Monday, October 24, 2016

Flatulent Romeos

It’s been a long time since I have made an entry into this blog.  My mother, 87 years old and 73 pounds heavy, has been struggling more and more with her cognition.  The ability to remember snippets of conversation that passed just 30 seconds ago has been increasingly difficult for her.  Physically, she no longer participates in her routine of walks and Tai Chi. The stairway up to her room has become more and more formidable.

Recently however, she has been telling more stories.   They are not as organized as they once were in the telling, but they still are part of the family legacy…

After your father died I was very sad, in mourning for many months.  Before he passed, he was acutely aware that his time was coming to an end, and he told me that I should think about getting remarried after he was gone.  “Are you crazy?!” I scolded him.  “If you keep up with that kind of talk, I’m going to punch you!”  He laughed in reply.  “You’ve never hit me in all our years together and I know you never will.”  But he dropped the subject, knowing how sensitive I was to these thoughts.

Remarry???  I hadn’t given it any thought.  We had been married for over 43 years and I couldn’t imagine sharing a life with another man.

It was only a few short weeks after your father died that the visits and calls began.  They were from the single men from the same Benevolent Association to which your father belonged.  I remember one particular man who came to the house and stayed for a few hours.  I finally told him that I needed him to leave.  He replied, “You and I make a good couple.  We should get married soon.”

You know that I never use profanity.  But at that point I was erupting in anger.  “Close your flatulence-filled mouth and go wash it out before you utter another word in my direction!!!  Get out!!!  Now!!!”  He couldn’t seem to leave quickly enough.

There were others as well.  Some came to the house and I would not respond to the doorbell. Just peeking out from the side window curtains to screen every visitor.  Others would call.  It was so bad that at one point I screamed, “Never call here again!  And don’t ever try to come to my house!  I have a gun and if you try to come I will shoot you dead!”  Of course I never owned a gun and never even shot one, but I was so mad at their presumptuousness.  I knew that your father and I had a reputation for being financially well off due to his hard work over so many years.  I knew that they were mainly interested in the money.


Hearing this story for the first time made my blood boil as if it was happening now and not something that occurred 22 years ago.  “I do have a gun.” I thought.  “A lot of them, in fact.  And I’m a pretty good shot.”  I’m glad that I wasn’t aware of the situation back then.