Posts filed under ‘Mothers’
Jan 3rd,2019- Mystic/Magic – Chris Ritchey
Another year dawns, this past one has not been pleasant for the most part. No further answers to the question we all really want to know what happens after our body fails. Is there an “essence of life” that continues? The life “energy” that makes us unique to ourselves , can that be destroyed , gone, obliterated ?
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/energy-can-neither-be-created-nor-destroyed/
Questions that have been asked and answered in various religious beliefs for a few thousand years. But , when you get right down to it you won’t really know till your own body fails. YOU KNOW, my darling Chris, my mum – now knows.
Mum and Balcony
Mum, who lived a full 99 years, a voracious reader, travelled , lived in three different countries, met hundreds of people of varying walks of life. She would listen to the religious leaders, watch them on the Sunday shows, in her youth questioned them at length. In her last days she would talk to the Hospice Nurses as to their belief as to what would happen but she had no answers in even those last days .
As I sat beside her , holding her hand , watching and trying to ease her final “body life” moments , there was no answer for me, she and her life energy slipped quietly away. The same with you -although hooked up to machines , but by the time they disconnected you I already knew you had left hours before. Somehow, a mother knows when her child is no longer with her, at least I did.
Photo source https://www.mushroom-appreciation.com/the-story-of-fairy-rings-has-always-intrigued-me.
We all so need the mystic and magic, hope that there is more somehow to our world, my thoughts segued to my earliest beliefs and tiny child’s belief in fairies.
I lay awake in today’s very early hours, wracking my poor brain as to who first told me about magic and fairies and a world beyond that had nothing to do with religion, that came later when my mother would drag me to church in Canada.
I couldn’t for the life of me remember , it was as if I had always known about the possibility of a “magical” realm I so wanted to believe in. As a tiny tot I would play for hours in the garden rockery ( rock gardens were a staple part of the garden and the place where fairies loved to dwell) building fairy homes, looking for fairy circles in the morning dew, positive they existed and wanting to catch a glimpse. I told my children about fairies and then my grandchildren ( before they got to the age when they think I am dotty).
I went back in my mind , trying so hard to remember my grandmothers telling me stories of fairies . No, the one used to recite romantic and adventurous poems and tell stories of unrequited love. Mum’s mother , tired and worn from life, would tell me stories of the happenings of her children, my father- science fiction, space aliens and travels to the stars. My mum never told me fairy stories, so who? And then it dawned , my reprobate of a “grandfather”. A memory from the mist, taking down a saucer of milk whilst everyone in the house was asleep, woken from my tiny bed, slipper-less feet, cold on the tiled kitchen floor quietly putting the saucer down for the hedgehogs as they carried the fairies to dance in the moonlight.
I realize now, he was drunk again probably , he was an inebriate that is for certain. I supposed going through the trenches in France and being a professional soldier he may have had some issues we would recognize today.
Fairies a gift from Chris
All I do know , is that as angering and annoying he was to the rest of the family and his children- HE was the one who came home with kittens and the odd baby rabbit or two in his pockets for me, flowers from his flowers shop , never were his pockets empty , little gifts. He taught me to love the flowers in the garden and only pick certain ones , to leave the blue bells ( the fairy flowers) in the woods.
As I lay there in the half light of a New year my mind wandered to when he was he was in hospital, I had only been married a few weeks, we went to see him . He woke long enough to squeeze my hand and say ”
I can go now- “maggot” ( his nickname for me ) I have seen you.
We left the hospital and on the short ride home I could still feel the pressure of his hand and I knew before we got to my Aunt’s house he had gone without her having to tell me. He had said goodbye and with him went his “magic”, given to me only ??? and a memory of an old man , not well loved who shared a bit of the mystique of this world.
One memory triggers another and I was back in your hospital room your stats were fluctuating , nurses and techs adjusting machines and then your hand squeezed mine so hard – I didn’t know what you were trying to tell me but I think I do now……. you were saying goodbye ……..
But then the magic of you continues……….
Dec 3rd- crumbling walls- Chris Ritchey
Although I write about you every 3rd day of every month as a way to release my grief, love of you and so you are not forgotten, December 3rd is looming. The dying days that start at Thanksgiving – the day I sat alone in the waiting room as you were put on the vent. I relive that day and that intensive care waiting room every year dreading I won’t be able to hold myself together amidst all the joy of turkey , pumpkins, pies and laughter.
The circus that ensued that terrible Thanksgiving Day at the Cleveland Clinic thanks to “those others” (Lombardi) who finally came to “wait”, share dry turkey and cold mashed potatoes and discuss recipes whilst you were fighting for your life sickens me still. I could never understand their reactions of party hearty , picnic time- it is a wonder they didn’t bring celebratory wine. Respect and kindness to your family as we tried to deal with the losing of you certainly wasn’t on their menu .
artwork Chris Ritchey
It starts with Thanksgiving , the defense walls are reinforced , more to protect others from the volatile emotions that are churning within me. They deserve and need their happiness, they need not be reminded of dying days. I so wish I was strong, I am not.
These days leading up to the day you died leave me , even after the years of trying to train myself to avoid the trigger moments, weak and bereft of control. I had a relative who used to take to their bed when there were situations they couldn’t handle. There is no respite for me there in amongst the down pillows. I lay awake fighting down the emotional agony of remembrance of those days .Finally exhaustion will bring sleep but the mind continues and all the building of walls to keep my emotions and thoughts in check are breached. Down pillows become wet with tears.
Honestly I don’t know how my heart has kept beating, there are times choking back sobs I can’t breathe. but your beautiful sister and two little boys whose excitement at the season acts as an antidote enabling me once again to bear the unbearable.
Your Chris Miss presents to Gavin and Braedyn will once again be delivered and I will reinforce the walls ….. I love and miss you every day but December 3rd will find the walls tumbled into nothing and I will hide from the world until I can function again.
Artwork Chris Ritchey
“Heartbreak is a heavy burden to carry as a soul weakens” I love you Chris
The Dance ended- the room emptied- Mum 2018
Will you write about me? What will you say? You won’t forget me ?
Yes mum I will write about you , but not an obituary after all how could I put into 200 or at the most 450 words the life lived for 99 years ? I could fill that space with just the last 5 months. I did write a special post on your 97th birthday which covered some highlights of your life
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/02/10/in-the-pink-97-years-and-counting-mum/
“My mum is gentle , sweet, never sees the bad in people ( sometimes a failing), can bake for Britain, loves people with a depth beyond knowing, always makes excuses for their not so nice behavior, and has a strength to her that has sustained her for 97 years.
I don’t know what I will say I never know until I sit down at the keyboard but I am sure nothing I can write can do you justice to people who do not know you or know you well.
You won’t write the bad bits will you? I didn’t put the bad bits in my book
Cover Design Chris Ritchey
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/09/12/long-time-passing-gone-to-fighting-everyone/
“ROY ( my father) was on leave from the Navy for 4 days. He phoned on the Sunday and we were to be married by special license in the little church on the Ridgeway , Mill Hill on the Monday.
What a day for a wedding France had surrendered and our guests were more concerned with the war news”
SOURCE
After the reception we left Roy’s home to “go away” Where? we had no idea . Uncle Jack had kindly lent us the Humber. As he stood at the door waving us off he said: “You look such a couple of kids no one will take you in” I was silent as we sped along the great North Way – this was June and the last time I had seen Roy was the previous Christmas when we became engaged”https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/09/17/long-time-passing-gone-to-fighting-everyone-part-three/
I promise I won’t add to what I have already written and you have already seen and read. I have written reams about you every birthday for the past 10 years, your life with us, I will not add to what has already been written of those times . BUT mum those bad bits and terrible times were your finest hours the adversity and pain you faced showed your absolute courage and strength of purpose.
‘No , not the bad bits that only you know…
Ok mum but what about the artist that wanted to paint you nude?
NO certainly not I only found out in time he wanted to paint my breasts as a back splash for the hot and cold taps in his kitchen .
There are hundreds of people all over this world whose lives you touched in your 99 years. You always found the good in even those that hurt you and caused life changes , you were so different from myself. I could never forgive those that caused you pain. I did put up with at least one of them for your sake, you never made or wanted fuss and confrontation.
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/09/26/what-are-they-thinking-the-thought-process-stops-here/
The only people you never forgave was the Tim and Sue Lombardi clan and their offspring ( Angela Lombardi ( Ritchey) Murphy, ( she has a steel rod up her back were your words just a few days ago , very cold) so unlike you but they caused this family great hurt and in your words were unconscionably cruel to your loved ones in the passing of your long-awaited grandson Chris .
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/10/14/an-open-letter-mama-sue-lombardi/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/12/04/dec-4th-how-cold-is-cold-lombardi/
It was the only time you didn’t tell me to “forget and forgive”, probably knowing as well that is never going to happen.
No mum we will never forget you , you were a stabilizing force in all our lives, kind to a fault, funny even in those last days trying to bring a smile to those having to watch the Danse Macabre .
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2018/10/03/oct-3rd-danse-macabre-chris-ritchey/
You were always so worried that you would have to go into a home,
“I am not afraid of dying it is what you have to die with that worries me”
She hated the thought of a long drawn out death that she would not be in her own bed. and would be surrounded by strangers . I promised her that she would remain with us in this house, in her own bed and she would always be clean and her bedding fresh but there was nothing I could do about the months it took for her to slowly disappear . She hated the loss of her independence , such an independent little soul, not to be able to contribute to the work load around here but was adding to it .
Mum tried every day to “help” even when her little body was less than 60 lbs.
Finally came the days when she was bedridden and needed help to do the simplest task such as eat or drink, no longer having the strength . No longer could she sit among the flowers on her balcony , only viewing through the window in her bedroom. She did not deserve to have to wait for her death this way and I am angry that she lost the things in dying what she so treasured in life, privacy, independence but I tried my utmost to give her the dignity she so deserved that was denied my son, in that at least Nikki and I succeeded.
“I am so tired, exhausted, I know I won’t see those little boys grow up , I love them so much they are held in my heart , make sure you tell them. Make sure they always have a Christmas present from me.
My mum made her arrangements in 1992- and nothing changed -she once again thought of others even those long years ago , just as she had made life easier for me as her daughter in life , she did so as she passed. I got to hold her hand , sing her the songs of my childhood , songs she sang to me to quiet my bad dreams or pain hoping that it would help calm her journey and take away the fear we all must face. She slipped past me quietly without fuss or drama , her granddaughters words of love bringing a quiet smile.
No mum we won’t forget you , how could we you are in your granddaughter’s eyes, Braedyn’s laugh and Gavin’s kind heart……………..You are in the collective memory of nieces nephews, some of whom are in their 70’s and 80’s whom you knew and held as babies, who came to stay with you over the years, of friends who became family…… as for me I cherish your spirit and always will……. til we meet again……..
A mother understands what her child does NOT say
Oct. 3rd -Danse Macabre- Chris Ritchey
Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin /Source Once again, I am locked into a performance with death. I am exhausted and angry as I watch this thief of life steal everything that is and was your Nana and my mum, just as I stood helpless as you too were locked into this grim dance of reality that faces us all.
The purloiner of life has taken the light from her blue eyes, made them red ringed and pale, her smile just a memory , as she waits , she has disappeared within her own body as it stubbornly clings to life and the loved ones around her . She is caught between the notes as the music of death is played, no longer having the strength to walk , sit or feed herself without help , her pride of independence, privacy, modesty gone , slowly drained buy the vampiric interloper and yet it seems that is not enough- still the dance partner of death continues the performance, sapping her of what is left of her , cruel in its movements as the tune reels and swirls, no respite or quarter given.
The difference with you, my darling son there was another dance partner , who lent strength to my body and soul- that of HOPE. Hope was my partner, the hours of driving, the meals, the days and nights of care, the medicines , doctors and trials would work . Parallel days with the dance I am once again intertwined , unable to find escape cold grasping fingers refusing to let me go, crushing my heart. Another August, September , October and the dance continues , the music raucous and disjointed – a cacophony of jarring notes , breaking the peace.
October 3rd , the last time you were home with your family, filled with hope that Houston would be the answer to stopping the dance, but hope, although strong in our hearts, was not enough to combat the “danse macabre” …… and now once again the robber of life has entered our home and our very beings..
and ripped from us joy , hope and laughter. I love you Chris and I know you will be here for your Nana as this final dance ends…………
Chris Ritchey Source
July 3rd – Life Changes- Chris Ritchey
Regular readers will notice that for the past weeks the only posts have been my promised ” I will write as best I can your story , Chris” until there is a closure…..…
Oh! there have been plenty of things happening in this neighborhood, this city , the state and country and even the world that would set my fingers flying in years and months gone by.
I have reached a place of “sigh” everything seems to be too much to bear, too much to handle and apathy has set in. One of the reasons is life changes ,here in this house and the losing of a wonderful friend, Paula Tobias. Death and dying – I am so tired of watching those I love die by increments with nothing I can do or say to make a difference.
I am at war with death in the form of a bird- a huge Blue Heron who found the pond.
He has become my angel of death silently swooping down , waiting , watching to strike. As beautiful as he is , he is now the enemy . I wait for him in the mornings and late evening since I first saw him a month ago. He has no fear, intent on reigning havoc upon the habitat in the pond whether it is fish or frogs .
The pond where you put my Mother’s Day present – the “Ghost Koi “ that very last time .
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/the-ghost-in-the-pond/
The koi is huge, a good 24 inches , he glides stealth like through the water. I was surprised this Ghost Koi , no larger than the span of my hand when you released that May day, has become the size he has . I guess I should have researched him – As I read about this Ghost Koi, I had a funny feeling YOU did research his characteristics and thought it would be funny to land your mother with a giant fish, somehow it fitted with your sense of humour. Big fish little pond !
“Jumbo sized Koi grow up to 34 to 36 inches long and 40Lbs . Does the size of the pond hinder a Koi’s growth? The size of a pond will not stop a Koi from growing. The size of the pond, along with other factors like health, feeding, water temperature and water quality affect the speed of their growth.
https://www.koiacres.com/koi/faq.html
The Heron killed at least two of the large gold-fish before I could act.
I quickly purchased a Heron net to put over the pond, in the 4 decades we have had the pond we never had a problem , it was intentionally built deep with steep sides to keep away the critters. This latest pond you dug for me , moaning all the time as I remember.
I have watched, as this beautiful angel of death circles , lands silently , he and I watching the other , the net raised higher , road blocks of obstacles put in so he can’t find a place to “fish”. He has gotten through the net , knocked down the supports , there is no giving up with this bird.
He adjusts his flight path and landings, picks his moment .
He waits in the early mornings on the roof of the surrounding garages and homes, leaving his calling card , looking for a way through the netting and me.
He was here at 5:30 am this morning, this bringer of death, haughty and proud but like death I too can wait , a Mothers’ Day Koi has become more than just another fish………
I would like to think your “Ghost Koi” will continue and I can at least do something to save it from this particular ‘Angel of Death”- our love of you never fades or dies…….
May 3rd- Words are all I have- Chris Ritchey
Words- text- communication through a written language. Reading was always difficult for you as a little boy you were at the beginning of a local failing school system. A system that had to show progress, so although you had the extra classes , they passed you through as completing their grant driven reading programs. It wasn’t until the 5th grade we found out , when I had you privately tested, just how bad the problem was. Three years of catch-up and a change to private education.
Those years were hard for you , you thought you must be “stupid”. However, you also developed a skill of communicating “visually” . Eventually reading caught up with your ability to use your art to communicate. You found a niche for your talent at Lorain County Community College https://www.lorainccc.edu/
and on the advice of the college you transferred to Cleveland Institute of Art
artwork Chris Ritchey
It was at the students art show at Cleveland Institute of Art , I was looking at some of your designs etc. I noticed a couple of mistakes in the text. I spoke to the your instructor that evening about the mistakes in the text. He looked at me and said :
“that is not a problem , we can teach and correct spelling etc. what I can’t teach is what your son has, his ability , creativity and talent. I will give a an assignment to the group – “come up with three different advertising concepts on a given product/ client within a week” – Chris, will come back within two days with 10 entirely different takes. I can’t teach that……
Eventually you gained a position as Art Director for Wyse Advertising .
Apparently , according to your boss at the time, you were poised to do great things in advertising … we will never know…. but Wyse were wonderful to you during that terrible time of your illness.
I do remember that first year you worked for Wyse you were asked to do the ad for them in the annual “Torchlight” Membership Directory
The monthly AAF-Cleveland Portfolio features the latest in industry development and trends, association insights and updates, and achievements of local members. “Torchlight,” our annual membership directory, is an invaluable “Who’s Who” reference manual of members, agencies, and services in Cleveland advertising.
The directory was in your portfolio and the ad………. text, words …….. “scan of the full-page ad that appeared in the Torchlight”
Artwork Christopher Ritchey
But there aren’t any words that were so important as the last words you wrote to me – even with the spelling mistake…….I carry them with me every day
Mother’s Day is coming, once again tinged with tears and bitter-sweet ———– I love you…………I need to finish writing the book if I can find the words
August 3rd- continuation- Chris Ritchey
You would think after all this time I would run out of things to share about you and the fact you lived but as life “continues” I find, far from being at a loss to find subject matter , everyday continues with you .
Recently, another mother wondered about whether people felt she should be “over her grief by now” another if there is a time limit to being broken?
Because we are broken, and the pieces of us are held together with a very tenuous glue. The slightest “wobble of a memory “ entering into one’s day can see us picking up the pieces and trying to put ourselves back together in order to be on “life’s display”, hoping those we meet , work and socialize with will not notice the cracks. Broken can make people uncomfortable, because they too are not immune from losing a son or a daughter and we are constant reminders that can happen.
As your Nana is “transitioning” and I am once again “caring” with cooking special foods, diets, changing sheets every couple of days and giving medications ( you too were prescribed) the glue is hardly doing its job most days. It is probably a good thing I am not interacting with people at the moment because I am not handling being broken in “two” .
What little patience and tolerance I had before this latest life event has disappeared. I have become selfish with my time and energy. Telemarketers have found that to call me subjects them to a tirade of “language” not generally associated with one of my age and upbringing. They have become my relief valve, something I need, so I don’t shatter altogether.
As I looked on your Nana’s face this morning I was reminded of the charcoal drawing you made of her when she was 85 looking out of a window. She was quite annoyed. “Chris you made me look 95 not 85” but your artwork prophesied the future as today the portrait is a true likeness as she continues and slowly disappears from this world.
Loving you continues- being broken continues ….
photo -self -Chris Ritchey
August 2, 2018 at 10:58 pm 2 comments