Fixin' Things

You know, lately I begin to understand some of the problems my mom had...

I guess she was a little older than I am now. I was a teenager, maybe about 16. It was summer, and damn hot. We lived in an old two-story house, and it had two window air conditioners, one in the living room, which was supposed to cool the main part of the house, and one in my old bedroom, which was supposed to take care of the bedrooms and bathroom. Well, one day I was walking from the bathroom to my room upstairs, and there's no way to the rest of the house from there except through a bedroom. I decided to take the short route through my old room... you know... get a cool breeze on the way up to my oven... I found my mom curled up on the bed, crying her eyes out, the sobs racking her frail, thin body. I asked her what was wrong. Her answer? "I just feel whipped." I sat with her a while and rubbed her back. She didn't say anything more to me, just wept. I never got to the bottom of it then, and I don't know that I even had the capacity to understand then, even if she'd tried to explain it. I was too young, not enough living under my belt, not enough responsibility on my shoulders. I think I understand it now, though, and I wish I could've done something more for her, something to make things a little easier, something more to lighten her load. Yet I know now that there would have been nothing I could've done differently or better. I know there are some things you just can't 'fix', much as you'd like to. Sometimes, all you can do is cry it out.

100 Years

I know a lady who, in a few weeks, will have lived 100 years.

Wow. Just soak that in a minute, born in the summer of 1906. 100 years. A whole century.

Mary made it through the perils of childhood diseases and that nasty flu epidemic without immunizations or antibiotics. She made it through the rough times of the depression and two world wars, McCarthy, Vietnam. But she's been around for some amazing things, too. She had the opportunity to witness Halley's comet, twice. The planet Pluto was discovered in her lifetime. Men have walked on the moon, and we've landed a rover on Mars. Why, I'd imagine that she could be a walking, talking history book, if ever you needed one. We young folks could find out what it was like to live without plastic and electricity, and all the sundry devices we take for granted now, to include telephones, radios, televisions, refrigerators, automobiles, and air conditioning. In the 100 years she's been around, old diseases have been irradicated, and new ones, often even more lethal, discovered. Dr. Alzheimer identified the brain condition bearing his name the very year Mary was born.

Mary, thankfully, is still vibrant and alert as ever. No Alzheimer's plagues her. She's been a caring mother, grandmother, and great grandmother, aunt, great aunt, and cousin all, or most, her life...for years the much loved and respected matriarch of her large extended family, of which I am merely a small part. This woman has traveled the world (to include riding a camel on safari in the last decade or so), and continues to remain active and involved. All who have ever known her are blessed for the experience, whether they know it or not. And most of us know it.

You know, I've heard the cliche's about the kind of folks that live long lives. "Only the good die young." "So-and-so is too mean to die." Now, most cliches are cliches because they contain more than a grain of truth. But, Mary... well... she goes against that particular grain. I've never witnessed her be anything but kind, gracious, and life-loving. She is an inspiration to the rest of us to live fully to the last breath.

Come to think of it, I think maybe Mary has lived so long, not out of meanness, though some mischief is still in her eyes... She's still around because she's one of those who is filled with life, and her very enjoyment and love of it is what has kept that life force replenished. We could all learn a lesson from Mary.