowd of nervous people, young and old, waited anxiously for Clinton to open the door.
Just as he prepared to open the door, another car approached the house and stopped. My mother, dressed in her best spring outfit, stepped out and strolled toward the waiting crowd.
“What’s going on?” she asked innocently. “Are we having a party?”
“Where have you been? We were worried sick.” Clinton’s voice revealed a mixture of relief and frustration – much like a parent who has worried and imagined terrible things until the child arrived at last, safe at home.
After all the hugging and expressions such as “So glad you’re okay!” “We were so afraid!” Mom explained. An old friend had called and asked if she would like to go to a church affair with her. She was delighted and dressed up while she waited for her friend to arrive. The warm spring weather inspired her to take her white bag instead of the drab winter one, which she left on the kitchen table. Her car and purse caused everyone to jump to conclusions.
“I’m sorry I gave you such a scare,” she said, “but this has been a special experience for me,” she continued. “How often does someone get to know how folks will react when she dies? Come on inside – I have a fresh pound cake and I’ll make a pot of coffee!”
Her friends and family did come together again several years later. We laughed and cried as we remembered. I think my mother knew.
By Mary Jo Shannon [email protected]
