 |
| Diane and Anna's 88th Birthday, Christmas Day 2012 |
 |
| Harry and Diane, Christmas Day 2012 |
Our condo is fabulous--totally redecorated, two bedrooms, and a walk-around patio/balcony that provides a stunning view of the entire beach and the evening sunsets. We love it. Our views are breathtaking. Walking the beach is our major recreational activity and we have run into friends from San Francisco, Downers Grove, Normal, Moline, and Hinsdale. The Western "connection" is amazing, far-flung, and deep. We wear our WIU t-shirts (we have a couple), and people we've never met even come up and introduce themselves. This truly is a beautiful part of the world with countless friendly people.
My major task each day is to walk and then walk some more. I take my first one between 5:30 and 6 a.m. and then a couple of more with Diane later in the morning and again in mid-afternoon. As you can imagine, this means I am feeling like my "old self." I can eat anything and as long as I have water at the table can manage eating with no difficulty as long as I concentrate on eating and not talking which is a stretch for me. Taste buds work better, maybe in the 60% range, but that is a vast improvement from when everything tasted like cardboard. Progress remains slow but steady and that is what I was told to expect from day one.
Now, back to the beach. At 6 in the morning the beach is not crowded. Actually, I have it to myself, just me and my thoughts which yes, can be a dangerous combination. My parents both have birthdays coming up and Dad would be 98 and Mom 90 but alas they are both gone: Dad at 74 and Mom at the way too young age of 47. Diane is the lucky one here as Dad Paulsen is 90 and Mom 88. Grandpa (Harry) suffers from severe dementia that is a terrible malady both for the sufferer and loved ones. Grandma (Anna) enjoys good health in an assisted living complex. I thought about all this the other day in terms of how each of us deals with our parents and how well do we really know them?
I came back from my walk and posed the question to my wife, "Diane, how old were you when you really knew your Mom?" She looked at me and I could tell she was thinking: "Now where did he come up with that one?" We began a dialogue and first we discussed her dad. Harry Paulsen was never a great conversationalist or communicator, but he was a man who unselfishly devoted his entire life to his family. I don't know if any of his children ever sat down and really got into his mind as he was a quiet and introspective soul and just didn't talk much about himself. I knew all I really needed to know about him, when on his 80th birthday, at a party in his honor, I asked, "Buddy, (my favorite name for him), how do you feel about all the friends and family who are here to celebrate your birthday?" He responded, "This is the happiest day of my life." That's Harry Paulsen, the salt of the earth and a real treasure but did anyone ever really get to know him? I wonder.
The conversation moved to my dad who was known to all of us as "the great communicator." He loved people; he loved to talk. Not too good on the financial end of life but fortunate for me, my best friend on this planet. We had simpatico which is that relationship that exists between two people and they don't need to talk to communicate. They can just feel the mutual bond between each other. Doc Taylor and I talked for hours and I heard all the stories. I learned that at Parker High School in Chicago, his coach, Nate Wasserman would throw chairs at his players to get their attention. We both laughed when he recounted the time in Galena where he was an optometrist that the famous band leader Harry James showed up at Dad's office for an optical adjustment as the band was on their way to perform in Dubuque, Iowa. If nothing else, my dad was a bit of an extrovert, and he called my unsuspecting Mom to tell her he was on his way home with the famous Harry James Band and would she prepare a little lunch. My Mom laughed until the bus pulled up to 624 Hill Street but Connie managed to pull it off and everyone got fed and the band was on its way. Needless to say, next time my parents were in Chicago, it was a complimentary front row table at the Edgewater Beach Hotel to listen to the sounds of Harry James and his band.
We had deep conversations as well, particularly as it related to Mom's battle with tuberculosis and my parents’ long-standing battle with financial insolvency that they ultimately won at great personal sacrifice. I knew my dad as well as any son could, and if I didn't get questions about the course his life took, the blame is on me.
It was time to move the discussion to my mom and the question I posed from that walk on the beach hit me in the face when Diane asked, "Gord, did you ever get to really know your mom?" My response saddened me when I confronted the reality that no, I never really got to discover who Connie Pranger was. I need to be fair here as her younger brother, the wonderful Uncle Bill, has done his best to fill in the gaps for me over the years but there is so much I don't know. Mom loved all four of her sons and was highly protective of us, but she was dead when I was only 23. My friends thought she was my sister (Connie Taylor was a looker) when I brought them home after school; she spent time in a TB Sanitarium when I was in high school; and she attended my college graduation at Western. But then I got married, moved to Florida, went to graduate school and "poof," she was gone. I never got to learn of her dreams, her goals, her trials and tribulations like wanting to go to college and not being able to because the money just wasn't there. I had a terrific Mom. I just wish I'd had the opportunity to know her better.
We finally made it to Diane and her mom. Diane was at a bit of an advantage as we'd talk about our other three parents and in the process she'd had time to give the original question some thought. "So when," I inquired, "did you know Grandma?" She replied in a steady and confident voice, "I'd say I was 35." Who would ever think that was possible? It took her until age 35 to know this woman, how could that be? As we spoke, it all fell into place. As a kid we are growing up, our parents have other kids to raise, bills to pay, and we go about our own business of navigating through life going to high school, maybe college, marrying, starting our own families and charting our own path through life.
At some point, she began the process of getting to really know her mom, not just as her mother but Anna Arnoldsen Paulsen, the woman. As an observer, I don't think the process will ever be complete. Diane and Grandma talk almost daily and I can see and hear the excitement and anticipation in Diane's voice and on her face. These phone calls and personal visits are not responsibilities on Diane's part but rather an opportunity to get to know an old friend better. They talk about Grandpa, parenting, finances, health care, family, and sometimes nothing much at all but somewhere simpatico has entered their unspoken vocabulary as well. These two women, 88 and 63 are best friends. Diane "feels" her Mom's deepest thoughts and vice versa. These two women allow one another to peer into each other's souls and they are no longer simply mother and daughter but two people who are totally comfortable sharing the richness of life as each sees it. Diane has asked Anna about her life. I envy Diane and her mom and am happy for their splendid friendship. Will Diane get all her questions answered, probably not, but when these two women meet on the "other side" I'm sure they will pick up right where they left off.
If you have stayed with me on this entry, there is a point to be made. For some of us, it is too late, our parents or other loved ones are gone but for those of you for whom that is not the case, now is the time to really get to know the people who helped make us who we are today.
As always your composition was great and also a deep "thinker". Mother was 91 when she left us to check on Dad and I still need to ask her questions. I still have something I want to talk about to her. Interesting.
ReplyDelete