A Mothers Day Correlation

In case you missed it, Mothers’ Day was Sunday and I have a little different perspective on it than I did last year.  In my post last year, I mentioned my mother and wife, but failed to mention one more important mother in my life, my grandmother (my mother’s mother). She had a tremendous influence on me growing up, and was the only grandparent I ever really knew. Sadly she passed away just 3 days after Mother’s Day last year and is certainly missed this year.

I still miss my mother, and that will likely never change, but now her spirit is back with us in a different way. It’s a Jewish custom to name a newborn after a deceased family member, which is supposed to cause some sort of metaphysical connection between two people whose lives never crossed. I know that sounds like something from an episode of LOST, but trust me, it’s a thing.  

When the Littler Dude was born last fall, he received the same initials that my mother had and they will now be forever linked.  And so far, after 7 months, he is showing signs of sharing some similar traits with his namesake. Here are a few:

·        Lack of sleep: My mother was never a very sound sleeper. Neither is the Littler Dude. That was rough for her and now continues for us. 

·         Love of family: My mother’s favorite thing in the world was being around her family, especially her kids and grandkids, even if they were getting rowdy. The Littler Dude loves being held and often doesn’t like when Mrs. Dude or I put him down for a break. Even if he is immediately smushed like a pancake by his older brother, the Little Dude.

·         Laughter: My mother was a big sitcom fan, as am I, and would frequently watch late-night reruns of classic shows she’d loved the first 20 times she’d seen them. The Littler Dude cackles hysterically when his big brother sings and dances for him, even if it’s the same made-up-on-the-spot song and dance for the 50^th time that day.

·         Appetite: My mother always made unique food combos for herself, like cold chicken for breakfast (one of her faves). The Littler Dude has yet to taste a food he doesn’t like, including Gerber puree classics like Chicken & Apples or Sweet Potatoes, Apples and Raisins (bleh).

·         Toughness: My mother faced health issues almost since birth and battled cancer with ever fiber of her being. The Littler Dude gets repeatedly squashed, rolled and folded in half by his older brother. Neither one of them complains about the adversity they’ve faced.

We have a long way to go, but so far the Littler Dude is living up to his namesake’s legacy. And with another Mother’s Day now passed, I am thankful to be able to spend it with the amazing mother of my children. Her patience with all three Dudes (both big and small) that she lives with is inexplicable, unrivaled and beyond appreciated.  Happy Mothers’ Day, Mrs. Dude!

Happy Mothers Day from the Dude family to you and yours!!

Goodbye Grandma Fran

As I coast peacefully 6 miles above the Earth, I stare at the clouds and think of you.

It’s been 48 hours since I saw you lowered 6 feet below the Earth.

Your pine box the final resting spot in a life filled with homes of all shapes and sizes.

Eternal slumber near your long-gone parents.

Will you meet my mother again?

And finally learn of your only daughter’s cruel fate.

You had 90 years.

That is more than a blessing.

And you made the most of them.

Until robbed of your memories.

You fought until the end.

You will always be missed. 

Life Is But A Dream

Ninety years ago this week a man named Christian Nelson changed the world. Or at least made it tastier. You probably don’t know him by name, but you probably know his creation: The Eskimo Pie. On January 24, 1922 Mr. Nelson patented the Eskimo Pie, a block of ice cream covered in chocolate and wrapped in silver foil.  My grandmother loved Eskimo Pies. I guess it’s a small coincidence that she was born the next day.  

My grandmother was born 90 years ago this week.  Grandma Fran always claimed she was “born on the boat” on the way to America from Eastern Europe. She arrived in Northeastern Ohio before the Great Depression and still lives there today.

My grandmother has always been a fighter. She raised three children as a single working mother in the 1950s, long before it was commonplace.  She fought for advanced medical treatment when her oldest child, my mother, was born with a rare heart defect.  Then saw her through a complicated open-heart surgery long before it was made to look routine by the surgeons at Seattle Grace.  

For reasons beyond my control, Grandma Fran is the only grandparent I ever really knew.  And I knew her well. She always lived very close to my family when we were growing up and we saw her regularly.  When my parents had obligations or business trips, she stayed to watch my brother, sister and me. 

She never claimed to be a gourmet cook and could burn a steak like nobody’s business, but she always tried. She was there whenever we needed her.  If we called, she answered. Her life was her family. She unselfishly took care of her own mother until she passed away in her 90s.  

GF became a grandparent in her late 40s and enjoyed every minute of it for decades. She was an adventurer who loved to just pick up and go somewhere like Florida or Las Vegas on the spur of the moment. But she was also a creature of habit that ate lunch at the same place almost daily for many years.  Now she is a creature of habit for reasons beyond her own control.

Several years ago my grandmother started suffering from dementia.  Through no fault of her own, she was robbed of the independence that had been her trademark for decades.  Whereas she used to do what she wanted whenever she wanted, now she lives in a nursing facility among others who’ve been dealt the same unfortunate hand.  Now she has breakfast, lunch and dinner at fixed times while sitting in the same seat at the same table.  Her food is assigned, as is her dining companion. 

Since I live 2,000 miles away, I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like. But just before every time I do see her, I wonder if she’s fallen deeper into her own thoughts. I wonder if she’ll recognize me or even after I tell her who I am, if it means anything in her brain.  She always smiles when she sees me but I wonder if she still remembers taking me to Disneyworld when I was 11. Or taking me to Arizona to experience spring training when I became a baseball nut as a 13 year old.  She wasn’t an especially devoted sports fan but knew I was. It was just another selfless deed she performed in a lifetime of them.   

I’m lucky that BC has gotten to spend some time with my Grandmother when we’ve been in Cleveland.   I’m fortunate to have videos and pictures of every time they’ve been together over the last couple of years.  Just as she smiles when she sees me, she lights up when she sees my son.  She always offers a gentle caress of his arm and a smile. On a couple occasions she’s shared a few words even though it’s obviously not easy for her. For even though she resides in her own world now, she is still giving everything she can to her family. 

Grandma Fran meeting BC for the first time.

Thanks for reading The Dude of the House. 

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