Betty Ann Fisher

A fitting tribute to her memory—a statue struck in bronze? An impressive gravestone in the churchyard? Which of these shall I choose?

I think that I shall always remember her in the first bright flush of dawn, whenever I see a clump of Lilies of the Valley in a quiet glade, when the first Crocus peeks above the ground, in the scent of early Lilacs, when the first Robin makes his appearance, when the earth smells sweet after a summer shower, when the trees swish in a gentle breeze, when I hear a Bob White call.

When the smell of autumn is in the air, when the first frost sets the leaves aflame, when snowflakes fall from Heaven, and when the sunset comes. I’ll remember her when I hear the laughter of children at play or see nuns at prayer. When I hear a lullabye, when a music box tinkles a merry tune. Whenever I smell Violets, I’ll feel that she is near. And when the thaw sets free the mountain brooks and streams, I’ll think of her.

When church bells ring at Easter-tide, when Christmas carols are sung, when I see a cozy kitchen or a warm and glowing hearth, when a kettle sings on a stove, when the crickets chirp and when the stars come out.

Whenever I’m happy I’ll wish that she could share, and when I’m sad I’ll long for the comfort that only she could give. For my triumphs—if only she might prideful be and my faults could help correct. When someone else says, “Mother” I’ll remember mine.

We lived together in the same house and it is so eerie here without her. The house is so quiet without her. She was such a presence and that has been silenced now. Because it was her house, there are reminders of her everywhere, and each one I encounter can send me off into a deep crying jag. Since her stroke she was my main concern, and my whole life was geared to making sure she was happy. The days were filled with helping her dress, doctor’s appointments, home health aides, physical therapy, and assisting her with whatever she needed. My daily routine, or should I say lack of one now has left me utterly confused and bewildered. So much of my identity for almost 20 years has been caregiver to one or both of my parents.

I realize that in the plan of things we are all to lose our parents when we are alive, but when you live with someone almost your whole life and they are no longer in your living space it really hits you hard. When my brother died two years ago in Maine, it was easy to think we just haven’t seen him in a while. Yes I knew he was dead as I attended the wake and funeral, but his death did not affect my daily routine. Also, of course, I was not as close to him as I was to my Mom so that is probably why I am affected so deeply.

It is also a revelation that I am now the last remaining member of our family unit. I am not only mourning the loss of my Mom, but my whole family. There is now no one alive who remembers me as a young child. I am the keeper of my childhood now, and I can only remember so much myself! It is of no comfort to know that I am the next to die as well!

While I have mourned all my losses deeply, I was not as deeply connected to any who I have lost as I was to my Mom. We had this connection that was almost psychic and we complimented each other well. People who saw us together always commented on our unique relationship, as it was so obvious to those who met us together. With her death, it literally feels like I have lost a body part. I yearn to be whole again, but feel like I never will be now. When she died, I felt a part of me die that instant and while I can go on, I know that I will always be missing an important piece of me.

My partner,  friends, and family have been wonderful through this ordeal. They know how deeply close my mother and I were, and have been great checking in and up on me.  I can see they feel so helpless at times, as there really is no way to make me whole again. I cherish their love and their care that they give me at this time. Unfortunately for me I am no longer a religious person. I find no comfort when people tell me she is “in a better place,” “God needed her more,” “she is looking down on you,” or “she is reunited with your dad and brothers.” I believe she is dead and I will never see her again. These platitudes only help those who believe exactly as you do, and I find them more distressing than comforting. I also don’t appreciate when I tell you that she was 87, and I am told that “she lived a good life.” Yes she did, but she didn’t want to die and just because I had her for a long time doesn’t mean that it should be easier to deal with her loss…it makes it harder. Yes, I know I was lucky to have her for so long, but when someone dies you are missing them and not thinking how lucky you were. I am not angry or upset with anyone who expresses their concern for me and my loss. I know it is difficult to find the right words to express to someone when they suffer the death of a loved one, and I appreciate all who have made an effort who have done so. I am just amazed on how the words affect me.

I know I will go on, if there is one thing I learned from Mom it was how to endure tragedy. I feel sad when I want to, and happy when I can. At one month out though, I can see that this will be a long, slow process.

I am changed forever and I miss my Mom.

The Joke’s on Me

Each new day arising

is a thrill beyond compare.

I woke up this morning

and found I’m losing hair.

 Wrinkles are appearing

where dimples use to be,

and I found that squinting

makes it easier to see.

 Bloom on cheek is fading,

and my gait is getting slow.

A little hard of hearing,

just slightly deaf, you know.

 Could be I’ve started aging,

but I feel young inside,

still I could wake some morning,

and find that I have died!

All the rubble ’round me lies
All shot to Heck before my eyes.
The trigger’s bent on that big gun
He thinks I’ll buy another one
The poor stuffed dog has lost his nose
And someone stepped on the turtle’s toes.

He broke the pedal of the trike
The one I was so sure he’d like
The new rug’s all marked up with glue
Those Sparkle paints were something new
The power saw and bench were nice
But they’re all fouled up from slicing ice.

The chemistry set was just delightful
But the smell , my dear, was simply frightful
The test tubes are all broken now
There’s not much left from the awful row
Over who was going to eat the cake
That the small guy made with the Easy-Bake.

Santa’s gone for another year
I’ve had my fill of joy and cheer
In case he plans on coming back
He can take the things in his big pack
To someone else’s sons and nieces
Or else stay around to mend the pieces.

From the book, Please Delay Departure

Well if you have read this far, you truly have too much time on your hands, but I really appreciate it. I really enjoy the free flow thought of the blog and will probably write some articles about some inane things soon. I really miss it.

Well we made it home! It was a wonderful time and it was so much fun to have most of the family with us! I did O.K. with eating, but had a couple of times where I ate too big a piece of something and was sick for about an hour. It is hard to eat slowly when you are so excited to be someplace. The weather was beautiful and the parks were not that crowded which made the trip really nice. The weather is so cold back here! I am not ready for Winter…. or Fall for that matter!

See More Photos Here!