Beech Tree News Network

When my mother-in-law, Aggie, was in elementary school, she landed the star role in the school play.  It was a musical.  Aggie played Mother Goose.  Aggie loved music and dancing, especially the big band sound of Glen Miller and Benny Goodman, tunes she listened to as a teen and young adult.  Aggie married a man who cared for none of those things.  He put a hoe in her hand and sent her to the truck patch.  He put a hat on her head and sent her to the hay field.  He put a skillet in her hand and watched the news while she cooked his meals.

               Once, when my daughter, Natalie, and I were visiting—long after Aggie’s husband had passed—she sat alone in her living room recliner, singing along to reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show.  We were in the kitchen when we heard her.  Natalie eased her way to the door that connected the two rooms, pressed record on her cell phone, and we listened as Aggie sang song after song, never missing a word.  It was one of those moments frozen in time.  One of those moments when life—what life is supposed to be—grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around, and says, “Look! Look, and don’t forget.  Don’t sweep me under the rug.  Don’t bury me under your responsibilities.  Don’t take me away from those you love.  Remember me.”  And I did.  Not always, mind you, but more times than I would have if not for that moment and others like them.

               Somewhere, in a book that is important to me, on a bookshelf in my house, I have written the following words:  Your responsibilities are not your life.  On nights when I lie awake because the pain in my body is keeping me awake, I think about those words.  The pain I feel is usually the result of pushing myself to do more than my frame can withstand.  When those words come to my mind, I ask the universe, “Who will do this if I don’t?”  The answer is both simple and complex: No one, someone, everyone; or simply, it won’t get done.

               I went to visit Aggie last week.  I downloaded some more books onto her Kendal.  I went to the county courthouse and got the tags for the cars she doesn’t drive, but still wants licensed.  I picked up some groceries she had run out of.  I burned her trash and poured gasoline on the fire ant hills next to her sidewalk.  I started the old Buick and let it run for awhile so the battery would stay charged up.

               I took her to her daughter, Charlotte’s, house, so we could all have a meal together.  Aggie made the chocolate pudding for dessert, not the out-of-the-box pudding, but the real thing with Hershey’s cocoa.  I got the ingredients together for her.  I watched as she sat on a bar stool at Charlotte’s, pouring and stirring, adding more of this and that, stirring some more until it suited her.  I said I would stand at the stove and stir until it was thick enough.   Aggie is pushing ninety-three and standing for long periods of time is exhausting for her.  I stirred until it started getting thick then brought it over for her inspection. 

               “Maybe, a little bit more,” she said, as she looked into the pan.  “I don’t like it thick enough to cut, but I think it can stand to be a little thicker.”

               I repeated the process a couple more times until she said it was ready.  She lined a Corning Ware bowl with vanilla wafers, and I poured the pudding on top.  It was delicious! 

               The next day, at Aggie’s house, we cooked spaghetti together.  Later, we sat at the kitchen table and played Rummikub.  Aggie loves board games, so I try to make sure we get in some game time when I visit.  We watched TV together, mostly the news.  She tries to keep up with what’s going on in the world.  We have opposing political views, but we respect one another’s right to disagree. 

               On the morning I was to drive back to Kentucky, she fixed cinnamon toast for the two of us.  Afterward, I loaded my things into my car then told her how much I loved her and enjoyed being with her.  She hugged me and told me the same.

               Back in Kentucky, I looked around at all the things I had let go in order to spend time with Aggie.  “My responsibilities are not my life,” I said to myself.  “I did the right thing.  It’s what Mother Goose would have done.”